Kuhnhenn Olde Village Stock Ale, Holy God This is a Complete Trainwreck That Smashed Square into the 4th Dementia Building

Brewers should be encouraged to experiment.  You wanna put Jicama in a Dortmunder? Fucking go for it.  Peanut butter and Sriacha cask? By all means, you do you.  The one thing brewers should not do is pass off horrible beer as either 1) intentionally sour 2) CUTTING EDGE or 3) a mystified ancient style that they are doing you a favor by unearthing.  This somehow covers a bit of ground in each category.  A SOUR OLD ALE: the style no one has ever asked for, returns to us in today’s review and holy balls is it horrible.

Two years ago, another Michigan brewery tried to pass this shit off on us when Dark Horse dropped their own SOUR OLD ALE> https://dontdrinkbeer.com/2013/02/08/dark-horse-three-guys-off-the-scale-sour-version-apparently-if-you-ruin-beer-you-can-just-call-it-sour-version/

So maybe people who live in bleak perpetual winter most of the year actually like this style, who knows. Let’s fall down the sour staircase and get some internal old ale bleeding in today’s painful review.

Midwest taster glass in full effect, and even that pour was too much.

Midwest taster glass in full effect, and even that pour was too much.

Kuhnhenn Old Village Stock Ale

Sour Old ale (?) 14.2% abv

A:  This looks fine I suppose, you might even squint and trick yourself into believing that this is a regular BB4d, those muddy lakewater notes on full puddle swerve.   The carb is legit for the abv and massive nature of the beer, appearances cant set forth the palate terror to which your facehole will be subject.

Popping this solo before nestling in for a marathon of Franklin and Bash.

Popping this solo before nestling in for a marathon of Franklin and Bash.

S:  At first smell, there is a twinge of hope, caramel, molasses, and OH FUCK IS THAT ROTTING CITRUS? What is going on with my old al- oh god its red wine vinegar, followed by an acetic filthy grapefruit in tow.  The closer is the sweet peanut brittle, albeit dipped in solvent.  You know shit isn’t going to go well from here.

DDB will continue to scour the planet to review shitty beers for your amusement

DDB will continue to scour the planet to review shitty beers for your amusement

T:  Like the reversed call against the poor Cowboys, this shit is a pathetic travesty of a once proud heritage.  How do you pull BB4d down a peg?  This is a fantastic demonstration at how tenuous the life of a beer can be, snuffed out with bacteria and off flavors like an orderly pressing a sour pillow over a struggling patient.  If you loved the creme brulee and toffee aspects of BB4d, wait until you add stomach bile and orange juice burp into the mix.  If you get through half a bottle of this, you should get a text from Guy Fieri for self flaggelation by way of the mouth zone.  Nothing works and you feel like a French soldier shivering in a trench at the battle of the Marne, wondering where the BB4d went, dreaming of times past, thinking about simpler days before everything was ruined.

M:  This is bone dry, crisp and only serves to highlight all of the awful things attendant to the actual flavor.  If a loud venue can make a blind date less creepy, this is a blind date in absolute silence, in a police interrogation room, for your palate.  There is no escape and you are gonna do some hard time.

MFW someone offers me a 14% abv SOUR old ale.

MFW someone offers me a 14% abv SOUR old ale.

D:  I cant really quantify exactly how shitty this is with the adjectives and words at my disposal and I can only LOL that this is classified as a “GOOD” beer on BA.  In fact it has an 84, just one point below The Bros review of Fou Foune.  I am clearly not cicerone enough to appreciate this heap of lukewarm gastritis discharge.


Dark Horse Three Guys Off the Scale SOUR VERSION, Apparently if you ruin beer, you can just call it SOUR VERSION

Let’s clear the air right away: I love bourbon barrel plead the 5th. It is one of my favorite BB stouts out there, without qualification. That being said, there have been a series of questionable ass releases from those metal brewers up in depressing ass Norway Michigan. First, Fore Stout was a weird thin smokey mess. Then Borubon Barrel Mosnter 29 was somehow thinner, boozier, yet with a lower ABV than regular Monster 29 and was totally imbalanced. After I opened this actual monster, I figured I would work Dark Horse over with a bicycle chain for a bit in today’s review



Dark Horse Brewing Company
Michigan, United States

Style | ABV
American Barleywine | 15.00% ABV (? I guess)
The bottle didn’t say, so I just assumed that the infected mess was similar in attenuation/bugs/vermin levels.

