Logsdon Farmhouse Ales Peche ‘n Brett, Get Ready to Get your Peaches Gripped

With everyone getting a fat throbbing alerection about this beer’s upcoming release, I figured I would let you know my impressions of this beer FROM BACK WHEN IT WAS MORE RARE AND THEREFORE MORE DELICIOUS. When this came out last year, people were still playing catchup and figuring out that this brewery bears a striking resemblance to a certain Vermont saison factory, but now that people know about how dank the regular old Saison Bretta is, I am sure this will be a shitshow which the PnW traders will administrate lovingly. I still can barely sit after that Cherry Adam from the Wood release. Let’s smash some peaches and stop fucking around.

The peach is there, but it doesn't taste like any of the Bretts that I know, WAKKAWAKKAWAKKA

The peach is there, but it doesn’t taste like any of the Bretts that I know, WAKKAWAKKAWAKKA

Logsdon Farmhouse Ales
Oregon, United States
American Wild Ale | 10.00% ABV

A: This is a messy old bottom of the carboy sort of affair. Smash up a bunch of saltines into a glass of Cable Car and you will be on point with how this looks. No one ever said saisons were beautiful, I SAID IT WOULD BE WORTH IT. The carbonation, as usual is excessive and goes hard in the paint, gushing all over my face and chest prior to payment. There is substantial lacing that appears wispy and then disappears forthright. The orange hues are inviting and make you bite your lip like reading Shades of Grey outside an elementary school.

what do you know about rare variant ticks? PEACHING IT LIKE A BOSS.

what do you know about rare variant ticks? PEACHING IT LIKE A BOSS.

S: This has a fantastic dryness to it that gushes hay, musk, puppy fur, peaches, apricots, and a wet leather. The fruit is actually in the back spinning records, not trying to take over the show, just supporting, making everyone wet. Smells like if someone crashed a Fantome truck into the truck delivering Upright Fantasia, AND EVERYONE WINS.

T: This is incredibly dry in execution at the outset and you brace yourself for a brett bomb but at the last minute they cut the peach wire and your palate is saved. The fruit again is not the main character but it imparts a sort of unity to the beer what with all the musk, cornbread, biscuit malt, hay, juicy juice, and Greek peach yogurt. This doesn’t get to that Fantome Ete smoothie level, but it is toeing THE FUCKING LINE. Also, if you have had Hill Farmstead Mimosa, this is suspiciously close to execution in many ways. Maybe those two breweries are saison eskimo brothers, pounding the same bugs. I am not a scientist, ask Rempo.

This beer is sweet, gentle, and a little dirty at the same time.

This beer is sweet, gentle, and a little dirty at the same time.

M: This is dry but not offputting because there is enough fruit and residual sugars from making this a super chardonnay heavy affair, I AM LOOKING AT YOU HILL FARMSTEAD E. Enough buttressing this review with references to other beers, this is refreshing and offers the biggest sniper 10% abv this side of Fantome Extra sour, seriously it sneaks in that bitch and starts riot shielding people in the skull. If you want to get faded really quickly and not know what happened, this is the beer for it. You will pop Skyrim in and wake up smelling like maple syrup with your character power leveled. Shit is real tight.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and unless you go to FIDM or are a negligent ass undergrad, I don’t know who could put these back on the reg and function in life. I could chain combo 2 of these together, but then I would start bidding on Marvel Masterpiece cards on eBay and all kinds of tawdry shit so maybe this beer being hard to find is a good thing. MAYBE THE MARKET IS ACTUALLY HELPING ME.



Narrative: “Most people think that the Brita water cleans the water but it actually adds sodium sulfates to the hyd-” Your mind begins to wander and you look at Keith in disbelief that he would talk about water purification for 4 miles of this 12 mile hike. “Yeah I get it, brita, bottled water, so did you see Celebrity Apprentice last week?” “What? no no man you’re missing it, man you are just focusing on the end product if you-” Well now you went and did it, another rant, another incline, you went and taunted the complex mind and now you must deal with his single note expression. It is like a genius with an extremely limited scope, and your hydrolysis knowledge is exponentially grown. he begins to grow on you, his affectations and the glint of his eyes when he explains the separation of nitrate sulfides, you are listening, if only superficially. “So it IS NOT REALLY THE REVERSE OSMOSIS AT ALL!” he exclaimed while you picked a wild peach and bit into the skin, embracing the wild knowledge being dropped on you. The amount of balls tripped would not be insubstantial.


