Tag Archives: hops

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Bell’s Two Hearted IPA, It Takes a Lot of Heart to Make a Beer Like This, TWO HEARTS

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I have been waiting and waiting for this beer for the longest time. I just anticipated it would show up some day as an extra or somehow land on my doorstep and a year later, nothing. There was something about this beer that apparently people want to drink it and not ship it across the country for free, weird I know. This is the final beer on the top 100 popular beers, so that’s also a milestone for me too. Anyway, randomly RatedZ just packed up two and shipped them to me, FOR NO REASON. The beer community’s generosity is getting out of hand.

Total eclipse of two heart

Bottled on 1/31/12, DRANKEN ON 2/23/12, the freshmaker.

Bell’s Two Hearted IPA 7% abv

A: This is a beautiful beer and is certainly worth the hype in the old looks department, this dame is a looker. Not sure about the trout on the bottle, but the carbonation is NOT FISHY AT ALL.

S: Hoppy citrus notes that feel like a westcoast throwback, super grapefruity, it hits the switches and lets the 5th wheel fall, mild pine scraper bikes are all up in the cut and supported by a mild honey but not balls out like Hopslam. The whole thing is a wonderful hop ghetto and I feel right at home.

T: The taste is very muted and gentle and imparts a slight orange rind and chinook or simcoe sort of vibe to it. It tastes bright and cheerful like an amiable old barber that happens to smell like delicious Pine Sol. The whole experience is very mild and has that balance and coercion I have come to expect from Bell’s. The hops are integrated incredibly well and doesn’t assault the palate but instead goes for a classy Oscar de la Renta tux and a modest cumberbun.

M: The wash of this beer is incredibly foamy and light, it begs for sessionability. The coating is very crisp like tongue kissing a cold pinecone covered in apricot juice. Don’t front, you’ve done it. Anyway, a very solid IPA and ranks among the best, no question. It isn’t the most offensive or gauche, but its strength is in its amiability and gentle repose. A nice hop hammock to fritter the days away.

D: If you didn’t catch the clear notes above, this is likely the most drinkable IPA out there, Hill Farmstead notwithstanding. But I ride the HF jock like a 2 Live Crew video so let’s set them aside for now. This beer is a muted lupulin ninja that strikes and disappears in an herbal cloud. It’s a classy IPA that you can take to a play, give a smooch and not try and go all the way with. Also, this beer is not of age.

Narrative:

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Odell Myrcenary Double IPA, Some say hops aren’t for wintertime, well they can hop their asses on out of here.

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This was one of those famed Double IPAs from Colorado that I always wanted to try but never wanted to set out to trade just for this beer. I waited and waited and it never appeared as an extra, UNTIL NOW. The stars aligned and a generous trader hooked me up with this old chestnut. THE RESULTS MAY HOP YOU.

I am not sure what this mycenary would accomplish aside from getting other soldiers really drunk. COVERT HOPS SHIT.

Odell Myrcenary Double IPA, 9.3% abv

A: The appearance is a bit strange for a double ipa and gives nice deep honey dark yellow glow. The brass and bronze let me know that this a regal affair and that tails are called for accordingly. The wispy head fogs up my monocle, but I ain’t even mad tho.

Good day Rocky Mountain residents, I do believe I may have shat myself near Breckingridge, have ye any hops?

S: The nose is amazing, sweet honey, lemongrass, biscuit malt, corn bread, and light pineapple. You get a slightly cinnamon finish which is relevant to my interests. I am adding this beer to my Friendster account.

T: The taste doesn’t blow me away like the nose but it is still very good. It is almost approaching that old American Barleywine standby in the respect that is had a huge malty base with a gentle sweetness like baked goods, but then hammers home some pine like a Bolivian housekeeper. THIS BEER DOESN’T DO WINDOWS.

The finish to this beer makes it seem like there was something missing, something amazing that could have been.