A: Beauty contest winrar alert: a beer this is. Look at that sloppy merlot mess. Are you drinking a 1500 bottle waxed release because the dead flat pour looks like you are enjoying some Kendal Jackson Merlot at an Applebees. No bubbles at all, it’s like a pour straight from a carboy, as lackluster as that dumbass new Jason Bateman movie, and equally predictable. The sheeting is clear and intense, with no residual sugars to balance out this imbalaced ass scale. And look at that janky ass label, was this approved? It looks like some homebrewer printed that shit off a HP Bubblejet printer, I had it in my fridge for like 4 days and the condensation already had that ink running like mascara on a fat girl’s face after prom.

If this is a sign of sours and old ales to come, I am out.

If this is a sign of sours and old ales to come, I am out.

S: Well I hope you like red apple vinegar, now mix in with your Melange 3. That is exactly what is going on here, there is this fusel cherry jolly rancher with a splash of a musky cabernet. It honestly reminds me of “accidentally” soured home brews where it straddles both genres so hard that it barely qualifies as either a wild or an old ale. Leave a fruit by the foot in a locker for a week, then enjoy it, you have just had Three Guys off the Scale, you won the beer game.

T: The rabbit hole goes deeper, take that classic caramel and nice roast from Hair of the Dog Adam, now go ahead and dump some acrimonious vinegar into it, but don’t even blend it to taste, just Bobby Flay that shit from shoulder height. The finish is intensely dry and I don’t know if it is oak or if it just busted open HSV sores in my mouth that I didn’t even know were there. It finishes with a taste I can only describe as “currency.” One time when I was a kid I clutched a bunch of dimes and went to the store and bought some candy, so sweaty ass coins and Skittles, that is basically what is going on here. Not exactly a panty dropper, even by Michigan standards, where a size 10 is literally a dime, that is top of the line.

Give your kids this beer early on, it will Uncle Donald their asses into hating beer.

Give your kids this beer early on, it will Uncle Donald their asses into hating beer.

M: This is dry, cracking, yet sickeningly fusel at the same time. The completely tepid nature doesn’t do it any favors, it just lays there and gets pounded like Ben Kingsley in Gandhi trying to get his vote on. I don’t want to pound this point home further but, there is no way this was intentionally sour, nor could it have passed the QC panel. I tasted “One” and it is a legitimate oatmeal stout, this, this is like if they left the brewing doors open and they let a bunch of disadvantaged Detroit youth try their hand at real world working times as a brewer. Then sold it.

D: On a scale from one to “call an oral surgeon” this is a Bluelady. If you don’t know what that means, you are lucky, this was incredibly difficult to finish and I even let it warm up and well, that was a mistake, this beer went HAM and was like “THIS ISN’T EVEN MY FINAL FORM!!!” and turned into a huge infected hydra, like most people’s ex-wives. I could barely get this down while watching The Room, I was like OH HAI DOGGY.

This beer is off the scale

This beer is off the scale

Narrative: Liz Wilkerson thumbed the elastic waistband of her Lane Bryant stretch pants and looked out over the desolate Michigan winter. She looked over the gazing starlets in US! Weekly and longed to be like Zooey Deschanel, wearing clothes that did not come from Fashion Bug or Tuesday Morning. She ran the tips of her fingers over the smooth fissures of her stretch marks, reminders of where she had been, and where she could not return. Life working at Michigan’s most esteemed winery was fine, for the 4 months of the year that the vines got sun, but the rest of the time she looked out upon the cold dead poplars and wondered what those tropical ass people in Kansas were up to, much less Floridians. She tried her best, but no one wanted her, at least not in her current state, she was on and off the scale, constantly mulling over her appearance, bemoaning other more beautiful girls, girls whose incisors actually made contact. She was big, sour, ungainly, and unwanted, and everyone in Flint knew it.