Ithaca Brute Wild Ale, Another Overlooked Top 100 Beer Falls to My Liver

This might be the most beautiful beer that I have ever seen. I remember the first time that I poured it, being completely blown away by the sheer radiance. I have grown and watch several wild ales come and go, but I remember back in the day loving this beautiful, gentle temptress. Anyway, I would not deprive you of this gem, so let’s get brutish and short in today’s review. Holler at Thomas Hobbes.

Finally uploaded the pic. I has a lazy.

Ithaca Beer Company
New York, United States
American Wild Ale | 6.50% ABV

A: Wow, this beer has a type of yellow 5 radiance that would piss your neighbors off if you opened up late at night. The lacing is fantastic and it has this golden hue that looks similar to the contents of Marcellus Wallce’s briefcase in Pulp Fiction. There’s no cool way to state this so, “it is a very pretty beer.” There you go.

This beer is close to my favorite wild ale, but not quite.

S: This has an amazing apricot and peach smell to it and a crackle from the tiny champagnesque bubbles. The brettanomyces follows second with a sort of Bretty funk that reminds me of rainy days, wet carpet, and delicious soggy paper bags. It’s tough to explain but the oxidation went well in this batch, not sure if it was intended or just a byproduct of the brett C, but it works well with the clean finish presented.

T: There is a nice tart melon aspect to this at the outset that transitions into nectarine. The middle had the types of juicy flavors youd expect in Tropical Starburst and subsides into a juicy dry crisp finish. Overall, wow very good and worthy of the top 100.

M: This has the same mouthfeel as a heavy champagne. A bit thicker than most gueuze but less than some other sours. This comes off to me as an archetypical “American Wild Ale” given the heavy brett, nice balance of sourness, and dry finish. Overall it is crisp and light with a mild dryness similar to a Flanders red with a bit of a Chardonnay apple skin drying to it.

Brute makes me want to just curl up with a warm blankey and get my shine on.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I could drink this back to back all night. The abv is fantastic, the citrus notes are great, and the space for zings and jokes is tough for such a well-done beer. Any complaints at this juncture would be like “Oh the Lotus Esprit doesn’t have automatic windows” sort of concerns. Champagne problems indeed.

This beer is so radiant. So exciting. So strange.

Narrative: “And so I was all like, well, how can I ever be sure that the $450 that I give you is really being put towards an abor-:::FSHHHHHHHHH:::“ The ground crackled with radiant orange and yellow light and a being of pure energy stepped through the void, much to the astonishment of Thad and Trevin. “What the hell are you?” Thad exclaimed in disbelief, orange bolts crackling around the foyer of his palatial studio apartment. “Thad, I am Citrutron, a being of pure citrus energy sent from the future to correct your bitter ways.” The two looked at each other amazed and noted the smell of ripe tangelo waft lazily in the air. “In the future, your bitterness will cause a series of events that even you cannot comprehend, resulting in a future as depressing as it is sour. To counteract this, I have been sent to watch over you and impart sweetness at all times, to guide your wayward palate.” Trevin was pantomiming a masturbatory motion while Citrutron was delivering this speech. A single bolt of bright yellow light struck Trevin directly in the jaw, puckering his substandard comedy routine markedly. “FOR YOU SEE THE GLORY OF THE SWEET DAYS ARE NOW UPON US.” “You mean that from now on, things will be super sweet?” “Exactly Thad, now change the channel to ABC Family, all of their programming is super sweet.” The three enjoyed each other’s company in turn, until Citrutron mysteriously disappeared when the HMO co-pay could not cover their substantial dental bills. He entered a dimensional rift and inhabited the body of a Kern River cyborg, discussed HERE


Lost Abbey Framboise De Amarosa, Farmboise De Omarosa REEEMIXXXX 2012 CLUE CLUE DJ KAYSLAY THE DRAMA KING fee fee feenn feeennn.

Alright, so I don’t usually drop the beat and bring the track back unless there’s not enough snare in my headphones. In the case of last year’s Framboise De Amarosa, there was too much acidic tinny snare rankling my jimmies. I was straight rustled. So I figured I would give this a chopped and screwed 2012 flow for the masses.

