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Boneyard Hop Venom, The Only Cure for Hop Venom is More Hops

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All those hops feel just like getting boned in the yard.

Boneyard Beer Company
Oregon, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.90% ABV

A: This beer has a light amber to a caramel tone, deep orange, maximal carbonation with a huge 3 finger head with little to no lacing, but maybe I just had a magic growler that imparted extra carbonation, how should I know? You wanna fight about it?

Dont approve of unbalanced DIPAs? Your argument is invalid.

S: Holy unbalanced beer detected, off the charts tropical fruit Skittles, blood orange, tangelo and lemon notes with a light herbal finish. After these East Coast gems, this lack of precision is like a blunt hophammer to the face. GUESS WHAT, maybe sometimes it’s fine to get blasted in the fac- wait, fuck.

T: There is a slight sweetness at the first taste that segues into a deep citrus assault that hits the gumline with a deep fulfilling dryness. The star of this taste is not the first or the second, it is the deep grapefruit aftertaste, which similar to a spiciness, makes you want to take another sip to keep chaining the after taste. It does a great job of hiding the high alcohol content because the majority of the focus is on the tangy citrus stickiness with just light bitter notes so that the warmth of the 9.5 % abv glides by undetected. After one of these though, the extreme drying becomes repetitive, like the 160 bpm of hard house music, it just gets a bit overwhelming and monotanous at the same time. GOOD THING I AM ON MALI WHILE TYPING THIS REVIEW. Psyche.

This reminds me of a series of knockoffs, however, this gem holds its own as a hop Manticor with several hissing heads.

M: The mouthfeel is inviting and smoothe, incredibly thin, but not overly malty. There’s not a lot of chewiness or coating to balance out whatever crazy hop blast that they have established here. The beer is a bit unbalanced, but not in a bad way, it feels like they knew what they were making and in only 2 liter growlers, this shit gets dangerous real quickly. They knew the niche market they were appealing to. Again, the extreme acidity from the hop oils runs to the sides of your mouth and sets up camp for a lingering 5 to 10 seconds, it will certainly jade your palate for other beers that you may have had planned. I am fine with that, this beer is amazing and I highly recommend getting your face drilled by it.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and took a moderate amount of effort not to finish this entire 2 liter growler to my dome piece. But then again, is that anything new on this website of excess? I drink these things so that you do not have to. This beer pairs an awesome sweetness with an addictive deep hop profile that juices your bitter zones enough to beg for the cooling rains of another sip. This happens ad infinitum until your Bend, Oregon dreams are shattered and Fedex is the only winner.

Cats may not enjoy this beer, but cats also can’t metabolize alcohol and hop oil, so fuck cats.

Narrative: Roger spun the chamber nervously trying to appear cool and collected. He had never been to a gun range before and felt completely ridiculous taking the pulchritudinous Taylor Emery to a gun range on a first date. “You okay over there?” she called from the booth, fidgeting with the paper cutout of a man pulling a woman behind a dumpster to be fired at. “Oh yeah, sure! Nothing like my old, er 6 shooter to cool off a day after, FUCK-” he dropped the .45 shells onto the ground and collected them hastily. He noticed a single forest green bullet and slid it into the primary chamber, trying to maintain a cool panache. He handed her the magnum, full action. This was not Taylor’s first run at the range and she gripped the stock with power and as the hammer struck the charge a huge green cloud escaped into a mushroom cloud of sticky splendor that smelled similar to a 7th grader’s bedroom. Minutes later, after firing only a single round. The two agreed that guns were deleterious to human progress and elected to watch Wonder Showzen with the sound off at Roger’s dorm room. The biological weapon developed at the University of Oregon was working to end war, one round at a time, getting kids hopped out of their minds on sticky, dank rounds.