GABF Gold Medal Winning Church Brew Works Heini’s Hooch, Draft Only Gold Review, for the Haters.

Alright so I have seen this listed in a variety of ways but I am going to straight up call this what it is: an old ale. Beer sites be all confused but having had it, it steps directly in line with Cuir and 2010 BA Decadence in that proud lineage. I saw this win the Gold at the GABF in a style that I feel is wildly underrated. Most people love stouts and will have a soft spot for BA English Barleywines and foolishly overlook the Old Ale genre, you need to get on this grizzy.

This is that straight up clear growler magic. Malts telling the world that they dare light to try and skunk them. Posting up so hard.

Church Brew Works
Pennsylvania, United States
American Strong Ale | 10.50% ABV

A: Well it is safe to say that this beer will not be winning any beauty contests, but come on, if you were made in a lab with a ton of dark caramel malts, boiled into a sticky medium, then put in a barrel for months, would you be so fucking handsome? I didn’t think so. It had moderate lacing and low carbonation but part of that is Fedex’s fault for leaking this all over the place. Negligent ass handlers. In fact, I had to drive all the way into East LA and go to the facility and tell them that this was a Balsamic Reduction because they were tragically going to throw this away. Jeez louise. The murky brown notes are dirty but inviting like a 1989 Ford Probe.

It is always unacceptable to taunt your friends for drinking Old Ales. Dortmunders yes, but never old ales.

S: Holy sweet decadence, this beer goes ham on the olfactory front and leads with a pinch of light char, some caramel, toastiness woodiness, a deep bourbon character similar to Eagle Rare or 4 Roses, if you are into that shit. There is also a light mallow foam and a vanilla on the backend, ya feel me?

T: This has a nice oaky opening that gives way to some sweet and sticky notes, light caramel wrapped in a sort of almond nuttiness. The finish lingers for a long time with a deep fig and booziness that is a bit hot on the palate but not overly ethanol up in this bitch. Maybe it is the carb lacking, but it seems like such a gentle beast like Pete’s Dragon, roasting apples for you and shit, boozy and yet tame.

Sipping on that high ave smoky oak gets you straight baked.

M: This is sticky but gives way to a lingering dryness from the booze and the oak so it gives with one hand and takes with the other, like a skilled escort, badumtish. The dryness from the oak imparts this desire to take another sip right away so this 2 Liter was merked pretty quickly NOT JUST BY ME THIS TIME THOUGH. I enjoy the sticky sweetness that is kept in check by a domineering ass patriarch figure that is the wood, euphemisms all over the place.

D: This is strangely drinkable with a big caveat, FOR THE STYLE. I mean if you pop this open at a cookout and expect a bunch of backslapping and people chugging it in a bounce house, you are in for disappointment. And diarrhea. This is a nice sipper but you can sip A LOT OF IT. I technically COULD finish this entire growler, which is something not to be attempted with most Old Ales. It is like how I technically can eat an entire P’zone, but god damn does my body make me pay for it. Never before has dialysis been so classy and affordable.

When you pop open 2 liters of draft only Old Ale, your face be like.

Narrative: “Ok well when you step in, watch out for the drawbridge,” Mrs. Olson noted as she led the social worker into the expansive parlor. The entire framework from floorboard to crown molding was covered in complex K’Nex contraptions and devices. “Honey…the lady from Adult Protective Services is here to see you sweetie…” Mrs. Olson noted to her father and he looked up from a multicolored carousel and frowned upon being disturbed from his work. “Hello Mortimer, my name is Janice and I am here to check up on you since none of your other friends or relatives have heard from you” she trailed off as she saw a complicated network pulleys and buckets, carrying the possession of the old man from room to room. It was ingenious and colorful, pleasant and relaxing at the same time. The majestic pieces clicked in uniformity and brought Mortimer a plate of Vanilla Wafers and remained in silence, frowning at the County employee. “Mr. Olson, do you…do you want to come with me? This seems like no way for a man of your years to live.” Mortimer Olson was capricious, easy going, but more than all of that, he was complex to the core. You could enjoy a roller coaster demonstration with him while eating a Werther’s Original, or you could fuck right off.