Some people complain that there are too many sour reviews up in the cut like what these days. Don't worry, the days of shitty adjunct lagers and Solo cups is almost among us. The air is redolent with bluebell and azalea.

Lost Abbey Framboise de Amarosa
American Wild Ale 7.0% abv

Let me kick off this slow jam by noting that this is largely different from last year’s batch in that the acidity has been ratcheted in, they install some sick fruit forward headers, and catback raspberry exhaust. If you like a more subtle approach, you will enjoy it more, if you have dental insurance, you might like the old acidic approach, hey, whatever chases your Valtrex is cool with me homie.

Old craft beer enthusiasts are tough to impress.

A: There are deep ruby hues with some nice light carbonation and light red lacing. It’s like Hypnotiq’s baller ass raspberry flavor to be all sipping on while you’re cruising in your triple black Challenger. It looks a lil more murky than last year but on the Cuvee De Tomme tip, just a lil juicy juice.

This beer is confusing but strangely fulfilling. The mystery continues further this year. Uncel Doland appreves.

S: The smell presents an intense cranberry and acidic dryness with raspberry on the nose. The oak is present in the smell and it is has a juicy wine profile to it. It’s like Andre Rose Champagne but with leather seats and a cutty ass Gucci interior. The skins and crispness of the berries is more present and there’s less of a harshness on the low ph scale to this, and it is more approachable as a result.

T: The taste is still drying but doesn’t go balls out on the oak, it has more of a refined and balanced approach to the berry and interplay with the base beer. If last year was a caustic Fox news, this would be…The Raspberry Science Monitor? As it warms you get a jammy preserve sort of interplay that works well with the skins and wild ale base.

This is a sweet sassy gem with a sticky sense of shameful reproach when the glass is gone.

M: Again, there is an intense, huge crisp dryness. The mouthfeel seems like it’s an intense merlot with oak to round it out. It’s tough to determine exactly how thin or thick this beer is because the coating is so acrimonious. IT’S SUCH A DEEP BURN, OHHH DEEP SQUATS WITH SICK BOUNCING BETTIES, SICK DEAD LIFT FINISH BROMOROSA.

Raspberry deliciousness. TARGETS ACQUIRED.

D: This is an incredible experience with crazy highs and low to it. This is not a figure of balance, nor does it do anything in moderation. It is impossible not to recommend this exceptional beer to others. Clearly, it is not meant to be enjoyed as a sesssion beer and should be treated accordingly. The taste is so amazing that it is hard to knock it for adhering to a certain style so well. Overall it is incredibly bitter and juicy and I am left wanting more.

This amazing raspberry gem is a sign of cognition and awareness to come. FUCKING BREADCATS PEOPLE.

Narrative: The train of her ostentatious gown dragged upon the split staircase with wanton disregard for anyone walking near her. After all, there were plenty of tailors within her Parlor and weekly soirees that would readily repair any damage. Somehow Countess Brioche sought more than just the exploitation of the endearing faces of the working classes. She sought their unending love. Notwithstanding, her acerbic parents brought her up to speak her mind truthfully and freely at all times, no matter how scathing. “Oh-oh-oh!” The Duchess of Piedmont fell down two stairs to her knees upon the rich velvet of Countess Briochess’s train. “Your steps lack precision due to the mass pressed upon them.” Mme. Brioche commented and felt a slight pang at her ejaculation. It wasn’t fair to cut others so deeply with such a bitter acerbic purity. Somehow, in this acidic repartee, others saw themselves, and their own shortcomings, despite the caustic burns they received. Countess Brioche looked upon a bustling courtyard of servants who despised her, but respected her stinging candor.


Avery Brewing Company Immitis, A Tart Zinfandel Smacker for Old Nana

I always love wrangling these Avery sours to give them the business, for better or worse. Dihos was awesome, and a recent foray, for those who recall, was less than incredible. Let’s see what Immitis has in store, get your grapes in check for today’s review.

Ya'll with tinnitus can't hear what I am spitting about Immitis. C:/run_forcedjoke.exe

Avery Brewing Company, Immitis Sour Wild Ale, 9.54% abv

A: The appearance might be the darkest wild ale I have ever seen this side of Tart of Darkness (kinda?) If you really look into it like a Kubrich film, there’s a light violet hue at the very edges but this beer is straight up soy sauce black with zero lacing or carbonation. Soy sauce swag to the maximum.

