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Marin Brewing Bourbon Barrel-Aged Old Dipsea With Brett, Pop Mad Bottles and Start to Feel Dipsea

Oh wait a second, two vintage rar barleywines in one week? Sounds about right for this site. Here’s a roaster from the Bay Area that has been tossed in a barrel and then lightly infected, to taste. Let’s see if Northern California brings anything to the table in today’s review

This was back when taking pics with, or even owning, a Blackberry was acceptable.

Marin Brewing Bourbon Barrel-Aged Old Dipsea With Brett
Marin Brewing Company
California, United States
American Barleywine | 9.00% ABV

A: The look is clearly murky brown ale or a hateful barley wine and the latter is the frontrunner by a longshot. It has a mild murkiness that doesn’t impart a ton of sediment or carbonation. It feels like this beer has had enough punishment and just wants to be consumed, like anyone on the cover of US! Weekly.

Whenever someone starts comparing barleywines to King Henry, I be all like-

S: This will not make your cranium explode: at the outset you get mild infection which creates cool funk and some hot peat notes; your boner is shortlived once the bumbling dark fruits roll into tow, feeling out of place at best.

T: There is a decent malty note that drops off precipitously into mediocre “deep fruits” but again, there are just so many other haters doing it much better. The years gave this some good mellowing time, but it still will not be winning any spelling bees. If I see this for less than $15, I will buy it absolutely. Let’s not cross streams, this is delicious, but it is. . .strange?

Brett in a barleywine seemed like a good idea, many things sound like a good idea at first.

M: The mouthfeel is a bit weird, it comes on with this cigar smoke/burnt oak which is cool for a bit and then goes ape shit and turns into a fig/plum mess for about .5 seconds, then it is a brown ale. You look out your cellar door and you say to yourself “ok, what happened?” 2009 just happened. Each drink is like this.

D: I can honestly say that 2009 mellowed it out. That being said, it did not tame it completely. I couldn’t drink an entire bomber of this, nor do I want to. Again, the caveat is that I don’t enjoy the idea of infecting barleywines but, I guess after having your dick slammed in a car door several times you are…less averse to having your…dick smashed?

I was told that barrel aging always improves beer, wait wat-

Narrative: God damnit, you are born with a huge gullet for feeding on bottom feeder fish and all of a sudden everyone assumes you are the symbol of fertility. Sure, they don’t know the difference between the old pelican and a stork but, it just strikes you to the core with hateful interpretations. You just attempt to be a mid California bird of prey and all of a sudden Napa house wives are casting their undergarments into the bay at the outset of your wake. How you wish you could tell them that it wasn’t that UC Berkeley PhD in gaelic studies that would enrich their lives. IT WAS WHISKEY. The pelican was not the paradigm of fertility, it was the bird of vice, SO DRINK MORE, he would opine.

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Lost Abbey Cable Car, Ring a Ding Ding, The San (Diego) Francisco Treat.

What else can we way about this amazing sour that hasn’t been etched in the stalls of homosexual nightclubs already? This is an amazing beer. I have only had this beer three times and each time I nodded contemplatively at spending a pretty penny to try it, not even mad tho. This beer sweeps the leg and makes me want another, not unlike giving a mouse a cookie, he is going to want a vert.

This beer is only for sale at Torona- WAIT WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?

Lost Abbey, Cable Car, 7.0% wild ale

Oh wait, let’s not forget about the Cable Car Kriek, not even fucking around on this review:

Take an amazing sour and then take it to the kriekzone. Feeling like a cherry popping daddy.

A: Light pilsner color, mellow gold, a refined golden ambiance. The kriek technically deserves its own review but I will just ad lib this shit, the kriek has a bright radiant hue like cherry afterbirth. Amazing beers on both aspects.

GOD DAMNIT I need moar of this beer. You must understand my frustration.

S: Strong sour geuze smell, crushed sweettarts and a melted fruitloops wafting. There is a mild funk of wet hay and a deep crisp granny smith apple note going on that is super cutty.

T: This beer is intimidating at first, strong smells and notes, but ultimately this is a calf that you can wrangle without oppression. It is akin to mutton busting, something that seems difficult until you tackle the sheep, and pull its majestic fur to the ground. At its core, it is temptation with milder souring, lighter drying effects, less tanins in the grape aftertaste, and finally champagne crisp apple notes in the finish. Nothing you can’t handle but an exceptional balance. It is the lovechild of gueuze and champagnes of the mild brut variety. I love the dryness even if it slows me from enjoying the white grape and fuji apple notes.

This beer is unique, yet respectable, strange, yet friendly.

M: Fantastic, crisp and light, the entire experience has lemon zest and feels like a Hootie and the Blowfish Album. You can dispense this pellmell and no one will look askance. If not for the oppressive Toronado’s standards, this could be something everyone could enjoy, if not for proprietary despotism. This is well worth bootlegging, well worth epic trades. Just really good, but if you want to tread this road, there are more refined paths as smoothe as marble for your wanting cart, should you not have epic cellar gems to take down this beast.

D: Again, fantastic but competing in a league of legends. I would drink this all day, fixing my carburetor, prepartying for the charity gala, snuff film exposition, you know, guy stuff. I find myself in a love hate resolution with this beer because I love what it is but I hate the air surrounding it. It feels like seeing a person with a TOOL shirt on. you love the syncopated rhythms and complex melodies, but you dislike the fanbase in general. The faux highbrow ruins what would be a fantastic experience.

I need more of this sour gem, I cannot stop thrusting.

Narrative: Sir Fredrick Willingsly is repossessing your car. You can’t hate him for doing his job, but, without a 1998 civic DX, these pizzas arent going to deliver themselves. You hate him, with his cliche antagonistic handlebar moustache and fogged up monocle. However, his wry quips relating to Howards’ End and class struggle made it all the sweeter. “And thence upon from which one has had, none shall take without” he declares with a cloud of aplomb that almost makes you lighthearted in his usurpation of your chief economic asset. He is akin to the Mr. peanut of recurring vengeance. your pocket despises him, yet you respect him for his casuistic enforcement of the law. “God speed Willingsly, dont scratch my sick mugen exhaust on the dip. Godspeed.”