Kuhnhenn Barrel Aged 4th Dementia, The Perfect Beer Prior to a Parent Teacher Conference

Ah Old Ales, for those times when new ales just aren’t new enough and sobriety just seems like such a hassle. The perfect beverage for right before a Parent Teacher Conference, particularly this barrel aged monster. Well, let’s see if this helps you escape some demons in today’s run into the 4th DEMENTIA.

Barrel Aged Old Ales: No Longer Just For Salty Old Sea Captains and Sobbing Divorcees.

Kuhnhenn Bourbon Barrel 4th Dementia, 13.5% abv, Old Ale

A: The bottle was almost completely flat with very minimal carbonation that dissipated very quickly with dark khaki bubbles that fizzled like the plot of an Owen Wilson film. The beer looks like a deep dark mahogany treat. The beer leaves this slick alcoholic coating to the edges that is clear but serves as potent reminder of the beast that you are about to wrangle to the earth.

This seems like a deal for all the sweet decadence that you are receiving, but it ultimately does a number on your life.

S: Holy ABV bombs. Not since Chocolate rain and Dark Lord vacated the premises has such a ridiculously boozy beer appeared on the scene. It isn’t that the ABV itself is so high that it is overwhelming cum de Utopias, it is more that the ABV just doesn’t give a shit. It posts up, leaves muddy alcoholic boots in the entryway and proceeds to rifle through the pantry in your nose. It is unabashed and very apparent. This isn’t the regular old 4th Dementia that I recalled., this is it’s alcoholic brother. I kinda like him more, in a weird way. There’s also some vanilla, toffee and mild figs but, covered in bourbon.

T: Again, don’t smoke while drinking this beer, the abv will ignite and BOY WILL YOUR FACE BE RED. This has an intense bourbon heat at the outset that fades into a deep sweetness and plum maltiness. The vanilla and chocolate is present and lends some complexity with all the oak and dry notes that round out this crazy chimera. Also, alcohol.

Again, this beer is both sinister and sweet. Sticky and evil at the same time. Pic related.

M: This has a hot slickness to it similar to a baby chocolate rain, chocolate drizzle if you will. The bourbon hit’s the gum line and warms your chest not unlike a salt shell from a 12 gauge. The mouth doesn’t really coat in a huge way like an imperial stout, this crazy hybrid feels like a Belgian Dubbel gone on a bender rampage. For a sipping beer, this is nice and relaxing. Also, not that it would really matter but, the lack of carbonation just made the angry abv even more rampant. My mouth was left pleading to the police that he didn’t mean it, and assured them that this beer was a “good one” and that it did not wish to press charges.

D: This is hardly drinkable in the 12oz format and, if they offered bombers that would be remiss to not offer a life insurance policy with it. The average user couldn’t take on this beast, and the average craft kid would likely feel that it was too boozy. The lack of carbonation made it all the more apparent that this beer is not here for you, it is present to shirk the trappings of a normal life. I have to knock this beer on the drink ability and overall overwhelming nature of the bourbon notes. If I wanted to kiss a Kentucky trucker, I JUST WOULD GO AND DO IT OK.

Drink one of these at 2 a.m., the sky is the limit.

