Is Cantillon Blabaer 2013 the Head-on Berry Collision that Complainers Like to Make it Out to Be?

Ddb reviewed Blabby back like four years ago or some shit so we aren’t going to retread that ground in full at this juncture.

Here knock yourself out:




But what about those infamous “off” vintages? Every three years, meatsweatted cicerones will capriciously decide OH NO FUCK BRO THAT YEAR SUCKS MY HOME BREW CLUB AGREED TOO.

This happened with Flora b6, it happened with Fantasia b2, the NOTORIOUSLY SHITTY Cable Car 2010: none of this makes any sense. Nine times out of ten, the complaints hover around “BRUH it wasn’t even like as sour as I remember, making something more sour is a demonstration of true breW skillz.”

Flora b6 was a touch less sour sure, but posting ISOs specifically like “ANY FLORA BATCH EXCEPT THAT HORRIBLE BATCH FIVE THAT I KNOW IS TERRIBLE” makes no sense. Flora is still fucking delicious.

The glass upskirt is second only to placing the bottle ontop of the glass in stupid beer photography

The glass upskirt is second only to placing the bottle ontop of the glass in stupid beer photography

The greatest victim of this paradigm is tattered old Blabaer 2013. Somewhere along the line people ruled that blabaer must be X2OMG sour and intensely Smuckers and if it isn’t, then JVR really shit the bed on this one.

Blabby already exists as a trade anomaly on so many levels. It often exists as a crown jewel for a first or second year trader to “accomplish” a badge of blueberry merit, to validate their face hole. These same people toss up 8:1 offers and covetous hoarders tear them down.

Those same stupid dipshits who hoard blabaer are actively trying to trade them upwards for Pikku or an M or some shit. This will never happen for the simple reason that: everyone only needs to try Blabaer once.

That isn’t to say it isn’t good, but traders of a certain experience know to never actually drink a Blabaer when St. Lam is far easier to land and tastes better. Therefore bottles of blabaer never move downward, but they can never move upward either. They sit and malinger until someone wants to stunt hard as fuck at some brewery event and live on in infamy in UNTAPPD reviews. WOW Herbert Spencer, such legacy achieved, sociological immortality.



So within this climate you have two poles of raters: 1) bitter assholes who traded a ton for it and were “forced” to open it and share it with ignorant cretins and 2) unappreciative shitlords who failed time and time again to land it and now want to engage in some growing pains of iconoclasm and take poor blabby down a peg,

So yeah, if you pour 2013 Blabaer amongst 15 people it won’t be as aggro sour, it won’t be as fruity, but it is even more interesting in its musky tannic vibe. So within the scope of 1 ounce within bitter BJCP turd hammers, it will become the “bad” vintage.  It is still a phenomenal beer and one should look at groupmind “consensus” with a grain of gose.

Fire up a dare form tab and get over it. Beer itself and beer people get worse with every passing day, fading away in cellars and basements, respectively.


Upland Brewing Company Announces Bold New “Expectation Society”

Associated Press
Indianapolis, Indiana

Upland Brewing Company is no stranger to delivering consumers exactly what they want. From their celebrated diverse sour program replete with authentic lambics, nuanced fruited wilds, and universally celebrated Russian Imperial stout program: these Indiana brewers know how to satisfy the most demanding beer palate. Their new Secret Barrel Society is no exception:


Expectation Society also includes brick and mortar location to pick up purchased beers, for no extra charge.

Expectation Society also included brick and mortar location to pick up beers at, for no extra charge.

In an unprecedented move, early last week Upland announced a bold new secret society, only clandestinely made available to public on a website via press release. “Upland was formed by a glacier, that’s always been our motto, but we don’t intend on moving at a glacier’s pace, probably much faster even,” noted President Douglas Dayhoff after consulting an excel spreadsheet, “our sour program is definitely faster than a glacier.” We were allowed to tour the spacious Indianapolis facility where Dayhoff explained the innovative new program. “Everywhere in Indiana you hear people expecting things, in our brewpub you hear things like ‘I hope local home prices don’t continue to fall’ and ‘God I pray these Pacers get their shit together this year’ and that means one thing: Upland customers love expecting things,” Dayhoff noted as he slipped on a neoprene hazmat suit to enter the brushed aluminum Sour Containment Room, “you’re gonna wanna put the goggles on, the beer will burn your eyes even through the barrels.”