M: It is light enough to keep things interesting and doesn’t slow down for the credits, this short film just rocks your tastebud genitals all night long. The drying and herbal finish gives it a distinct lip smacking quality that is like Pina Colada chapstick that the officers will find on your person and that’s when the cuffs will feel too tight.

D: This is like a three strike combo that sets you up perfectly and then Urkels its so hard and messed up the finisher. You get the sweetness, nice hop bite and then, FUCKING GRASS TIME. Not like intercourse with grass, like tastes like gr- you know what, nevermind. I want this to be more drinkable but every swallow finishes with that bitterness, if you think I am going to pander with an oral sex joke here, you are only partly correct. The abv is masked quite well and I could see this beer making it outside, plays well with others, could get the uninformed pretty lit. It’s like the Bud light Platinum for the craft community I guess. WHICH ISN’T THAT BAD AT ALL.

This reminds me of other enjoyable things, but is good in its own right.

Narrative: Margaret and Ross Ignacio were concerned about their Nana’s new caretaker. Every time that they would visit her there would be a fragrant new citrus tree or hibiscus blossom in the front yard, it was beautiful, yet something was irksome. Nana was using technology and there were sure signs that Manuel was the one goading these pleasures. “Follow me on the twatter, I can retwat you” she would say obliviously. One day Manuel spied inspectingly through the stained glass window. “Nana, you never wanted to go on Adultfriendfinder.com before, what, how did you even hear about this?” Nana sipped her chamomile tea reflectively and began a tediously long story about war bonds. “Ok you know what, I dont want Manuel showing you the computer anymore” Nana sighed “oh well you should get on Myface, er put your space in my space.” Nana worked the computerbox assiduously and Manuel watched knowingly, the silent Hispanic mercenary that got old Nana into twisted internet porn.

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Bell’s Hopslam, Someone Went and Slammed All My Hops and Dreams.

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I have had this beer twice. Once I raped myself (beersturbation) bought one for $20 off ebay and it was 6 months old. That was hardly a fair tick, so I decided to trade for a new one, 2 weeks old and compare. The result is an ultra legit review.

I prefer my hops in a submission hold, but the hopslam is an excellent move as well.

Bells’ Hopslam DIPA, 10% abv

A: Mildly opaque golden hues, brighter and more apricot than most DIPAs and it doesn’t look exceptionally malty. Nice thick white cumulus head with huge thick lacing. It has a great look to it and you just want to bump some Ronettes and ask this beer why it wont be your little hop baby.

Everyone always talks about how the preivous year of Hopslam was better. It's a pretty solid beer but why they hatin?

S: Huge sweet hoppy character that comes off extremely saccharine and herbal. The hop cloud is like an olfactory bomb you can smell 18” away. It is vegetal in the end and a bit too herbal for my citrusy nose, but to each his own I guess.

T: There is an initial huge sweetness that isn’t exactly citrus, it tastes more funnel cake/cinnabon, then the herbal and lime flavors initiate into a great bouquet. The finish is a huge spinach and pine blast that just pangs of salad and fresh greens. It isn’t what I am seeking in a DIPA, but it is by no means offputting, again just different. I am not being a homer on this, my favorite IPAs are made in Vermont, it just isn’t for me.

Well well well, another ultra hopped beer you say? I'm listening...

M: For a beer this big it is incredibly drinkable. The mouthfeel isn’t overly coating or exceptionally filling, but the flavors are relentless. I want to drain my glass with increasing celerity ::pushes glasses up nose:: The coating is a sweet little mixed greens salad ninja. Staying on the greenest greens call this beer a vegetarian. All you smell is strange clouds.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and I would say that the ABV places it in leagues with several different classes of beers. This will warm you in the winter or cool you off with awesome refreshing sweet notes in the summer. Just fantastic all around; even with a bit of age it is still an impressor. It is much better fresh but again the lack of juicy childlike citrus puts it down a notch in my esteem but I can see why people who dont have access to fresh Pliny all the time would be all jazzed up about this.