Just smelling this beer and reading the bottle, you are confused, but you are pretty sure some epic shit is gonna go down.

S: Given the low carbonation, it’s tough to rankle this beer’s jimmies to elicit an aroma profile. There’s definitely some jammy preserves like blueberry, blackberry and of course red grape. On the backend is this condiment sort of acidity that comes across like balsamic. I’m not dipping a baguette in it, but it would def pair with red sauce well. Colorado loves Italian people.

T: The taste holds its own amiably and delivers a roundhouse of cherry, currant, black cherry, and grapeity grape. The tartness isn’t lambic overload but provides a complex but nuanced deck of rares and supporting uncommons to deal some damage. The abv is hidden well and I would foresee some recent divorcee seeing the Zinfandel moniker and be all stoked to pop in some Borgias or whatever mature people watch these days. This is a beer ripe for serving at some Santa Monica hotel bar with patrons saying “there’s just NO TIME once you have your second child-” that sorta shit.

Despite the initial intimidation, this beer is ultimately amiable and downright amazing in its own strange way.

M: The mouthfeel is very light and again, the alcohol runs hand in hand with the tart acidity and just clotheslines the shit out of all opposition. The oakiness lingers for a long ass time. If you have ever been to Guitar Center and seen the dude with the wavy ass hair running apreggios on a Les Paul, that last note, this is this beer. Just bewwwwweeeeeeeesoursoursouroooohhhhhhhoakoakoakoakzzzzeeeeeeegrapegrapebeoooooooo-

D: This is fantastic on all fronts and it is unsurprisingly a secret potation to take down mid-30’s women at the knee like Cobra Kai students. If college students weren’t piss poor and bad at everything, I would suggest that they buy this to increase the shittiness of watching The Notebook for the billionth time, but they won’t listen. They won’t listen.

In retrospect, it was a confusing 12 ounces, but I am better having experienced it.

Narrative: “JANETTTTT! OMG THIS WEIRDO IS TRYING TO talk to ME!” Skyler yelled across the packed Hermosa Beach bar and pleaded for the assistance of her equally shallow hateful companion. “No, I was just saying that it’s quite humid inside, which is ironic considering the coastal layer-” “EWWW this weirdo is STILL FUCKING TALKING! Not even gonna lie, gotta leave,” Skyler lied. Mike Cureant could not understand it. He was engaging, relevant, an accomplished greco roman wrestler, but somehow, engaging in civil, cordial conversation with emotionally and intellectually bankrupt sociology majors just DID NOT SEEM TO WORK. Tonight he wore a Theory shirt and was assured that has polar properties for the attraction of labia. Notwithstanding, his shirt remained soaked with a Ketel/soda/slash of pineapple/twist of lime/grenadine dash that was spilled on him by a girl whom he could only assume was named after a state or an R.L. Stine character. It was all Mike’s fault, he was tart inside and sophisticated at the same time, but he was pushing himself on all the wrong forums, with souring results.


Allagash Vagabond, A Beer for All Those Highbrow Jack Kerouac Ne’er-Do-Wells

Not unlike the Allagash Ghoulschip, I had been seeking this beer out for quite some time as well, what with its fancy packaging and paper and whozeits and whatsits galore. This beer is a complex hydra and I will attempt to cut off some heads in today’s review.

Vagabond Ale is right, details inside.

Allagash Vagabond Wild Ale, 10% abv,

A: This beer has really charming deep plum and mahogany, the radiant hue invokes melodies rhapsodical and fair. The carbonation is gentle and lackluster, the lacing phones it in and does not show up for work, even though you know it was partying the night before in the bottle. Figures.

At first I was all jazzed based on the appearance and smell, but then-

S: Holy complexity Batman. I get a caramel, plum, merlot, syrah grape, and a mild hint of wet hay funk on the backend. I have no idea how this will taste with an olfactory offering this complex. It’s like the Pontiac Aztek where you don’t know exactly what to do with it.