While surveying the intensely acidic potations slowly eating through the oak vessels, Dayhoff explained why hope was such a critical part of Upland’s business model, “we didn’t want to be like all those other breweries that accept upwards of $300 and then just give the consumer beer in return. Where’s the hope in that? Where is the romance? Sounds more like a transaction to me, and that simply is not the Upland way.” Upland’s business model has long been predicated on carnival games, raffles and parlor tricks. “We initially loved the idea of raffling off every beer needlessly, but then we started exploring retail models like throwing a ping pong ball into a fishbowl, knocking over Upland bottles with a softball, things of that nature, but they didn’t prove stable enough for a true reservation society.” Shortly after the polyurethane gloves began to bubble after handling some of Upland’s young lambic, we were led to the marketing strategy room. “What we ultimately decided to sell to the consumer, at the very fair price of $250.00, was the right to hope to be able to pay for a beer at a later date.”

Upland brewers hard at work crafting that authentic Pajontenland lambiek

Upland brewers hard at work crafting that authentic Pajontenland lambiek

The bold new strategy left many market analysts dumbfounded and perplexed that they had not thought of monetizing expectation based transactions earlier. “Now instead of entering a lottery or guessing the number of marbles in a jar to earn the right to buy an Upland beer, we cut that right out with a $250.00 membership which then allows you to give us money. It is exceedingly innovative and the perfect way to distribute our iconic ph2.0 libations to the public,” Dayhoff noted as he administered alkaline tablets to brewer, Pete Batule, as he lay on a cot with occupational GERD.

To ensure that the Upland consumer got the maximum amount of expectation per Expectation Society membership, they have guaranteed the right to pay for AT LEAST 100 Upland sour bottles with each membership. “It really wouldn’t surprise me if some people bought multiple memberships to ensure the right to pay Upland as much money as possible, Indiana residents are no dummies and love paying for the right to expect things,” Dayhoff nodded confidently while monitoring bright red litmus strips. “One red-faced patron Bloomington patron even asked me at our pub, ‘at least tell me I can come here to pick up the beers, please dont ship them, my home life is so sad I-‘ and I couldn’t help but feel for him, so every member will not be inconvenienced with having them shipped within the state to their doorstep, unlike some OTHER barrel programs.”

Nearing the end of the tour Dayhoff directed us to the gift shop and looked lovingly over the shelves of Upland branded merchandise, “this stuff practically sells itself I tell ya. Well I mean, it kinda does when we force the consumer to take it with their $250.00 membership, I mean look at this glass! That’s gotta be worth something right?” Dayhoff quipped and stared at the goblet for an uncomfortably long period of silence, brow furrowed.

"I will prolly buy a couple memberships for tradebait," noted local resident, Daniel Rosenbalm

“I will prolly buy a couple memberships for tradebait,” noted local resident, Daniel Rosenbalm

“One ex-employee noted that ‘Hey maybe actually sell the consumer some beer for upwards of three benjamins, I mean Upland is a brewery, right?’ and I mean, he was subsequently terminated for poor performance, but it got us to thinking. So in addition to the mountains of literally imaginary benefits already conferred, I also put this spicy little rider into the Expectation Society: ‘Other awesome events and benefits we decide to add on, spuriously and with adequately questionable notice, throughout the year for members.’ So if the first deluge of expectation and hope wasn’t enough, HANG ON COLTS FANS, a full year of mysterious hope COMPLETE WITH YOUR MEMBERSHIP!” Dayhoff noted walking around the parking lot, taking in the majesty of the local flora and fauna.