Bells beer feels more inherently partiotic or american to me, something about the craftsmanship or the fact that it gets you excessively wasted. God bless the midwest.

Narrative: Sure, it wasn’t the WWE, but the triple title, welter weight tristate professional wrestling competition was nothing to sneeze at. The competitions behind the Tastee Freeze lacked the ambiance of a pure demonstrative environment for the masses, but the hum of the generator provided a mild lull for the public lacking dental insurance. A dim spotlight, spotlight loosely being referred to as a Belkin floodlight, shined furiously on the center of the canvas ring. A 9 year old girl swayed gently on the ropes awaiting the entrances. The smell of cut grass and grapefruit began to fill the baleful air, the mist of sticky herbal sweetness lingering within each patrons’ nose: Hopundertakehopper had arrived. He burst through the back bus room door and performed his classic flying maneuver, whose name needs no recitation at this juncture.

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The Alchemist Heady Topper Double IPA, Get Ready to Get Heady

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Alright, another top 100 ranked beer, well top 15 to be exact, and arguably the best Double IPA in existence (grumblegrumbleCitragrumbleEphraim)

Let’s get this show on the road.

Gettin some Heady, Get, gettin some Heady. Ba dum tish.

Heady Topper, Double IPA, The Alchemist, 8% abv

A: This beer has a hazy orange glow to it with great carbonation and a radiance that looks like when you cut a unicorn open. It has a huge sticky head to it that subsides gradually.

This beer recognizes how sick of a bro I am and doesn't bother me. It's like we friends.

S: This has a single smell with limited complexity, overwhelming grapefruit and acidity. This is probably the closest that a Double IPA has come to smelling like a gueuze. Very fruity and acerbic on the nose.

T: This is a one trick pony, but it is a pretty bad ass trick: it plants, harvests, and juices an entire acre of grapefruit trees in your mouth, in a single drink. This isn’t an herbal or hop overload, it is just orange juice and grape fruit puree. It tastes like fruit juice more than Citra does. This beer is better cold for this very reason. This is a world class beer and it is incredibly distinctive. The juiciness doesn’t impart any bitterness that lingers.

This beer is just incredibly refreshing, like watching a baby hippo get all upset. Ahhhh.

M: The mouthfeel isn’t too overwhelming, but just malty enough to carry the huge flavor of this beer. It washes away with a crisp finish. This is a serious contender against Citra and Ephraim.

D: This has an incredible drink ability that is perfect from the can. I wonder how the hops hold up over time but this beer has a lot to offer and can likely stand the test of time. Once again, all of the beers that you want to pour into a spoon and boil in an addictive spree, are not available in California. All of the incredibly drinkable beers remain just out of reach.

I guess I could search for another, better, double IPA, but, I fold.

Narrative: It wasn’t an easy life for Paradisi Juicio, living in Barbados and all. For years and years, he was overlooked, mistaken for his cousin Pampelo Tangelini, and over shadowed by the ever-popular Shaddock boys, with their rough handsome demeanors. “WELL MAYBE IF YOU JUST LISTENED TO ME I WOULDN’T HAVE TO YELL AT YOU ALL THE TIME!!!” Paradisi boomed, wiping sticky acerbic sweat from his brow. “THAT’S NOT WHAT I SAID. TELL ME WHAT I SAID!” he boomed, his face turning into a bitter grimace. It felt as though, his friends had been picked off one by one recently, ground into the earth, so to speak. People just didn’t care for his kind like they used to. The ruby red complexion of his wife, Grappa Juicio, became sullen, “I just don’t think that we can go on like this, what with the low carb diets and, people replacing us left and right, I just don’t know where we fit into this crazy mixed up world.” As she finished her sentence, the double doors swung open and the oppressive land lord came striding in. “Mr. Galaxy, I didn’t know you were-” “Oh sure, didn’t figure I would come this soon, oust your and your outdated fruit kind? Listen up you degenerate citrites, the hops run this town now, ain’t no body interested in some bitter old juice anymore. Not when me and my hop boys got something to say about it!” Grappa weeped acidic bitter tears and dreamed for the days when someone would enjoy her for her sweet disposition and not some false citrus experience.