T: This really pains me to say this, but the taste is really intolerable. I traded big to land this and I want to power through this but I feel that I may have received an off bottle. The initial taste is a light plum crispness like a farmers market- wait, it is passing over my other zones and wow. It goes to a strange place of old halloween Rolos, then finishes with a huge strange salinity like soy sauce. I dont want it to be the case and I respect Allagash immensely but as I sit here waiting for the beer to warm I am left wondering if it is my fault, did I lead the beer on? Was it what I was wearing? You get a deep tartness initially and a red wine aspect that is incredibly pleasurable and then it just goes Thelma and Louise out of nowhere.

In this beer's defense, it is very intredasting.

M: The mouthfeel is light and crisp like biting into a juicy, albeit very salty fruit. The mouthfeel has a bit of acidity on the backend of the palate, but overridingly the taste of weird phenols or something. Again, if this bottle is off, disregard this review but man, this feels like the Aston Kutcher of the beer world punking the shit out of my palate. It reminds me of this one time when I went to Universal Studios and ate grape soda and chili and go too hyphy on the King Kong ride and ended up throwing up in the backseat of my dad’s Cutlass Supreme. The taste in my mouth after throwing up, that is what this reminds me of. Not even mad tho.

D: Well given the foregoing, take a quick guess as to how gung ho I was to knock off a 12.9 oz bottle of this. As it warmed the stakes became higher with more delicious fruit and currant aspects and even more hateful salty aspects. I came into this thinking it would be akin to Consecration or the ilk, but, this was quite different. Not my favorite beer of all time. “But you don’t have to take my word for it” – Reading Rainbow.

You don't fuck with the Wu, and you don't fuck with Vagabond ale.

Narrative: I do not want to cobble together an offensive narrative for this beer because Allagash deserves better than that. Instead, I will provide you with a Lil B’ video. Allagash Aint Got No Felonies, Brews Like Bill Bellamy.


Avery Recolte Sauvage, Oscar Wilde Ale, It is Tart; but Sassier

Avery keeps rolling out these batches of tiny, super-esoteric batches of beer that people rate extremely highly and I feel like that fat kid pressing his face to the bakery window, just looming on the sweet treats foreboding inside. Finally a friend hooked me up and I gave some Kern River goodness and both parties had tasted the rockies, respectively. This is a beer aged with Cabernet Sauvignon Grapes and then aged in Cabernet Sauvignon barrels. Basically…wine.

An immature palate wanders into the world of wine reviews...

Avery, Recolte Sauvage, Barrel Aged Wild Ale, 11% abv

A: This seriously looks exactly like Juicy Juice. Just straight up grape juice from concentrate. I guess I could make a parallel to some Merlots but really, it looks like a deep purple, no maltiness or carbination, just juice through and through, like Tupac.

There seems to be a bit of a scheme going on here to dupe the beer consumer. Maybe I am the only one.

S: The waft is of a tannic astringency, it goes to the black cherry, then dark grape varietal and lands on an acetyl tartness at the end. It reminds me of a Consecration whose balls have been pressed fully to the wall. If you prefer your testicles wall-mounted, I have a beer for you.

T: Looks like a duck, smells like a duck, wait for it. . .tastes exactly like wine. like a beer that was made with grapes, very little malt and then aged in wine barrels without yeast. Seriously, this is basically a wine with a mild bread profile. I don’t like being tricked into being a mediocre 30 something talking about Nurse Jackie episodes. This shit went Cougartown really quickly. It has a huge acerbic finish not in the cool “oh like a Cantillon St. Lamvinus?” no, like drinking a straight up glass of Kendall Jackson Cab. I look at my one time friend, the beer looking all entreating, tricking me with its vinous foul play.

Above: one of the best RPG's of all time, if you ask me to list the best wines ever, I am at a loss unless Sephiroth is involved.

M: Have you ever tasted Cabernet Sauvignon? Well, shake it up a bit to gain some bubbles and there you go. This is literally 80% wine and 20% hateful potation. The entire glass has a deep violet hue, there’s no lacing, I am way out of my territory here and I fear wineblogs are closing in, airlock is opening, if anyone reads this space station message, just tell them, I have always hated wine. . .in every…way…

D: Well again, this is determined by the nature of your very existence. I feel like I am trapped at an educational mixer with the traditional red wines, those chuckles and heel rocking with the effusive gestures. It is a perpetual “cool” PTA meeting with the notes of tannins that dry a bit and I COULD drink a lot of this, but moreover, I dont want to. It isn’t because it is bad, far from this, it is well executed but…I have the palate of a 21 year old boy. If you give me nice things I will bury them and spike stock certificates in the ground and eat Kraft Macaroni. It is my own shortcoming, not this beer’s.