At the conclusion of the interview one employee slid a piece of paper into our hands which noted:

http://uplandbeer.com/about/secret-barrel-society/ ….. shhhhh”

and insisted that the society was of the utmost secrecy.

We will continue to update the consumer as more expectations become available.


Americans DO NOT brew Lambic, Most Belgians Do Not Either. Almost No One Brews Lambic, Ever.

As a United States citizen, it sickens me to see these American breweries attempting to capitalize on Belgian traditions with their bastardized takes on Belgian beers. American beers cannot, and will never be, lambic. Lambics are brewed in Belgium, specifically only within the Senne Valley. Any American brewery attempting to denature hundreds of years of culture by perpetuating the brewing style is nothing but complete disrespect and contrary to the hypothetical interests of generations past.

Such disrespect.

Such disrespect.

It is equally disrespectful for these ignoble North Americans to use the word “lambic style” on their labels. As though noting that a certain influence could somehow wash their hands of the clear impurity, they continue these actions with impunity. At the very least someone might stumble across the infinitely flawed Resurgam or Duck Duck Gooze and then somehow be made aware that lambic and gueuze exists. The problem here is that they will be done a complete disservice if they taste a 100/100 rated wild ale and then think that AMERICA somehow had anything to do with the brewing of that beer. IT IS NOT LAMBIC. Furthermore, the use of the term “sour” on the labels is a complete slap in the face of Belgian brewers who had been crafting sour beers for generations. The employment of any adjectives that notes a tart flavor profile should be looked at as highly circumspect as it clearly sets the brewing culture back hundreds of years to have them appropriating English descriptors pell mell. It should be about tradition.

Lambic is about honoring timeworn nostalgia and mouthwatering practices.

Lambic is about honoring timeworn nostalgia and mouthwatering practices.

Further, Belgian breweries need to focus not on only the Senne Valley, they need to remember the meteorological implications of that valley. The lambic tradition isn’t about the valley itself, but instead the lower cloud strata that distributes the wild microculture. A brewery merely cooling their wort in this valley doesn’t automatically guarantee it is authentic, let’s implement some standards here, for tradition sake. It seems in comport with the generations of lambic brewers that petri dish cultures be taken and analyzed under an electron microscope to ensure that the cell jackets and bacteria fall under a certified Belgian sheath. I can hardly imagine that the generations of Belgian brewers from the Reformation through the Gilded age would approve of calling a beer lambic without microbiobial verification. It is in comport with their wishes.

American breweries have been brewing "WILD ALES" for less than 50 years, who gives a shit about their flawed procedures?

American breweries have been brewing “WILD ALES” for less than 50 years, who gives a shit about their flawed procedures?

Another point of contention is how American brewers are freely identifying the fermented malt beverages that they are crafting as “BEER” just in front of god and everyone. I can hardly imagine that Sumerian brew masters would condone the use of the term based upon the bastardizing conditions in modern brewing. It is a complete violation of Ninkasi, the brewing goddess, and the wishes of the fertile crescent to just go around fermenting any old grain and calling it beer. American brewers have some serious balls setting forth these items in the stream of commerce without honoring traditional cuneiform pressings in clay tablets or a single sacrifice to Innana or Utu, it’s like, who the fuck do you even think you are?

Knowing time-honored Belgian brewing traditions is half the battle.

Knowing time-honored Belgian brewing traditions is half the battle.

I think I am qualified to speak for all generations past and historical cultures from a variety of regions when I say that American brewers need to stop their practices immediately. If I may continue to free-associate the desires of past generations: IT IS NOT WHAT THEY WOULD HAVE WANTED. I don’t care if you are crafting world class beverages according to the MODERN palate, it taints the commercial interests so coveted by past generations. I think we can all agree that American breweries have contributed next to nothing to furthering Beer Culture with their paltry facepalm worthy offerings. So the next time you sit down to enjoy a Timmerman’s Strawberry Lambic to taste that authentic sweet nectar, take a moment to think of all those North American ingrates subverting the proud heritage of lambic.


