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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.

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O’So/Funk Factory, Dweller on the Threshold, Staying Turnt up Don’t Turn Down for Nothing

Alright full disclosure: Funk Factory owner, Levi Funk, is my roll dog. Notwithstanding, in true DDB form, I will still give him triple digit penetration on a trill 900 word banger review. This is a collaboration between FF and O’So of that Goldilocks fame. That 450 (?) bottle swagger, staying on like Porsche lights in the hood.

Yah trick YAH.

Yah trick YAH.

Funk Factor/ O’so Brewing Company & Tap House
Wisconsin, United States
Style | ABV
American Wild Ale | 5.25% ABV

Lol first and foremost, I want to point the differences between the Ratebeer and BA descriptions of this beer:

FF

A: This pours a deep burnt orange and light amber like that fossilized sap that them Jurassic Park bugs be layin in. There is a light carb that wisps and crackles like a ground bloomer and dissipates quickly. The lacing is insubstantial and settles to a gentle ring sitting on those 808 sour drums, bouncing hard. There is a light turbid aspect to it, not sick clarity, but not out of place in the current American Wild game. More gold than Trinidad James posted up on Rosecrans.

Lovin that cheesiness, plus this beer isn't even racist at all.

Lovin that cheesiness, plus this beer isn’t even racist at all.

S: This is my favorite aspect of this beer and the olfactory is outright phenomenal. There is a light musk, orange rind, wet bicycle seat on that Brooks trill, there is a some oak and lemon zest with crush yard trimmings left in the rain and a subtle tannic finish. I could sit under a railway underpass and huff this hard, all day long just musking it. It is one of the most Belgianesque waft I have encountered on this side of the Atlantic, straight Doesjel flows.

Sometimes the homage mirrors the source material in awesome new iterations.

Sometimes the homage mirrors the source material in awesome new iterations.

T: This opens with a sharp acidity with a grapefruit dryness that comes across as slightly acetic at low temps. Let me qualify that, I don’t mean acetic like excoriating Small Animal Big Machine, I mean a light sharpness akin to Grand Funk Aleroad or a balanced Oud Bruin, if you know how it gets throwed. This tastes like a a coovee of Cable Car 2010 and Doesjel. There is one foot on the American Wild side of the argument but a compelling musk and leathery goodness that you could sip up in the attic just breathing in that funky particulate matter. The cheesy closer is a perfect compliment to the acidic body and contributes to sky high drinkability.

M: The mouthfeel is a bit disappointing due to carb levels that don’t have that Pop Rocks crackle along the gumline, however, this Killer Instinct combos up the drinkability. So it takes with one hand and jerks you off with the other, so not a bad deal altogether. The chardonnay oak is restrained and, unlike many other American wilds with that apeshit ph2 shit, this is restrained and exhibits balance in this regard and you don’t want away with GERD after drilling a 750ml. Chopper in the bushes, goozie in the tree, this wild wont light up your chest like E.T.

D: As noted above, the gentle carb and judicious distribution of acidity makes this exceptionally crushable. I killed the entire 750ml in 2 rounds of Battlefield 4 and I don’t even die that much SO IMAGINE HOW FAST THAT IS SRS. Highly croosh, soft and prickly like some Koosh.

supes croosh ultra amber koosh

supes croosh ultra amber koosh

Narrative: The trains to Brussels clipped along the railway gently, providing a slight rock to the interior cabin. The passing telephone poles passed with metronomic rhythm. Angel Walters pulled the chamber back on his .45 Desert Eagle and examined the chrome inner workings, dropping the gilded clip into his palm. The forthcoming mission would not change the world, but it was a daring initiative. Agent Walters, also known as Ph3, was charged with obtaining the microfiche from the Belgian Embassy of Internal Compliance. Belgian exports usually surrounded gourmand items of old world decadence, but these schematics held the nuclear cellular makeup of an intensely powerful microbe: The Sennebug. The United States needed to obtain the biodata on this local fauna as all synthetic attempts to recreate it in a lab had failed. If the Sennebug were unleashed on a crowd of Pittsburgh tailgaters, the effects could be devastating. Lowered pilsner consumption, introspection, sores along the gumline, reduced birth rates, and increased literacy levels. Agent Ph3 needed to prevent this at all costs, but for now, chocolate and a gentle snooze while riding the rails.