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Coastal Fog Brewing India Pale Ale, The Bay Area Rolls out something more lackluster than Silicon Valley children.

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Coastal Fog usually tastes like Parliaments and salt, now it tastes like escort spit.

Ok so, this is the lowest rated IPA in the beer community and is (in)famous for being the only IPA in the worst 50 beers category. Today I wrangle this gentle flower and get its pistil and stamen all up in my face.

Coastal Fog India Pale Ale, 5.2% ABV

A: The appearance is nothing too offensive, but also nothing exceptionally wrong either. It has a muted copper and penny look to it like oh, I dont know, an ESB. Does that make you happy? You want labels. FINE. There’s your label, translucent lake water, now go find it in Behr and do you child’s nursery in it. Also, the lacing and carbonation is great, its like the lake after a sick Eliminator goes through straight up eliminating.

Worst IPA Ever? Go on. I am listening.

S: The hop profile is not usual for a single IPA but it isn’t really that bad either. It has a huge wateriness to it, but that might be intentional for a casual fun IPA. Who knows. It has a mild turbinado sugar like a watered down belgian dubbel and finally some hops that are a bit like unraked yard trimmings. it isn’t really that bad, like how Blossom was ok, but if you compare this beer to a real show like Breaking Bad, it’s going to seem shitty by comparison. WHOA.

T: The taste is really thin and watery with an initial sweet honey note to it like if you did a 3:1 water ratio with Hopslam (3oz water 1oz Hopslam) but it has a nice little redeeming pine at the end. Like when you walk into a bathroom and it clearly smells like deuce, but then someone has a forest Glade plug in to let you know that they were at least trying.

M: Ok so, if you missed it, it is watery. Sessionable as hell and almost to the point where I wonder how much crystal and 2 row that they actually used. It comes off almost more like an English Mild in a way, but oh well, haters gonna hate. I feel like the threadbare old white cop who learned something from my renegade partner that, I shouldn’t just judge IPAs on the face of things, and never to touch an IPA’s radio when he is being all sassy.

This beer is not going through any phases, this is exactly how it really tastes. No need to age this.

D: Well, this is kinda drinkable, I GUESS. Furthermore, it is pretty thin and doesn’t really dry out the gumline. It doesn’t really bother me, but I dont really get excited drinking it either. The ho’s and hum’s cascade effortlessly. However, this beer is cheap. I think I got a bomber for $2.99 so there’s that. But then Lagunitas doesn’t taste like bidet water and it is about the same price so, oh well. Is it as bad as everyone says? Not hardly. It’s not even the worst IPA that I have ever had. I think anything by Hermitage is far worse. It enjoys a fate worse than awful, the purgatory of “oh? I forget, no dont get that.”

Coastal Fog did not do the cooking by the book.

Narrative: Clive Worthington was the smoothest loan restructuring agent in the tricounty area, but you wouldn’t see his phone ringing anytime soon. Sure, people loved having their mortgage rates adjusted, and Clive cut through the red tape with the slickest of ease. Once it was over, Clive was left with a series of pink carbon copies and an empty heart. Who ever calls the old loan structure specialist? No one. Real Estate agents get invited to housewarming parties, but old Clive just stares out the window at the children making obscene snow sculptures and wonders what love feels like. He has his model trains at home, his botanical garden, and of course his Ziggy comics, but no one would ask old Clive to a wedding, or even a funeral. He was ultimately not a bad guy, just a guy who was there when things were bad. The opposite of a fairweather friend really. Clive smiled as a child was pushed into a snow vagina and nodded his head knowing that he would die alone. The child climbed out of the crude snow crevasse and shouted to his mother when he noticed that old man Worthington was watching them with no pants on again.