Struise 1983 Unblended Dirty Horse, The Whale to End All Horses

Well it has finally come to this, wales of a certain age. It is not necessarily the whitest whale in the world like say SdM, Dave, or M, but, suffice it to say, it is up there. Let’s just get this out of the way: I received this in a vacuum sealed vial. Everyone was up in arms and the balls tripped were substantial. Second, yes it is a 4 ounce pour. I know I usually give other beer sites a mouthful of shit for small pours and shitty reviews but, I am giving myself an executive pardon, because fuck you. You….you ride the bus. Anyway, let’s get elbows deep in blubber in today’s review:

I was so faded after killing this massive pour, couldn’t drive, couldn’t function.

De Struise Brouwers
Lambic – Unblended | 7.00% ABV

What makes this fucking beer so rare and sought out, other than the fact that it is almost 30 years old? Well, Starting with a Lambic grist bill composed of 70% barley malt and 30% unmalted wheat. No yeast was artificially added to the wort, but was exposed for two days to the open air in one of Struise’s plastic tunnels at the Noordhoek Ostrich Farm. First fermentation took place in second hand sherry oak casks for six weeks. 200 grams of Northern cherries per litre and the Roeseleire yeast strain were added after six months, provoking a new fermentation process. Eight months later, we pumped over the young ale to oak casks and let it mature for another 3 years. This project was realized after a tasting of the same recipe Urbain once made 20 years ago and was barrel aging in his garage in De Panne eversince and while he was in Africa and forgot all about it. This version is the original version that he completely forgot about, not the blended version. Gangster.

A: Just look at how beautiful this beer looks. There is a huge garnet meets translucent ruby quality to it. Some people lose their shit when I use “ruby” as an adjective, let’s call him Eric, anyway, that is exactly what it is. Amazingly, it still had a tiny wispy crackle of carbonation that sustained nicely. There was no lacing to speak of but, come on, this beer is 30 years old you perfectionist. This has a look of a framboise meets kriek in the best way possible, like pulling two two lambics at the at the same same damn time (time).

S: This has an amazing raspberry and ripe strawberry aspect to the nose that leans towards fresh Farmers’ Market than the simple juicy acidity that some fruited lambics embrace. There is a deep acidity but the stage that all of this takes place on is a huge musk like the depths of a dog grooming salon. There is this intense attic meets old yearbook funkiness to it that reminds me of the way that Brabantiae took me back to the past. “Comparing one wale to another whale, thanks a lot asshole.” Sorry, that’s the most adept way that I can describe it, beer harder or GTFO.

OPERATION: JIMMY RUSTLING was a complete success.

T: This follows the nose identically and presents a tart cherry acidity at the outset that sublimates into a nice tannic profile and that funky musk follows with an incredible dryness. The pour was so small that I essentially got 5 swallows of this before it was gone, so take all of this as a shittier than usual standard of my other reviews but, that being said, this is easily one of the best lambics that I have ever had, it is more complex than Hommage and more drinkable than Blabaer. This is like the Mechazord of fruited lambics and haters always tryna watch the throne.

M: This is incredibly dry but the light sweetness of the fruit provides relief with the same hand that takes it away. The cobweb and stale dustiness of the backend looks onward from a cherry podium compelling the acidity to push onward, through the annals of time.

whalez in the trap
wale whalez in the trap
wealz in the trap
slaying whalez in the trap

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and the funk interplay with the acidity balances this sweet nectar like a Hatori Hanzo sword and this shit will dice you up. I feel like a douchewaffle recommending this or calling it drinkable because if you 1) find a bottle of this and 2) drink it to yourself, you are a dick. Hopefully this review made the pants of beer nerds a lil tighter, if not, I will beer harder.

This beer is mind blowing, wrap your palate around that.