Ultimately, I have ran out of arguments against wine so I shelter myself with beer to appear more intellectual. This has never happened before.

Narrative: Janice Roth was a recent divorcee, proud in demeanor, light in expression lines, stern in demeanor. Her 6 year-old minx did not trouble her much and she still served respectfully within InGeniDyneDCorp. as a regional semi-vice-personnel overseeing director. A title she held in cold reverence. Janitors would tip their caps in an almost anachronistic reverence of Mrs. Roth and as she piled into her comfy leather highbacked chair she exhaled sharply. “Janey Janey, when did it come to this?” she ruminated to herself as she operated the corkscrew within her desk to open a Chateau Margeaux, not the ’95 the ’96. She sipped the tonic judiciously and looked out the window ingratiatingly upon the foot traffic below. “The man you loved ran away, you have two beautiful girls who adore you, but something feels so wrong-” she knocked the bottle over and watched the crimson liquid gather in stern liquid rivulets. The sum value of her being was collected in this trivial libation. She had been reduced to episodes of the Bachelor and listening to Jason Mraz mixtapes. This was her inherent value after years and years of sacrifice. And then- she gets hit in the crotch or takes a pie in the face to still make this a comedy narrative, right? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? WELL TOO BAD SAD DIVORCEE STORY IS TODAY’S NARRATIVE.


Duchesse De Bourgogne, The Mistress that Starts Every Man’s Sick Foray into Sours

This is every man’s gateway drug into sours. Some people use La Folie, but this or Rodenbach is usually the potation that makes them start wiping vinegar on their gums and getting all acetic. Shit is a sad path.

Teach me how to Duchess, teach teach me how to Duchess

Duchesse De Bourgogne – flemish ale, flanders red – 6% abv

A: It looks like a maraschino cherry juice with a bit of amber added to it, a transparent stage blood color with steady cabonation, 11oz bottle pours a formidable 2.5 finger head, off pink in color. I’m not going to go for the predictable Spin Doctors joke here, so don’t ask.

This sour isn't exactly generic, but it's not exactly the best on the market. It just gets the job done like an asian Steve Jobs.

S: theres a tart bitterness to it, almost vinegar in the dryness on the nostrils, with hints of underlying sweetness. You get this juicy cherry note like skittles and a sweetness to the finish like a push pop, dont act like you didn’t mash on those so hard.

T: it starts out tart with a sour cherry note that reminds me of a wine-based jolly rancher, but rounds out to a nice sweet mellowness, no hops present on the finish, the drying effect comes up front but finishes with the sweet so it becomes for another taste. I have met people who have drank bottles of this from the 90’s back when I was in diapers still…my teenage years were…difficult.

This disguises itself as a serious sour but, eventually you will pat its head and look longingly to acetic face melters.

M: mouthfeel is as thin as the appearance connotes, its very light and watery on the palate but the dryness to it adds a bit of complexity to the chewiness, namely your own mouth lining degrading like the sands under tide.

D: It is a good beer, fun to split with someone, but not an all purpose beer. I cant see it being very civilized out of doors, not especially housebroken, but a refined anemic purebred that is for show and posterity only. However, the fleeting joy is like a puppies feet upon your shins, you just wouldn’t welcome 4 or 5 in your home, for obvious reasons.

You know she has a slight harshness to her but, you put up with it for lasting benefits.

Narrative: I didn’t think that this old metal detector would be any use, I mean, come on, what’s the likelihood that someone left GOLD TREASURE underneath the sands of Marina Del Rey? Right. The joke is on them because I found the treasure, and not in the Miramax “your friends are the true treasure” sort of way. I am talking about smoking hot redheaded seacreature treasure. It turns out, obsessively walking the beach day and night makes you pretty attractive to mythical seawomen. Yeah I said it, mermaids, big whoop yawannafightabout it? So I was walkin along minding my business and then suddenly this sweet merbroad comes out of the depths and foam, mumbling something about whozits and watzits galore. So I showed her the boot I found, the bent fork, the book of cliches, you know things you find in the ocean. She was totally stoked and took me to her underground cave lair, which I lamentably could only enjoy for a few moments before blacking out due to depth and lack of oxygen. I tell you this though, she had some PRETTY NICE THINGS. So sure, falling in love with a sweet, elusive redhead is great, but sometimes it takes a lil work ya know? Big whoop


Goose Island Lolita, Getting Nabokov All Twisted.