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Dont Spit Into the Wind, Dont Mess Around with Hill Farmstead Jim

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Big Jim IPA

You Dont Tug On Superman's Cape and You Don't Mess Around With Jim

Don’t pull the mask off the old lone ranger. Seriously.

OH WAIT 11/11/11 at 11:11, GIVE ME A KISS AND MAKE A WISH!

Hill Farmstead Jim, 7.5% Black IPA, aged in Merlot Barrels

A: Hey guys, guess what color this black IPA is? If you said fuschia, you are, absolutely wrong. It is a slick “baby stout” sort of blackness. It’s that sort of gentle blackness that Milton attempted to both embrace and ward away. The head is off white and has a nice contrast the evil darkness below just like JOHN MILTON OH SHIT DID YOU SEE WHAT JUST TOOK PLACE THERE?

S: This is an IPA, through and through. The pine and grass reach out like a bath and body works candle, the citrus notes grapple and strike me like those weird weeds in Ursula’s cave. You know, those weeds…

I love this brewery but this beer tries to have too many fucking specialties. Just be a paladin.

T: The taste is strange, is isn’t quite herbal, it swiftly moves and changes several times while you taste it. It gets a bit of oakiness, then almost a grape or a cinnamon, then returns to its normal pinecone roots and finishes sweet. I have no idea how to approach this changeling. It goes tobacco, carnival, woods, carnival. Which I guess each of those makes sense together. Oh 5th grade.

M: The wine notes at the outset make this a blustering, confusing beer. You get a big wine note that turns into herbs, into a sweetness. The entire experience washes clean, but your conscience remains besmirched. It’s like your old uncle, whom you remember so fondly but now he’s back from the military and gives extra long hugs and is more serious. I don’t know whether to embrace the gravity of this project or to ask for my old friend back.

I dont like it, but I cannot escape its grasp.

D: This is like a Japanese game show in that it is intense, varied, and makes no sense. I don’t know how long you can watch that kinds of craziness but this is just too busy for my taste buds. If they sold this in 6 packs I would see it as a sort of Sartorial punch line rather than a beverage purchase. I don’t know what to make of myself after having tasted this. Maybe I could have been an optometrist, after Jim, who knows.

Narrative: “And you FINAL WISHHHH?” the genie hissed at Clarence Hyrbo amiably. “Well, I mean, I already got this swell wheatgrass farm for my grandfather” he surveyed the verdant pastures and the genie nodded approvingly. “And shucks, I already have this swell Merlot vinery for my grammy,” he ejaculated as the wine fields arose in front of him with sticky sweet grapes, ripe for harvest. The genie rubbed his ethereal palms and hovered entreatingly, “well?” he importuned. Clarence looked left and looked right, and only saw two wasted paradigms of wishes spoiled on human greed. He felt ashamed. His cell phone rang a sweet Creed ringtone and he wondered how to set this all right. “Genie?” Clarence softly uttered, “yes Clarence?” the genie responded gently. “Well, I see now that, every time someone gets a wish, it usually just ends with ironic consequences, like a grandmother overdosing on merlot, or artery problems due to wheatgrass,” the genie nodded solemnly “such is the Genie Code, to provide wishes only with disastrous consequences and life changing realizations but, you’ve hardly even tried yours out yet.” Clarence surverey the fields and firmly stated “GENIE! I want something that will make everyone happy, something that no one will die from, and no one will hate me for.” The genie waved his hands over the South Carolina countryside and the grapes and wheat grass disappeared. In wave after wave, tobacco fields rolled over the verdant pastures. “NOW EVERYONE WILL REMEMBER ME FAVORABLY!” Clarence called and ran all the way to the Charleston homestead which was recently founded

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Ale Asylum, Bedlam Belgian ale 7.5% abv

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Ale Asylum Bedlam

Soddom. Gomorrah. Bedlam.

Ale Asylum Bedlam Belgian IPA

A: It looks like a cross between a standard IPA and a Belgian Golden. You get some yellowing and some moderate hazy light amber tones but the appearances seems pretty tame. The lacing on the side of the glass is like a haunted house and grips the entire way down. It’s like all those death scenes in lame ass 80’s movies with people falling.