Narrative: The brackish spray of the Caspian Sea blew wispy clouds of mist around the hull of the S.S. ISO:FT$4$IP. Captain Brock Wellington looked out upon the vast expanse of the horizon, ever scanning for the beast that had eluded him so many times before. “Captain! THIS MAKES NO SENSE! We have been searching for over 29 years for this beast in what amounts to the world’s largest lake. There is no way that a whale would still reside here.” Captain Wellington expectorated upon the deck and turned swiftly upon his false leg crudely constructed out of an empty Jereboam bottle. “YOU THINK THIS IS ABOUT A SIMPLE ANIMAL! No Jerves, you misunderstand why we have set out day after day, we are seeking not an animal, but a mythical 30 year old beast, an underwater sea unicorn, FOR HER TEARS ARE THE CHERRY SOBS OF SERAPHIM.” Jerves clutched the round robin in his pocket and knew at that moment that his captain has gone full on batshit. Just then a deep spray gurgled over the starboard side and the air was redolent with raspberries. “THAR SHE BE!” Captain Wellington cried out and watched a mythical filthy horse raise from the depths, flying on dirty ostrich wings, sobbing mournfully with a menacing howl. “MAN THE MAGNUMS! CATCH EVERY LAST DROP!” The crew steered the Manowar deftly and caught the red mist, inhaling liquid magnificence. For a small moment, it was not about the hunt, it was the satisfaction of conquests fulfilled. They pooled together a total of 4 ounces and presented it to their jubilant captain. He slowly sipped the vial to completion and then jumped into the salty depths below. No round robin was necessary, for having tasted the sweet tears of unicorn angels, his life was complete. walesbro.


Cantillon Classic Gueuze, Tippin Backwards in the Belgian Chair on fo fo’s

Ah old Classic Cantillon, the gateway drug for many, sought by even more. I always love seeing this gem in boxes that I receive, yet surprisingly, I have never broke my back to seek it out. Just good fortune I guess, or Belgians are just making sure my tastebuds rally so hard. Either way, let’s see what this tart gem has to offer in classic style.

Man this site really took a dive in the old beer picture quality the last few days, oh well, you get what you pay for up in this HTML wasteland. At least I dont have pop under ads trying to lengthen your penis and refinance your home….OR DO I?

Cantillon classic 100% lambic, Gueuze 5.0%

A: It has a murky hay color to it with wispy tiny bubbles that make generous lacing. The glass seems to radiate the yellow 5 looking color throughout the body of the beer. It’s like a dirty lambic lemonade with a murky radiant desert lakewater aspect to it. The bubbles are wispy and dime out instantly, with nothing to contribute to the lengthy tastes presented.

Each time I have this, it hits hard, and is all over too quickly.

S: There is a mild apple and wet carpet smell to it. There’s white grapes and the smell of a coat after someone walks in from the rain. It is different, but still very appealing. I enjoy this but, after having St. Lam, fou foune, Blabaer and all the other cast of characters it is tough to go too nuts over this simple gem. It’s like the Impreza is bad ass, but if you have driven an STi on the reg, it doesn’t blow your mind anymore.

T: The funk is very present in the initial taste with a granny smith apple middle. The notes exhibit a mild sourness of grape skin with a lemony zest to it. This isn’t a tart bomb like some other Cantillon’s but I would say this is their consistent Honda Civic in the wheelhouse. It never seems to disappoint, I can say it’s a permaISO for sures, but there are some others that are similar and less of a pain in the ass to lock down.

Almost everyone I know is a whore for Cantillon, not everyone shows it off so readily.

M: The mouthfeel is crisp and light with minimal coating that tosses some acidic flavors like ninja stars in rapid succession and then peaces out just as rapidly. There is much peacing taking place.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable if you have a glass of water to cleanse the palate every once and again. It imparts a ton of dryness for the sweet notes it gives off. You end up with that movie theater “ate too many sour patch kids” sort of raw mouth. That sort of “Craig list has all kinds of deals” bitterness on the palate. That kind of bitterness. “Show the jury where this beer touched your palate on the doll” bitterness.

This beer trips all kinds of alarms, but in a good way, not 5am before a final sort of way.

