Tag Archives: hill farmstead

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Hill Farmstead, Arthur Saison, A Rustic Farmhouse Crusade

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Like a moth to a flame, I cannot resist any offering from this brewery for the simple fact that across all styles they always deliver. It’s like the sure thing, someone sets you up with a friend who is into pilates, chances are the stage is set for something unhorrific. Wait, wait, I am generalizing, I have never taken pilates nor have I tried the entire HF lineup, shucks.

Arthur and hundreds of crusaders died just to taste this sweet libation. Thanks a lot Mr. Hill.

Hill Farmstead, Arthur, saison, 6% abv

A: As usual, Hill Farmstead has turned out a beautiful beer with a deep golden radiance that has some brassy translucence. The carbonation is frothy like an egg drop sour with soapy lacing like when you bathing the chillums and they as lively as bedbugs.

There is a whimsical aspect to this beer, but deep down you know that it is all business.

S: There’s a distinct herbal notes almost like evergreens, light funkiness like a wet Jansport backpack, and finally some dry esters. The whole affair seems crisp and sterile like surgical gloves, each note is in its place and tagged. The mastery from this old farm is noteworthy.

T: The taste has a nice herbal snap to it like walking on twigs in the verdant Vermont pastures. There’s a super dry Belgian ester note that reminds me of clove or sage, must be the new yeast. It makes a light arid beer like this feel more at home in the wintertime. The lingering flavor is a light crackery finish, again, an entirely satisfying affair. It’s tough to make quips and cracks when a beer is just dead on, I have some serious first world beverage dilemmas going down here. Boo hoo, this limited saison is too delicious to make fun of on the internet. sob sob.

It is wildly inappropriate how refreshing this beer is. Why must Vermont be so far away?

M: The mouthfeel is crisp and light with a nice brackish feel to it. It isn’t salty in a gose way, but it certainly has its own salinity that I gather is from the Vermont well that I am so fond of. The mouthfeel is hard, much like the rest of their lineup and I love the mineral finish because it is muted but accents all of the acidity and hops going on. Like that tonguekiss from the local coal miner who is nice enough, but come on, all up in your mouth?

D: This beer is incredibly drinkable and even in this bitter winter where you can hardly sit outside for an hour in the stinging dull sunglight, I could still muster up the strength to request more of these. The alkaline finish and hop balance act in tandem and just push this saison over the top. I guess on a minor level, the 750ml format isn’t ideal but hey a beggar and his chooser are soon parted.

If you start knocking off liquor stores looking for this precious beer, there's a few things that you should know about dealing with police.

Narrative: The violet hibiscus flower swayed lazily in the breeze and hugged the ocean currents longingly. It was that charming interval in between the crest of winter and the break of spring with its life giving rains to satiate the soil of the land. And then those fucking white thistle buds moved in. Generally speaking, a “weed” is a subjective term, without any classification value, since a plant that is a weed in one context is not a weed when growing where it belongs or is wanted. But just the way that these stupid fucking thistles spread their tacky thorny brambles about the sediment bed seemed to rob the entirely majesty of the Lent season. As if that weren’t bad enough, the younger zygotes budding and making a mess all over the place, then invite those godforsaken dandelions to commune with them under the regal hibiscus branches. It was all fun and games of toleration until finally one of the children plucked the dandelion reproductive spore and blew it all over the the wanting peat. Now it was going to be nothing but lowbrow commoners and ticky tacky flora of all varieties. The hibiscus were racist as the day was long but, if one did not maintain purity in Genus, what was one reduced to, Order?

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Hill Farmstead, Society and Solitude, Ralph Waldeezy Emerseezy would be proud

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If you haven’t caught the vibe just yet, I ride Hill Farmstead’s jock like a Sybian. I will seek out anything and everything that they release for the simple reason that every, single, thing that I have had from them has been nothing short of amazing. The only beer that was a B+ to me was Jim and that was still an amazing beer, just not suited to my palate. So here we go, another world class Double Black IPA, inspired by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Some prefer Society, others prefer Solitude, and then some people prefer both and have to issue apologies for Party Rockin.