Narrative: No matter how often he strayed from the straight and narrow, Clemson Biggs knew that he would somehow end up ok. “Hey, uh, Clem, we noticed that you went and vomited all over the side of your freightliner, again.” Clem pushed back the bill of his worn Bill Earnhardt Jr hat, with the Jr. scrawled out. “Oh, I’m SSSSORRY! I thought this was Darlene’s Coffee sop, I didn’t know we were in the DMVs! Hold on let me check for the illegal of BEING THE FLU!” His drawl was overwhelming and the booze on his breath was palpable. “Well Clem, it’s just, we know you are hauling ethanol and industrial chemicals on up to Truckee and, well that’s a long haul, why not give it a rest hun?” Darlene looked over her note pad and tapped her pen entreatingly. “OH OK, how about I jus never do any OF THE WORK? Oh suuuuuuuuure, everyone hey listen DARLENE will do your works and we just made in the shad-” he slipped out of the booth and knocked over a cardboard cut out of Tony Stewart. “I AM SICK OK? Just gotta get some medicine and then I can make that lil 450 mile drive and then, how abouts, this, YOU SHHHHHUT up?” he cackled to himself at the apparent clever quip that he had just crafted, much to Darlene’s chagrin. “God, when he is good he’s great but, it is just painful to see him this boozed up,” Darlene thought to herself. “Here, slice of apple pie, on the house,” she said as she slid him a piece of mediocre pie. “HOW ABOUT THE PIE HOUS-blarghhhhh!!!” Clem’s gem of insight was interrupted by his own projectile vomiting.


The Bruery 100% Barrel Aged Cuir, I Want a Beer That Says “Daddy Likes Leather”

Ah, back on the sweet Barrel Aged Bruery jams after a nice respite of sour tongue kisses. So this is the $30 100% barrel aged version of their anniversary beer, not be confused with the 25% barrel aged chopped and screwed version. Their new anniversary ale is coming out soon, so I figure I would celebrate the last day of pre-orders with this heater in the two seater.

For all the beer daddies out there who enjoy leather.

100% Barrel Aged Bruery Cuir
Old Ale, 14%

A: Great deep brown hues, like a masculine Belgian quad, this beer just exudes refinement. Its lacing and sticky profile connotes that this beer lives in a furnished loft that smells of rich mahogany. There’s a strange almost violet hue at the edge. The malty foam is like whitewater rafting with Kevin Bacon. I know, I phoned it in and fucked up on the non-pour pic, but use your imagination you ingrates.

This is a decadent gem that should be enjoyed in moderation, preferably out of the navel of a Ford model.

S: There is a huge raisin profile with booze and dark fruits. Again, it feels like you had the solid framework of a Subaru STI and then boosted it further. With compelling results. I enjoy the sticky caramel and bruised fruits all up in the mix. Brown sugar and some cinnamon poke their heads out but see that mommy and daddy booze notes are fighting and go back to bed.

T: There is a great cinnamon sweetness and again the dark fruits are dominate. Finally there is a satisfying molasses stickiness that just floats the wafty barrel notes incredibly well. The bourbon rolls deep with banana clips lighting up the scene indiscriminately. The raisin and stone fruits walk hand in hand in a civil union with the oak and bourbon and you are entirely tolerant of the results.

The heat amped up as it warmed, but the complexity of the flavor makes me not even mad.

M The mouthfeel is thin but enjoyable. I was expecting some huge maltiness but it actually keeps it pretty Callista Flokchart. Unlike its crazy brother Papier, the heat on the palate is noticeable but not over powering. If Papier plays football, this is more of a Le Crosse or debonair fencing type.

Probably shouldn't have taken this whole 750 to my dome piece. I ain't chicken. No regrets.

D The abv comes out bit by bit with warmth and makes it a little too much to take on by oneself. Then again, when drinking a 14%+ beer on your own, a 750 ml might not be the prescribed serving size. I enjoyed it immensely but, I also enjoy tiramisu. Just not a whole tiramisu. I am hardly the paradigm of moderation but this beer will get you more FEDED than Tyga.

Old ales always confuse me, but then I go to sleep and it all makes sense. Def a dank lil treat, 5/5 would read again, 2143 readers found this review helpful.

Narrative: Hitting the nightclubs with sage old Cornelius Woodage seemed like a complete paradox. What with his antiquated elephant hunting outfit, bezzled monocle, and a moustache that could only be deemed nonionic on the most hipster of circles: we just figured he wouldn’t fit in. “Guys, it’s a 3 bottle minimum for any guys, looks like we are sunk.” Cornelius strode up to the bouncer and immediately began to effect his bonhomie on what seemed like the entire line. His old genuine warmth had the tanned and tattooed masses eating out of the palm of his cream lambskin gloves. “Well chaps, looks like fortune smiles upon those who choose the flight not the right!” He clapped his riding boots together and we were immediately admitted. However, after 3 hours of drinking, he brandished a deuling pistol and fired it into a fish tank. All in all, he’s def a solid bro.