Narrative: “Please…just let me go free…I won’t talk to anyone about this hidden Acai berry farm!” the covert agent pleaded dutifully with the farm hand, Brouwerj. “Well, I think the boss’d be pretty sore if he knew I was letting people go free all higgledy piggl-” “Ok cut! Everyone take 5. Mike, can I talk to you for a second?” The two left the set of the farmhouse and walked over to the confectionary table. “listen mike, I know that you know that I know you only got this role because I am dating your cousin. That is fine. But you have to listen to my direction notes ok? This is a Belgian farmhouse, in every single scene you come out with this Appalachian drawl. What is that?” “Weeeeell shucks I-” “YES, see that, don’t do that, you don’t even have to have a decent Belgian accent, just be yourself, ok?” The two went back to their places and the scene began a new. This time Mike’s radiance outshone even the lead roles as he eloquently delivered tart and cunning ad libbed barbs and pleaded in the wet hay with the title character. Not a single eye was left dry on that soundstage that dry. The boom mic bobbed mournfully between the sobs of the grip. In the end, the movie was cut to a single monoscene due to his riveting improvised speech while gathering apples and issuing a tearful goodbye to the secret agent. “CUT! That’s a wrap!” “Weeelllll shucks I-”


Drie Fonteinen, Tuverbol Lambic, TuverBOL so Hard, But First Tuvers Gotta Find Me

First, mad props to my Irish overseas homie for this one, you know who you are. I always was curious about this uberlambic, so wait, it’s a lambic but it has 10.5% abv, what’s going on here? Sounds like a sorority date rape potation if I ever saw one. The confusion sets in…before the doctor…can even close the door…OH I FEEL THIS LAMBIC KICKING IN [C:/endLivereference.exe]

It's like a regular lambic with a cold air intake, bolt on headers and a cat back exhaust, it doesn't gain much but what it gains IS SO ILLMATIC.

Man, today’s content feels a little weak, might as well pad things out with some pictures, business as usual on this shitty beer site, right?

Initially I thought the prospect of a 10.5% lambic sounded so hard and I was wilding out backflipping like Tony Stewart up in this bitch.

Drie Fonteinen, 2007 Tuverbol, 10.5% abv lambic

A: Well, so far so good, it looks like a lambic, with carbonation lower than a 64 impala. If Doesjel is the baby, this is the abusive father of uncarbonated lambics. The radiance is alluring though, nips all blasting with interest like the freezer aisle.

When I tasted this, I was like aight den, then the alcohol and chardonnay finish kicked in and shit got real.

S: The smell is on the rails too, looks like next stop Lambicville, you get a lemon zest, mild funk that is like the straw at a pumpkin patch and you’re pretty sure that there’s preteen piss in there, but in a musky alluring way that a tiger would find palpable.

T: Wait what. What is going on here? This isn’t lambicville at all, it’s more like Silent Hill. The zesty sour notes are gone and in its place is this sweet but entirely creepy old man who keeps talking about something “rustling [his] jimmies” which is offputting but interesting at the same time. You get a tannic chardonnay presence that isn’t drying but doesn’t really care if you check into its spooky old inn either. The wispy vapors leave some oakiness and grassy notes but ultimately subside into a ghostly almost chlorine aspect mixed with dry white wine character. The alcohol is well integrated and just shakes chains and makes a moaning sound.

It looks like a cute little lambic and OH SHIT IT IS RUINING ALL OF MY THINGS-

M: Ultimately you go upstairs and find a bloodsplattered journal from Dr. Mouthfeel and you find out about his palate experiments that apparently went horribly wrong. Town is cursed yadda yadda, the mouthfeel is actually my favorite part of this beer. If this is 10.5% then sign me up for Sigma Kappa because this might as well be a Peach Bellini. The alcohol just hangs out and slaps people on the back and provides a good old times. There’s a bit of brackish drying and some white grape notes but those are incidental to the refreshing crisp character of this beer. It’s pretty cutty through and through.

Sometimes I feel like something is just not made for my palate. Pic related.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, particularly for this 10.5% abv. If that is above 10% alcohol, then 50/50 Eclipse has something to learn about genteel manners and how to court a palate. You just dont grab for the inner thigh sweet zones, a soft handed dance of lemon, grapefruit and must integrates the inevitable groping much more coherently. Gotta massage the lambic oils, fuck, things got massageatistic real quick there.