Hill Farmstead, Society and Solitude, Black Double IPA, 9.5% abv

A: At first glance this looks like someone fucked up and sent me Everett and I am about to spend 25oz in Porterville. Not the central California mountain town. Then you pour a little bit and shit turns arboreal very quickly. The beer cascades from the swingtop growler in a needlessly descriptive stream of jet black with mellow mahogany at the edges and the user ponders where the line between charred malt and hop usage places his palate in this penumbra of capricious tastes. The carbonation is dead on, not too much, not too sparse and the lacing looks like a monochromatic Jackson Pollack work. She is a thing of beauty, fuck Stella.

Just the smell and look of this beer takes you to a magical far away place of verdant fields and floral culture, Didney Worl.

S: This is interesting beyond belief. Most black IPAs I shirk off in a cantankerous manner, upturning my mandible and tightening my lips. This thing is the real deal. I thought double dry hopped Stone Sublimely Self Righteous did not have fuck arounds to spare, but this thing is in the poor house if fuck arounds were currency. It comes right out with a pine that subsides into a chocolate waft, just when you think shit is tame: a MINT NOTE. I am dead serious, then some juniper and finally the citrus grapefruit I was looking for, all in all its like the craft aisle of Michaels went into a blender and then was coated in Godiva chocolate, and it is fucking amazing.

T: The taste just carries out the complexity and the bitter and sweet zones of your mouth are already dividing up the tenancy in common because they can’t agree on shit. It starts with a nice english stout or american porter charred chocolate roastiness that, upon swallow turns into this epic Mars Volta solo of herbal notes and again, fucking MINT and juniper are present. To bookend the experience, the chocolate delivers a nice eulogy to the sip and your tastebuds mourn the loss. But shit is on again real soon, to the tune of 24oz more.

This beer gives me so many feels. Feels like I am in gay Paree, feels like Vermont, feels like Chocolate Factoree.

M: The mouthfeel is similar to a heavy DIPA or a thin imperial porter. God damn, if I wasn’t so lazy I would make a line graph but, just use your imagination, I shouldn’t have to make an App for every aspect of description. The bitterness from the hops lingers far longer than the bakers chocolate aspect and I like it more that way, the coating feels lighter as a result and suddenly a 750ml growler seems pretty insubstantial. It’s like if you’ve ever dated a girl who just gets on your nerves and you bemoan every visit to Chick Fil-A with her, but when she goes away to her Mormon mission, you have a tiny Latter Day Saint Shaped hole in your heart. You know the feeling.

D: This beer is incredibly drinkable for how ambitious the flavor palate is. For all the mint, chocolate, pine, grapefruit madness going on, the glass seems to have a mild leak, directly into my mouth. However, I don’t know if I should rate this relative to the other Hill Farmstead offerings since the 2 Liter growler of Galaxy that I drank, by myself, was gone instantly and all my characters were power leveled when I woke up the next morning. It was like the RPG fairy just changed the game on me. So yeah, super drinkable.

Hill Farmstead beers always strike me as so distinctly American and I am always left with that lingering suspicion and sadness when the growler is empty. Get beers from Vermont they said, pay Fedex bills from California they said.

Narrative: After losing his job at the pencil factory Gunnar Taylorson was at a loss with what to do with himself. His degree in American Studies did not seem to evoke the sense of awe and prestige that he had predicted, despite graduating from the inimitable University of Florida, an institution practically enshrined in American Study. After long hard thought and several days at the EDD and unemployment offices, Gunnar resolved to set forth into the everglades and open a boutique herboreum. His business plan was simple, venture deep into protected government lands, uproot rare plants, grind them down into a consumable paste without FDA approval, and then sell it within interstate commerce: a bulletproof scheme. The first concoctions largely just caused blindness and erections that lasted more than 4 hours, and he felt like a failure. “GOD DAMNIT GUNNAR, the hell were you thinking, a deep south apothecary? You should have just went and worked at the Waffle House fer fucks sake!” he would think to himself. One day, while speeding about on his stolen pontoon boat he came across a rare hibiscus flower in the shape of someone flipping you off. “Well fuck you flower,” he quipped as he pulled the lot of them from the roots. He sold them piecemeal to passers by and it soon became apparent that Gunnar had stumbled upon a tactile halucinogen. The south never seemed so interesting or so racist as when you viewed the scope of nature with your fingertips in a Baton Rouge AMPM.