S: Citra hop hell. This escaped like a virulent herbal genie when I opened the bottle. You get the Yosemite forest with pine and crisp conifers and then the tangerine and citric notes follow swiftly, it smells incredible. It feels like Pliny the Elder at Christmas time. This beer is 2 legit to quit on the hop presence.

T: The taste has very little of the juicy notes in the smell. At the outset your get the herbal aspects that the high alpha acid hops produce, but then, like a child left after tee ball practice, the hops abandon you to the company of a circumspect Belgian man. His Vanover smells of sweet turbinado sugar but, bineg a child you trust it through and through. Ultimately, no candy is provided.

M: It is light and crisp, I should underscore that it is still a great beer, albeit a bit deceiving on the old hop profile. You could give this to basically anyone and they would love you for it. Unless you live in California, don’t give this away, save these for yourself, they can buy their own Sculpin.

D: The Belgian hardly slows down the traction on these tires, this beer is meant for hot weather and dry heats. Why it is distributed in humid, low temperature places is beyond me but I also can’t understand why people from the east coast wear North Face jackets to bars, so the ideas are congruent. Ultimately you can drink this high ABV, tasty beer ridiculously fast, you can play beer pong with it, you can load it into some Home Depot tube and kill it; the only troubling aspect is your friends healt- I can’t even get that out seriously. Drink this swift and fast.

Narrative: Hermes languished on Mount Cyllene kicking rocks idly in his path. “Ah Hermes, what’s gotcha lookin so long in the gums?” Argos asked, consoling with his many eyes. “Aw jeez Argos, I just got all this old speed and no one seems to want to get that wasted anymore.” “Oh?” Argus questioned with a series of tilted brows. “Yeah, here I was, getting all these people sufficiently drunk and all of a sudden, they cut my distribution to the lower Mediterranean, can you believe that? Then here I am just stuck to kick rocks with a bunch of Stoics, holy hams and eggs!” Hermes folded his arms and felt the power that he wielded. His speed could intoxicate a mortal man several times over. As a concession, he delivered an Edible Arrangement to the failing economy of Greece and hoped that they would continue to drink themselves into oblivion. “The EURO is strong with this one” Poseidon remarked and proceeded to destroy another coastal town, insouciantly.

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Heretic, The Alchemist, Double IPA, More Offensive than Dr. Pepper 10 Commercials

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Heretic The Alchemy needs to Convery this to Hop Gold

Heretics, Converting Double IPAs to Bitter Barleywines, without a Eucharist.

Heretic, Double IPA, 9.99% ABV, The Alchemist

Ok so, I will make this a nice concise little freeform endeavor because this doesn’t warrant some Birth of a Nation pre-amble.

This beer is disappointing, as a DIPA, as a Barleywine. Just all in all it comes out the bottle all piney and grassy, not giving a shit. Honey badger in a bottle.

It is even more sadder(er) because of the story behind it. This was one of 700 bottles saved from the flood that destroyed the Alchemist brewery when that asshole Irene hurricane gave all the Vermont vegans an unnecessary bath. I was expecting that Heady Topper gold. This is some pinecone pyrite. It’s all malty and pissed off. Furthermore, it is rare, so rarity always boosts the taste right? Not this time. This tastes eerily like Hoptimum from Sierra Nevada or one of those super stemmy IPAs.

No stems no seeds no sticks.

After I tried it my face was all like this:

nooooo

Bad Hops are Bad

So sure, I had some regrets, I was not unlike Kanye’s illustrious girl, oh wait, what should I have ordered?

fish fillet. not McHopswich.

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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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Zombie Dust, 3 Floyd’s, It’s like 7th grade, only drunker

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Oh shit Pale Ales just got real

Umbrella Corp's Finest Brew, from Raccoon City Brew Co.