Finally a wild ale even non-pedophiles can enjoy.

Lolita, American Wild Ale, 7.0% abv

A: light cherry red hues with minimal lacing and carbonation that dissipates quickly. Capri Sun nailed it on this one and Hi-C is jocking so hard.

S: the Brett funk is present with wafts of wet hay and blankets. It is expansive and in the words of one observer, “something is rotten.” In my opinion, all is well and delicious with the aroma, considering the style. It finishes with cherry and tart fruit roll up smells. It’s like a ridiculously alcoholic recess sesh.

This beer is tempting, but dangerous.

t: Raspberries are present with a very sour mild drying effect that is not overwhelming on the sour. Overall is has very good balance and is incredibly refreshing. The juiciness has a strange tart nature with a crisp nice bite to the finish. The hops are completely absent, but they are not wantonly missed. Gushers for grown ups all up in my grill.

M: Put simply, there is no coating and the maltiness is similar to a lambic or a thin profile gueuze. You swallow and bam it’s over, all that anticipation and just a fleeting sour note, like most Brendan Fraser movies.

I want to sit around and be patient for more, but, I know it will never come.

D: This is a tough call because it is very drinkable but slightly drying after 22 oz. It reminds me of listening to a Dragonforce album, where at first blush you love every note and run, you praise the complexity but after a solid hour of it the wear and tear of the items all taking place at once begin to grate on you. It is hard to fault and, just short of Russian River and Lost Abbey offerings, this is incredible.

Narrative: Lola had this anxiety in her chest. A strange aching pain that began just after 6th grade that she couldn’t explain. At first blush it seemed like a mere tightness, or maybe just a hormonal inbalance, however, she began to realize some powerful changes in the following year. Now I present this not in a biological or coming of age way, to be quite blunt, Lola could reduce her size at will. It began simply enough she would exhale to relieve herself of the constant worry and tension and note her sprite figure diminish from her regular 5’1” stature to a 4’6” height. With practice in her room, she even could push these numbers lower and lower until at the crest of her 14th birthday she could rest comfortably sweet and refined amongst her massive pillows with her things. Her iPod screen showed full screen matinees and all over her childhood possessions took huge new forms. She was indeed as Lolita as one could be, ensconced in between the comforter. She giggled to herself when her mother came in and couldn’t find her amongst the folds. She was as sweet as the day was long but she held that tart little character, and an everlasting little secret.


Surly Five, Wild Ale, 8.2% Abv, Baby When The Lights Go Out…It is Dark

This beer delivers more than the average forgotten boy band, only more sour.

Well with all the holiday bitterness coming, I figured I would give you some sour delights to placate your cravings for old boy bands.

Surly Five, Anniversary Wild Ale, 8.2%

A: This is a deep dark ruby red with some mild browns at the center, the lacing leaves something to be desired NAMELY MORE LACING. This isn’t granma’s foyer up in this bitch, no cosies, doilies, lacing, or webbing. The lack of carbonation is saddening.

The lack of lacing is more depressing than Sarah McLaughlin commercials

EDIT: The second pour had more foamy goodness, quite unlike those depressing commercials.

S: There is a distinct waft of cherry, tart currants, nail polish remover, and deep merlot. There’s a backend of wet hay and 3rd grade classroom on a rainy day. You know the drill, soaked dirty children.

T: The taste is distinctly tart, with a sour cherry flavor that fades into a red wine tannic finish. The dryness is compensated by a nice clean finish. It feels like a baby Consecration, but a solid Nissan Altima of the sour world. Although I have to say, I am a bit skeptical due to how readily the gentleman who provided me with this amazing beer was ready to part with it. A scholar and a gentleman indeed.

The tartness and limited availability make me suspicious. Just a little too...delicious...

M: The motuhfeel is crisp and swift and leaves a tart jelly jam sourness upon exit. It drinks very well and hides the alcohol like a miserly eastern European. Sometimes the tartness becomes annoying like basically anything with Taylor Lautner in it, but this is pretty tolerable.