Ultimately there is nothing wrong with the embrace of a 10.5% sweet lil belgian treat, even if you know it will someday rip your face off.

Narrative: “Fer fucks sake Taylor, give it a rest and come have a brew with your Uncle Skeeter!” Taylor Pierre was not taking nicely to his exchange family and, despite their kind notions, his host family in South Carolina was not what he expected. At first he thought that the quasi-coastal weather would be perfect for his high school experiment harvesting live cultures for his ale projects- “GODDD DAMNITTT, PEEURRR! You just missed the sickest slam, Rockster just put the damn near people’s whole arm up on CENA!” Aside from IMDB, Taylor PEEURR was unsure of the logistics of this brutal foreign sport and instead preferred orienteering and Pétanque. He lumbered into the living room/dining room/den/conservatory and wrestled with his size 0 jeans and adjusted his 3/4 sleeve cardigan in the sticky southern climate. “And then, watch watch, so McMahon is gonna be like ‘the fuck you ain’t gonna complete your CONTRACT!'” his host “Uncle Skeeter” insisted on wearing his class of ’94 letterman jacket and rubbing the varsity wrestling letter for good luck and would not have his favorite sport impugned with inquiries into its legitimacy or credence. “AND THEN…wait…OH FUCCKKKK…I thought Rey Mysterio was IN RETIREEEMENTTT!” the swill known as Camo left a lasting impression on his adolescent memoires and he sobbed gently while thinking of Bordeaux fields later that evening.


Cantillon Blabaer. After An Entire Year of Searching, I Finally Land My White Whale

FINALLY. After an entire year of searching, countless internet posts, unsolicited mail sent to people all over the place, and Craigslist Casual Sour Encounters that went awry: I finally tried Cantillon Blabaer. This beer is rated #9 on the top 100 beers of all time and it is 2 scissoring bitches to land. This beer is made in cooperation with Jeppe from Olbuttikken in Copenhagen. Jeppe provides the blueberries for the beer,and it is brewed at Cantillon and then shipped back to Copenhagen and only sold at Olbutikken. There are only approximately 400 bottles sold each year, really fucking far away. That shit cray.

2009 vintage 750 ml with berries firing on all cylinders, tasting like escort gumline and Wild Grape Squeezits. THE WHITEST OF WALES.

Cantillon Blabaer, Fruit Lambic, 5% abv

This beer has a perfect 100 score on Beeradvocate and is one of the most sought after beers in the world. Raters gonna rate.

A: This has a murky deep ruby frothiness with a magenta head and deep plum hues. The lacing is minimal and the entire beer crackles with this acidic liveliness and it reminds me of that pit of acid that the Joker got pushed into in Batman, and it reminds me that I will probably never get to try this again. Just a bunch of Blabaerless nights listening to Jason Mraz and watching ABC Family.

With Cantillon you always think they pulled an adjunct jackmove, but no shooops here. All bugs, berries, and bitches.

S: The smell is largely acidic, acetyl, wet grass, morning rain, damp laundry, and really ripe boysenberries. I dont get the archetypical blueberry smell here but, not a single fuck could be located for comment.

T: The taste is fantastically tart and complex. At the outset there is a dry acrimonious funk that sets a nice straw and musky oeuvre that transitions into a boysenberry, tart blackberry, and really hard strawberry, the kind that pucker your face like a gushers commercial. I enjoy the smell more than the taste and it seems almost like Lou Pepe Geuze wearing a thin disguise, but the berries are a chill ass addition to what is already an incredible sour.

I tend to be overly critical with my beer reviews, but with a beer this flawless, reviews get all hard and shit.

M: This scorches and dries in that way that only Cantillon can. It would be tough to take down more than 12oz of this, but the depth of the taste is fulfilling and I enjoy how the fruits opened up as the beer warmed, LIKE YOUR MOM DOES WHEN SHE IS A LAMBIC. Sick burn.