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Hill Farmstead The Birth of Tragedy, Apollonian vs Dionysian and Everyone getting Twisted

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Thus Spoke Aleathurstra

Ok so what’s the deal with this asshole? Well it’s the imperial version of an already badass porter, Twilight of the Idols. It is named after a Nietzsche work, it has bourbon, coffee, and a nice alcoholic heat to it. It’s like they read my diary.

Hill Farmstead Birth of Tragedy, 11% abv, Imperial Porter aged in bourbon barrels

A: The appearance has that classic imperial porter sheen to it, like the coat of an alcoholic panda bear. Black and slick in all the right places, it beckons to slippery asphalt and car crashes that New Englanders no doubt survived in obtaining this succulent potation. As a side note, my bottle had hardly any cabronation, wah wah, here comes the wahhhmbulance ready to pick some nits.

Ok ok, bourbon barrel aged porter, let's settle down.

S: This has a crazy powerful bouquet that smells like melted chocolate, toffee, boozy vanilla extract, and a mild hint of bourbon heat. There is a sweetness that is perfectly balanced by mild alcoholic heat, just like your old bus driver.

T: This is an incredible porter and I know that I ride this brewery’s jock like its jock will soon be discontinued, but it’s really that good. Top 5 porter and guess what, one of the other spots is held by, that’s right Barrel Aged Everett. I can’t get over this brewery, like the haughty 14 year old girl, who just wont accept that her 22 year old boyfriend wasn’t really in love with her. Ok so, it has a nice sweetness that enters and has a set allowing the alcohol waft to permeate and suddenly you forget that you are at a drive in, then a mild coffee pick me up before the bourbon mellows it all out. Just ridiculously pleasant, koala foot massage pleasant.

Just. Want. More Sick Porters.

M: It is thin, like a porter should be, no fat ass imperial stouts up in this mix. It is just light and coats just enough to be rewarding but then hammers its point home. The alcohol is like a stage director in all black watching every movement, making sure that the pilgrim chocolate kids dont miss their entry cues. Holy mixed metaphors.

D: This is incredibly drinkable, I am trying to tame myself from powering through the entire 500ml bottle with little success. It is thin, hot, and sweet, oh wait here’s a patently obvious female entendre. Nope, keeping it classy here. It is totally drinkable and I wish it came in sick sixers or at least tall boys to take up to the lake. PSYCHE. This beer is meant for hearths and post skiing discussions, luge comparisons and other highbrow Vermontean prose.

Do want more.

Narrative: “Existing within the framework entitles you to undeserved, awkward sexual interactions. That is the nature of a collegiate degree” the professor boomed to the teeming auditorium. His teaching methods were unorthodox but shattered the line between biology, psychology, and will to power. “You see, this is the only time that your biological willing will be in comport with the acquiescence with your biological counterpart.” Several students shifted in their chairs and looked left and right, largely Asians and Latter Day Saints. “The supple and demean curve hits its apex at precisely 20 years of age. It is at that age that alcohol enters a golden period of divine inspiration of inhibition where each person may assert the fulfillment of the Dionysian condition while still feeling confident in the missteps guided by the Apollonian age. You will have sex, it will be terrible, but it will be compulsory.” A scandinavian girl had seen enough and left promptly. “You see, all of dark willing is urging, and that is controlled ultimately by a tempering of the passions, and 20 years old is the exact age when both sides meet in a murky confrontation of rationalized bad decisions. It is in this moment that you will be the most alive, the most willing, and consequently the most powerful. You will never receive as much affection, as easily, as everlastingly as this year of your life my college juniors.” The student body began to look left and right with much trepidation and embarrassment. As much as his homework made little sense, the handjobs were rough and undeserved, the kisses pounding and syncopated. It would take the purchase of a Dodge Challenger and countless dates to recapture the ethos that was ejaculated into the air of that auditorium that day. “Only then, will you all become ubermensch. Now, go make out.” Class dismissed.