Cherry Adam from the Wood, Up to No Good. Oregon is a Republic of Hoarders

Popping that Ch-, ok nevermind.

Ok, North Carolina week is put on hiatus, since SOME PEOPLE IN OREGON THINK IT IS OK NOT TO SHARE.

Cherry Adam from the Wood, Old Ale, 10% ABV

A: The appearance has a nice deep ruby and dark brown hue that just doesn’t have a single fuck to spare with regards to carbonation. This beer is like that curmudgeonous guy at the party who just chills and talks shit on people, and cant be riled even for a supplicant game of flip cup. No head.

S: This has a deep boozy smell that stings the nostrils like Sex Panther. The cherry comes through in a muted and grenadine sort of way but it is a welcome reprieve from the Old Ale deep sticky maltiness and old timey stories. There’s dark fruit, oak, and vanilla at the end but no one listens to them, just an annoying little cadre of background assholes.

Cherry Adam in the flesh would look something like this, nerdy, into fruit flavors, complex, but ultimately will resort to alcoholism.

T: The taste has a ton going on, vanilla, oak, deep malts, pitted fruits, figs, and guess what? Fucking cherries. Cherries jubilee but coated with bourbon and set on fire. This is like a complex dessert cooked by a FIDM student that burned them and scorched them with alcohol while watching Sex and the City. It is complicated, but that doesn’t make it necessarily good, it just has longer stories to tell about its childhood, just like all the best dates you ever went on.

M: The mouthfeel has a nice warmth to it and would be at home in the old skilodge for drunks too seeped in cherry love to hit the slopes. Nice hot coating and oaky dryness make this beer shine in a world not yet created, one for alcoholic fruit lovers. One can dream.

Cherry Adam off the top ropes

D: This is just too hot and beats you over the head with a barrage of complex flavors that exceeds the scope of my appreciation. MY APPRECIATION SCOPE REMAINS UNCALIBRATED. I was able to finish the whole 12oz bottle but, I wasn’t all sad looking out a rainsoaked window pane wondering when that Fedex truck would bring me another one. Drinking it has cool bragging rights to that extensive circle of no one, so there’s always that. Try it at a club, work it into her story about being “not religious but spiritual” and see how it goes over. “OH SPEAKING OF CHERRY ADAM I HAD THE BOURBON BARREL AGED VERSION ONCE.” You can’t get less than zero girls, you can’t owe people chicks. But you can drink zero Cherry Adam, which is not a Coca-Cola product.

Narrative: “Gunnar! Get your lunch and permission slip, you’re gonna be late!” Cathy called to her second-born as he grasped the paper sack with a savage zeal and peeled out the doorway, still smelling of Taster’s Strudels. “Oh if they only knew,” Cathy thought to herself and watched the bus noisily speed away. She put on her Northface jacket, a fashion staple of hip east-coast mothers, and hurried to her Dodge Stratus to complete her daily ritual. “What would they think if they knew this was how I spent my days?” she tapped her fingers nervously and looked across the parking lot, disappointed. “Shit, they still haven’t set up, WHAT TAKES THOSE CRATES SO DAMN LONG!?” she took a pull of vanilla brandy and watched longingly as the Puerto Rican men unloaded the cases containing her sweet succor. “Felipe! Hola hola, un caja de cereza por favor!” he began to go for a box of beer. “NO FELIPE! CEREZA! CHERRIES FOR GOD’S SAKE!” she ejaculated with tense anticipation. This was the height of her day, getting lit and hitting the Farmer’s Market first thing, to land a sick stash of pitted goodness. She hustled back to the idling car with her case of cherries, rubbing the errant juice along her gumline. The children would come home and find spoons burnt with carmelized cherries, and empty cartons, but never uncover Cathy’s sweet, dark, pitted secret. So pitted.