D: How drinkable is this beer considering that it is impossible to land? Interesting question, you hateful interlocutor. But in all seriousness, I really liked this beer but I probably wont seek it out again. People want your entire cellar and a cup full of unmarked jizz for a bottle of this and my unmarked jizz simply is not for barter. I enjoy St. Lamvinus and Fou Foune more and they are (relatively?) easier to land. Again, this is all within the constraints of judging it as the best sour beer in the entire world, so take it with a GRAIN OF BLUEBERRY.

When you're expecting the best treat in the world, you're always setting yourself up for disappointment. Why you feelings.

Narrative: The bed and breakfast was a quaint cottage in rural Montana, which is essentially, redundant. The fields of lavender were verdant and moist with the tears of angels. It was the perfect place for Charles Montague to settle down and work on that UPN pilot he had been harshly instructed to complete. The premise of a family of produce canners that hit it big in the blueberry jam business seemed a bit thin, but Charles needed to air it out and hit the fields, see the shit firsthand. “Chalres, rook ova hai, broobaree brushes!” Ed Lu was the caretaker of the Bed and Breakfast and he spoke with a borderline offensive dialect that was entirely fabricated to make white people feel at home. “Yes Ed, thank you, stop, stop trying to put a blueberry in my mouth.” The pushed his hands into the bushes and communed with the tart fruit. He took a deep breath and simply couldn’t think of anything but Moesha re-runs. “DAMNIT CHARLES THIS IS THE BIGGEST THING YOU’VE EVER TACKLED, focus, or they will know if you phoned it in.” Suddenly Ed slid a yellow memo pad across the wet grass to Charles. “MY GOD, ED-” Ed Lu nodded with his offensive high ponytail and winked emphasizing “BROOBREEREES.” Charles knew that it was unorthodox to make an entire 13 episode arch based upon a reimagining of Blueberries for Sal but, THE NETWORK COULD FUCK ITSELF, this was his personal victory and it was his magnum opus.


Upland Kiwi Lambic, Face Melting 24th Fret Hammer On Solos

The perfect beer for people who want to make their dentists rich as hell.

A: This beer has a straight up yellow, Squirt/Lemonhead look to it. It has some nice carbonation that peaces out almost immediately. It has other things to do apparently. I am ok with that, the bubbles seemed like sick bros. Super beast.

S: There’s a cheddar cheese funkiness to it, or like the a carpet sample book at Home Depot in a strangely good way because the harsh lemon zest makes it seem like its a weird baked good. Cheese Merengue Pie. This just comes off as super acidic from the get go.

T: Holy acidic hell. This is more sour than most geuzes that I have had and it dethrones 3F Sch. Kriek as the most face melting sour I have ever had. Seriously wow, it makes your face cringe in happiness at the full court acidic press that it wages on your tastebuds. Even before you swallow, it comes in and starts tearing down the drywall and just wrecking shit like an old school punk show. The taste is bitter hot tart lemonheads with acid that melts like that stuff on Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I get no kiwi, largely because kiwis usually dont burn the enamel off of my bicuspids. This is the type of beer that people try around me and look at me like I am a fucking maniac for drinking this recreationally.

M: The mouthfeel is fire and acid that burns with the fury of a thousand ex-wives. It creates a chemical methlab and just scorches the surface with DDT and lemon acid. The fields are fallow and salted, none are saved from the tart wrath of this scornful master.

D: Did you even read the foregoing? I am working my way steadily through this 750ml but this is clearly meant to be shared. This is on the absolute extreme end of flavor profiles. I dont see how Weyerbach or other Cantillon offerings can get much more ridiculous than this. This is just a straight up acid rampage that takes no prisoners. All tastebuds are executed upon sight without recompense or remorse. Somehow, the sheer malevolence is almost a loving quality and I feel wiser and stronger for having been subject to this acrimonious treatment. Yes sir, can I have another.

Narrative: Face too sore to write narrative, must…use… flouride….