3 Floyd’s Zombie Dust, 6.2% Pale Ale

A: There’s not a lot of pale in this pale ale, its more a mellow deep gold, the type you buy from Target, let’s call it a locket for a 6th grade amorous affair. Wait, got a little Corneille on you there, but for cereal, it is radiant and at the same time dull. A precise but bent blade with a nice fluffy head for dicing through mixed metaphors. It disappears and you wonder where it went like that show My Brother and Me. Seriously.

S: If this is a pale ale, then I don’t know what I will do when the zombies actually come because apparently shit is about to get hoppy very quickly. The bouquet is redolent of trillium and ivy, deep grassy notes, citrus candles from bath and body works, and grammies’ bathroom. There’s a ton of citra and galaxy hops going on, which makes me wonder if this can follow through with a taste haymaker. Sure that UFC fighter at the bar can make pretty eyes with his sweet cauliflower ears but, what will he do with his jagged dental-insurance-free smile?

T: Well the citrus is still there and the grapefruit is still very pleasant, but in a more Savage Garden listening level. I don’t get an intense alcoholic waft or a drying hoppy censure but wow, it just tastes incredibly and has such a refreshing waft to it. The juiciness just sits and stews for a moment on the palate and makes this beer seem far bigger than the britches index would dictate. I have to exercise active restraint not to swallow this entire glass with my fraternity number being called overhead like a resplendent debasing glottal fricative. SHOUTING AND LOUD NOISES.

M: It is strange because this allegedly isn’t an IPA, ok fine, I will grant you that, it is light and fun, like times with Husky Scampers in the woodshed, but it feels like it knows something that I do not. There’s just way, way too much flavor taking place for the simplicity of the canvas presented. It is minimalist like a 1960’s Carrera 911, but performs so well. It is fitting that the serving size is a 6 pack because I could see myself powering through this like an undead army.

D: If this is what we are supposed to drink when the zombie apocalypse comes, then humanity is basically in the palm of Raccoon City and Umbrella Corp. To say that this is drinkable is a wild understatement. This beer exists as a thin, wispy flavor delivery apparatus of German engineering. Not a single part of this hop buffalo is wasted and these zombie native americans also are enamored with shiny things, namely the sweet succor of perfectly executed hops. The question everyone will be asking: Does this take the crown from Hoppy Birthday, the best Pale Ale ever made? Not quite, now now, quiet down. It is good, fantastic even, but there is a mild Gose saltiness in the finish and it just doesn’t have the brightness that a Hoppy Birthday growler has. I will allow you all to file out to confront your Midwestern pals with this grave news. AND THE PUNS KEEP ON COMIN-

Narrative: The shells kept slipping out of Avery’s hands while she crouched in the desolate remains of what used to be the West Side Pavilions shopping center. “God has it only been 23 days?” she wondered to herself as she taped two bullpup clips together and deftly loaded them into her P2000. “It seems like just yesterday I was a mild mannered Korean girl studying for some irrelevant AP tests and now, here I am, killing the undead and fighting off the hopocalypse.” Some would later opine that the Bud-Miller-Coors triumvirate caused the mass hysteria and outbreak but, truthfully, it was the hop growers. Avery stared out of the slats of what used to be an Orange Julius, “shit, the vines, they’re moving like kudzu towards the northwest parking lot,” and spun a .45 magnum round in classic fashion. Those scientists who had sought to save the world with their ivory tower of alpha acids had now created hops so potent, people were completely unaware that they were becoming drunk, undead even. They roamed the earth, ravaging Taco Bells and Del Tacos, mostly. When those were depleted, even loud Linkin Park music could not stop their ravenous hunger. The hops had caused this, and the hops would end this. “AVERY!” her stringent father called from the balcony of the food court in some apparent type of boiled-down reconciliation. After 90 minutes of interaction, her harsh abrasive botanist father became a rounded character, realized that she needed her own space, and together, through their differences, music and botany or some shit, realized how to poison the hop plant and save everyone. But she still had to practice violin and go to UC Irvine. Or some shit.