Ok, you have read Slaughterhouse Five. We get it. Shit, you may have also read Breakfast of Champions, hell you probably will email me with some Bukowski references just in case. I get it, you like post-modernist literature, random DDB fan. Let’s couch that and talk about TIRED HANDSESES FIRST WILD ALE. Some haters will likely chime in with “they have made wild ales all along, they just chose to call them farmhouse ales.” A monocle-polishing dipshit like that probably does great with the ladies.
Anyway, let’s take a look at this Flandersy wild ale before we become unstuck in time. OK LAST VONNEGUT REFERENCE I SWEAR.
Tired Hands Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
Style | ABV
Flanders Red Ale | 9.00% ABV
510 bottle release, 2 per person, people have gotten shanked for less. Ardmore Pennsylvania putting work in the streets, that PANDEMIC, yellowtops.
A: This looks like a straight up flanders red that got a lil tan, maybe did a 15 minute bed when the hot chick told her to only do a 11 minute bed. You don’t get that ruby red, not the Ring Pop sort of affair that you might have gotten all swole, and it almost starts toeing towards the Oud Bruin benchmarks with the old SRM. I know just mentioning OUD BRUIN makes some people’s buttholes pucker so we will move on. The carb is substantial and looks great, frothy cherry mocha whip, sitting on top of a dark burnt brick red medium. The whole affair feels more “substantial” than those bitch ass Rodenbachs you sip after your Zumba class. Sick vascularity, full range of motion.
S: This toes the old Flanders line and drops you somewhere in between a vintage Rodenbach (like the 2007 cellar reserve) and Caracterie Rouge. To clarify, you get a substantial acidicty and that borderline acetone/acetic that you would expect from the style, but it is lighter than the Oud Bruin side of things. There is the black cherry, marascino cherry, red chapstick, sucrets, some malty presence, and a tannic finish that reminds me of a big Napa cab. Again, this isn’t my favorite style but they are going hard in that cherry paint.
T: This takes the traditional flanders and jazzes it up with some hammer-on/pulloffs, bends, and slurs within the cherry/malt scales. Things feel more boisterous, the malt profile is ramped up and presents a sort of baked bread interplay with the cherry profile, the huge acidity mixes with the cherry cordial, the 1’s and 2’s are constantly cutting from dark cherries and bruised fruits and jumping back to balaton merlot beat drops. Tired Hands remixed the fuck out of your Duchess and you can’t even handle it. The closing taste is a bit too tart at cold temps and if you want those fruits to balance shit out, you need to let this open up. But once you let this warm up the abv starts peeking its head, so there’s a cost benefit analysis. You get some raspberry and pumpernickle bread, all laced with ornate acidity that never overstays its welcome, but chaperons throughout.
M: For the substantial malt profile you would expect this red wine monster to close with balance, but it remains pretty dry and thin due to the noteworthy acidity. I don’t want you to think this is some Upland Cherry sort of affair, but it isn’t exactly Cuvee de Tomme either, its a tart and puckering Flanders that underwent the Weapon X project in Canada but instead of adamantium in its bones, it was infused with powerful cherry acidity. WILL IT USE THESE POWERS FOR GOOD OR EVIL?
D: Given the dry profile, acidity, and lack of overwhelming fruit profile to reel things back in, I would say a 500ml is about right. I never tired of the beer, but I think a 750ml would be a touch ambitious for most people. If you like Griffin Bruxellois or some of the ultra tart Jackie O’s offerings in this same vein (Evelyn, things of that nature) then you will love this. If you approach this expecting a Tess D’Urbervilles walk through the garden with a flower tucked in your lapel, you will probably end up getting pounded like she did.
Narrative: Detective Walter Janicsykowski had been working this beat for 13 years and had never seen anything like this. “Sir, it’s the same as the others, victim laid in a prostrate position, cherry juice on the hands and mouth, grenadine in and around the vaginal area,” forensic scientist Mark Walmsly noted, pointing to the woman’s wrists and ankles with an LED light, “you can expect to see more of these.” The Squeez-It killer had been ravaging the Ardmore populace during what was an unseasonably warm May. The cherries were ripening at an alarming pace and Walter took a deep pull of his Wild Cherry Slurpee while surveying the glossy black and white photos. He noted pits and stems arranged with care near each victim’s body, each cherry homicide executed with more intent than the less. It was a paradox in itself. A pitted sweet fruit, the subject of multiple serial murders. Somewhere in the streets, the killer was pouring himself a Shirley Temple and planning his next mark.