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Hill Farmstead, Ephraim, Double IPA, Granpa is Getting Touchy Feely

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The Best Imperial IPA, Ever. Ever. This is Mall Madness Good.

Hill Farmstead Ephraim, 10.5% abv, Imperial IPA

A: This beer exudes an amazing golden profile straight out of the bottle. I don’t want to reach for an Alad- ok it feels like a hop genie. The pour reveals a petulant ghost that traveled 3000 miles to meet my mouth and isn’t too disturbed by the prospect. Nice lacing, the glass looks as baroque as the day will allow with marshmellow foam everywhere. The rim feels like a late 90s rave/foam party. You know the drill.

S: This must feel what old Sutter felt like when he discovered gold at his mill, except replace gold with amazing hop assault to my dome piece. It initially hissed when I opened the growler and a hop cloud literally escaped like Patrick Swayze and nestled an herbal dissonance on my couch. Ok, not literally. But it smelled a lot like husking limes, apricots, tangerines, and lemons: WHICH I DO OFTEN.

T: Things get real in the field once it touches your lips. This beer is fantastic and, wait for it, is likely the best DIPA that I have ever had. I know this betrays my Pliny roots and the west coast in general but it just cannot be denied or overstated. The hops start out in a sweet/tart note then the deceptacons gather and a huge herbal robot assembles all up in my grill. HE BEGS FOR AMISTAD. The herbal wafts expand like I am all into home growing except my mouth is the botanical garden, and there is only consumption.

M: This beer has an amazing character that I would liken to a Subaru STI, an incredible speed and efficiency to it that just whips me about effortlessly, takes my money, and leaves me wanting more. The coating is minimal but perfectly balanced for the style. It somehow doesn’t fall into the old trap of east coast IPAs where there foolishly seek balance. This is just crazy from beginning to end.

D: I can’t even seriously address this section without hyperbole. Live Oak Hef and this beer need to go head to head for the most ridiculously drinkable beer ever made. I will judge Live Oak Hef the winner but only for its galleon speed and not the man-o-war impressive notes that this beer imparts. In sum, this beer is incredible and the growler barely made its way to the Stone Sour Fest where it was met with mild nods of approval and summarily dispatched. For a beer so apparently lackluster, its 64oz were torn limb from limb. My handkerchief remained damp throughout the proceedings.

Narrative: “If you know not for the elusive Ephramus, it is because he is of the forest, never to be held.” The camp counselor told the youth, staring into their entranced faces. “Many years ago, I was visited, if only for fleeting moments, down by the lake, by Ephramus.” One child whose front two teeth were clearly missing whistled annoying “geesy, tells us more counshelors Morrish!” Counselor Morris lowered his brow severely, “if you ever see the Ephramus ghost, you must flee immediately, for it will consume your heart and spirit as easily as I consume this Fruit by the Foot.” Demonstratively, he consumed 3 feet of fruit roll up, much to the dismay of the children. Suddenly, Ephramus approached the campfire and moaned waning, “Ooooohhh Morrisssss you could have invoked me more ofteeeennnn but you refused to payyy Fed Exxxxxxx” Counselor Morris fell to his knees with careless abandon, sobbing. He knew that he gave up his love for his bitter distrust of shipping systems. Ephramus never crossed the streams.