D: For the tartness, alcohol, and deep complexity, it is surprisingly gentle. Big old acidic Lenny holds my hand gently while I tell him about the sour cherry rabbits and demonstrate my knowledge of 9th grade English curriculum. Overall, I would buy it again, but I cant, so I dont think I would trade for it again. Not cheap but, there’s just too much beer out there. White people problems.

Gave Surly Five to my cat, it imploded like a Gushers commercial with PURE SOUR RAGE.

Narrative: The POV camera premise just seemed wildly degrading to Tony Wachowski, TRU TV or not. “Alright Wachowski, you’re a loose cannon, and we all know about your rage,” Tony’s captain boomed from his podium during what was probably a morning briefing, I dont know. “So we are putting you on traffic duty, the commissioner is BREATHING DOWN MY ASS ABOUT LAST WEEK!” Tony shifted in his seat. The truth was, he didn’t have rage, and the incident was a series of missteps and unfortunate coincidences. “Hey uh sir, like I told yas, that fruit truck-” “FUCKING FRUIT TRUCK NOTHING WACHOWSKI, you are on meter duty.” I mean really, it would make even the finest officer bitter. Tony could still see that group of five year olds, covered in sticky, smashed cherries. “Sir, can I at least have my firearm back?” “GOD DAMNIT TONY, you are lucky I let you have your REGULAR ARMS.” Ultimately, no one would have predicted that merely tossing a Burt’s Bees chapstick container out the window would have blown out the tread of the fruit cargo freighter, overturn and kill several children, drowning them in sour fruit on the way to the preserves factory. “OH I AM SORRY TONY, the rest of us will wait while you SNACK ON SOME CHERRIES! NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE.” Tony would never use chapstick again.


Goose Island Juliet American Wild Ale, Jamammy name Juliet

Wherefrought Art Thou

Juliet, My Sun, wherefrouartthou, Jamammy name Juliet

Goose Island Juliet 6.7% Wild Ale

A: Deep amber and light ruby notes, almost no carbonation, no lacing, very tame in body not very sticky, and like the foam parties of the late 90’s I like dem bodies all sticky icky. Also Chemical Brothers, where applicable.

S: Huge wild notes, funk vinegar, grape peels, sour blackberries, tart wood finish, but let me tell you about the REST OF HER. Ba dum tish.

T: The fruits are more mellow, but refreshing. I will rarely give Consecration a run for its money but this is very on point for the style and finish. I ultimately love the oaky and high abv of the Consecration but this is just fantastic. The vinous notes are supported with background sweetness and the tannins are great and add a layer of complexity to it. It gets down all tart and starts merking the gumline, popping and locking all up in the sweet and sour zones, popin lockin dropin that birthday cake.

M: It is very light in maltiness, thank god, and lets the fruits and wild aspect take charge with the full character. The drying fruit skin notes resonate for just long enough to make you want to reengage. I love that it doesn’t cop out the indistinct sweet/cider route or try to be a gueuze in disguise. This is distinctively sour and the experience is top notch. It’s doing things well without additives, like when sours rock fake contact lenses or extensions, you know something is up. Or when your sour only earns $800 per pay check but has that LV bag, you know something straight questionable. Not here, Juliet keeps it real.

D: All. Day. Long. This is a great beer and the abv makes it universally accessible and great to offer anyone. The light character with HUGE taste makes a crazy synergy that makes me want multiple bombers of this. If I had more patience, I would age it further and enjoy the mellowed version but, I do not and it is great as it is. It’s pretty legit, not exactly too legit to warrant quitting, but, quite legit.

Narrative: Juliet knew she had something special to her. At first it was just idle whispers when she was younger. As she came of age, she learned to hone in on the narratives and focus in on the voices in her head. She had learned to learn a lot of things from the flowers, especially in the month of June. It was an ethereal talent that really did not give her any special insight to the world, but it was a power her own. “JULEZ? Are you still sitting out in the boysenberry patch?” Her conversation was interrupted abruptly and she had to put the rhododendron on hold. “Yeah mom, hang on.” The flowers really just complained and imparted sour notes into her life, but, somehow being so in sync with the idle problems of the flora made he feel whole. Juliet was a sweet minx, but sour through and through. “BUT PRAYTELL, HOW SHE FIT ALL THAT IN THEM JEANS?” the tawdry floral chorus sang in unison as she walked away.