I prefer Marty's Stouffer's Stuffing, but his Wild America will do in a pinch.

Halfacre Marty Stouffer’s Wild America Barleywine, 10% abv

A: This is a pretty core barely wine, no typo there. It doesn’t seems to have a crazy maltiness to it but it’s still pretty alluring with this bad boy murkiness that drives all the irresponsible 14 year old girls super cray. All it needs is a red jacket with some zippers. The murkiness subsides and it looks like a ruby amber ale.

S: Nice sweet booziness almost like brandy but not in that Your Boy is Mine sort of way. There’s some sticky caramelized figs and sweet red grape in the mix all like Bill Bellamy, trying to be a player.

It says barleywine, but my heart is saying no. If this beer wants to be with me, it has to rub me the right way.

T: There is absolutely no sweetness on this lil barleyride. It presents a hop forward character that makes you cock your head back like Ed Lover, come on son. The whole profile is overly herbal and feels like they dry hopped it for too long or added copper to the boil, the old currency maneuver. Oldest brewing trick in the book. The notes say that this was “Brewed with Cascade and Falconer’s Flight hops” maybe they needed to calm the cascading down a bit and falconer their asses back to burleywines.

Not quite sure where this beer is going, but it doesn't seem good.

M: The mouthfeel is weak and doesn’t have all the pizzazz of burly wines, it’s more like a haughty Imperial IPA that seems to have lost its way. I dont hate it, but it’s like an illfitting shirt that makes you have mantits, or notits if you are a woman. Take your pick, the tit presentation is calamitous. One thing I do enjoy is this hint of booziness at the finish that is its redeeming quality. Makes me nod like a proud father who threw his stepson into the deep end for the first time because I’m sorry, does the bmx need to be in the driveway every single day, not once can it be on the sideyard where you lovingly build a place for it to be locked u- what were we talking about?

D: Drying herbal assault vs. clean finish. It ends up being a nonstarter and defaults to a normal level beer. It’s like you hope all those conjugal visits pay off, but really you’re just having sex with a prisoner. So yeah, you could do worse Sheila, but you can also do moderately better. It’s a mid-range offering for a Charles Barkleywine, but it’s not a show stopper.

When I think of shit that is wild in America, things like this come to mind, not strange barleywines.

Narrative: The documentary just wasn’t going as planned. The gaean essences were remote in this particular section of the tundra and Marty was having a tough time echoing his animalistic call. “Aeeeouggghhhhiiiii!!!!!” the scream reverberated through the hills and over the nearest ridge. A lone cameraman shook his head despondently. “Marty, hey, I know you were dead set on your ability to communicate with the animals but, let’s go with something a little less ambitious, how about just filming them, huh?” the cameraman hazarded after 5 hours of tense waiting. Marty rose up on his massiive 6’1″ frame and stared down his brow at Phillip mencaingly. “OH, another has come to doubt the innate ability of THE WILD.” “No no, Marty, hey it’s just that, we haven’t shot a single frame and what with all the yelling, I think you’re scaring the animals away.” The two walked for a kilometer in silence and Marty spun on a single heel and faced Phillip. “BE SURE, not to miss this next shot-aaaiueeieieihhhhhoouuu!” Marty called out and a narwhal broke through the ice, tusk and all and began slowly creeping towards Phillip. “ATTACK!” the narwhal lazily waddled over towards Phillip, being filmed the entire time. “Yeah, this is great stuff Marty, real menacing.” Phillip quipped and rattled off frame after frame. Marty folded his arms insouciantly; his project did not go as planned.