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Hill Farmstead CAGEMATCH: Regular Everett vs. Barrel Aged Everett Porter, feefeeefeeeenfeeeeennnnnn

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Hillfarmstead all dark up in this mix

Hill Farmstead Everett Cagematc- OH SHIT STOPLOSS IS ON? This night just got amazing.

Two 7% abv Porters duke it out for their father’s affection. Also, hey, Stop Loss is on.

Each one will plead their case in turn with a verdict at the end.

Appearance

BA

A: There is a deep watery mahogany to the color, not black but a rich chocolate brown. The carbonation is excellent and billows up with tiny bubbles. It’s like Ryan Phillipe’s lack luster presentation, you respect it but you know it could be a bit better.

Regular

A: The same as the BA version but with khaki bubbles instead of off-white. So like if Ryan did a summer at Catholic camp up in the high desert.

Winner goes to the regular version.

Smell

Barrel Aged

S: Warm boozy toffee and caramel notes, vanilla, nice cocoa waft, and a deep roasted honey note. There is a dryness of oak and a warm bourbon waft. It’s like dad came home looking all like a Tennessee Williams play but he brought you some Werther’s Originals.

Regular

S: The nose is less boozy but with more of a deeper chocolate waft. There is more of an almond and walnut, it is simpler in execution but not as much heat and simpler. It’s more like dad is a Eugene O’ Neill play and he has no candy.

Winner goes to the BA

Taste

Barrel Aged

T: There is fantastic prickly heat to the outset that gives a great boozy taste and a warming sweetness. The oakiness has a dryness to the swallow that gives your chest a nice warmth with a sweet cocoa finish. Imagine if you were 12 years old and ate a whole box of alcohol chocolates, not taken from autobiography, you’d be bloated but smelling all sultry like a community college student from Alabama.

Regular

T: There is far less heat and it’s a much more direct approach. The body is the same but without the intense prickliness and hot vanilla, the wood and almond notes stand out more and give a nice creamy finish like chocolate milk. It’s like the BA version goes for a high note and the regular supports a more standard chocolatey simplicity. You’d be more stoked if the Econoline van had windows in addition to chocolate, but hey sometimes thems the cards you’re dealt when your parents send a proxy to pick you up.

Winner goes to the BA

Mouthfeel

Barrel Aged

M: The mouthfeel is swift and hot, it is intense along the bittering zones but confuses the sweet palate with a strangely warm vanilla aspect that pulls this experience all over the place. The carbonation is a little bit less impressive in the BA version and feels less effervescent. Give old Nana a sloppy wild Turkey Kiss.

Regular

M: The mouthfeel is creamy with a fantastic chocolatey finish. The carbonation has tiny bubbles that crackle like woody alka seltzer. It is incredibly smoothe and washes away with a sweet toffee flavor.

Winner goes to the regular version

Drinkability

Barrel Aged

D: This beer is more fantastic to savor and ruminate on. The intense heat and pleasant warmth are more delicious, but ultimately hinder the drink ability of the beer. I was able to drink the regular version much more easily, but it was less memorable.

Regular

D: These are easily two vastly different beers and ultimately the regular version is easier to drink and much simpler to enjoy at first blush. It is like how an Accord is easier to drive than a Lambo, but ultimately the difficulty has its own pay offs.

Winner goes to the regular version.

What we learned

Ultimately, the regular version was amazing, more refreshing, and ultimately, disappeared faster. However, it simply wasn’t as memorable and it didn‘t shock me like a Step By Step Halloween special. Overall, was the regular version better? Sure I guess, but I preferred the barrel aged version because it was so much more vibrant and interesting. Short Circuit 1 was good and easy to enjoy but Gold Baller Version of Johnny 5 in Short Circuit Two was cooler, despite the fact that there was no Steve Gutenberg.

VERDICT: Regular Version Is The More Desirable, Popular Sister With Clearly Less Inherent Merit, Nerdy Interesting Sister
Who Lived in A Barrel Will Ultimately Develop a Sick Rack.

Remanded and Affirmed.