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COAST Boy King, The Best DIPA from the South Weighs In

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Big thanks to Calton Sparks and Steve Kim for this elusive hop bomb. The DIPA king of the south, finally reviewed as (D)IPA week steams along. You would think the South would be the masters of IPAs, bitterness, hot temperatures, juice supplements. However, it has been my experience that this is not their strongest suit, UNTIL THIS KING OF BOYS CAME ALONG. I had to wait over a year for this stupid beer to be made again so that I could review it fresh for you. That’s how much I care. Let’s get knee deep in the Lord of the Flies in today’s review

For all those drinkers who dream of having a kingdom of boys.

COAST Brewing Company
South Carolina, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 9.50% ABV

A: The beer couldn’t be more on style with a golden straw, deep yellow color, and subtle brassiness that imparts a 2 finger head of carbonation that dissipates slowly. It doesn’t go all super radiant and has a bit of an amber hue that makes me wonder if this will be a “balance bomb” but, I will let that shit slide for the time being.

A DIPA from the Carolinas already lets you know an evil hop ghost is lying in wait.

S: pine, grapefruit, a subtle citrus note to it like it is winding up a haymaker. Whenever you watch UFC in the south, this could be your hoppy companion for each grapefruit blast to the face. I will add that the pine has both hands in the Doritos bowl which is kinda offputting but, piners gonna pine.

T: great hoppy dryness to the initial taste, not overly bittering though, bitter tastebuds are in tact, the middle has a sweetness to it almost that is balanced with the light malt, the final taste leaves a lingering grassiness that welcomes another drink, the high notes in the initial hops link up nicely with the final notes of the low hops in the aftertaste. It tastes almost identical to how it smells, light citrus with pine grabbing your sister’s ass abruptly.

When I smelled this beer, pine started gripping all on my face and abusing my lower lip. My face was all like-

M: Light and drinkable, similar to most IPAs, not a significant amount of coating on the mouth, the light carbonation lends to the character of the beer, mild body of the beer sets the stage for the wellbalanced hops. The drying effect the coats the tongue with bitterness, it attacks the sides of the tongue and wipes out the salivary glands with a bitter orange rind citrus bitterness, the lack of sweetness/citrus makes the IBUS even more pronounced, the hops resonate upon swallowing and the aroma expands

D: exceptionally drinkable, some 9.5% abv beers would be tough with overly hoppy character to balance the alcohol but this toes a nice line, very exceptional for a casual beer. While session beer is almost a pejorative, this joins the ranks of what I would call “Super Balanced IPA Super Fun Squad.” Pliny, Oracle, Double Trouble, You know the characters. It is on point with those fellows and shoulders their ranks amiably. Buy this and drink this, dont save it, dont brag about it. Just enjoy an exceptionally balanced DIPA.

I have no idea when I will see this beer again, so I will wave goodbye and remember the hoppier times.

Narrative: “Alright, try to calm down” the police sketch artist pleaded “I know it is shocking, but try to remember something…anything.” What could you tell him, it was so offensive and abrupt, you’d almost rather just put it behind you. “Well it was bitter…unexpected…” “yes yes…go on..” God, what do you tell a complete stranger about a man who confronts you and pushes bitter hops in your mouth, “listen, I just dont feel up to this right now,” you still feel its grassy stench in your nasal cavity “ANYTHING HELPS” FINE “OK IT SMELLED LIKE PINE…PINE! Are you happy now?” your jaw lightly clicks in the tense silence that ensues “Did…were there any hops cones or flowers left beh-” “HOW DARE YOU ASK ME SOMETHING LIKE THAT.” The police artist completed what looked like a pirahna plant from Super Mario Brothers 3 world 7-3. That was him. “But, let me ask, what were you wearing?” “I AM OUT OF HERE-“

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Oakshire Brewing HELLSHIRE I, Hellshire II Chronicles the Story of the Outbreak

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Now we turn our attention from Vermont back to the Vermont of the Pacific, full of greenery and tolerant, socially conscious people. Also, shortsighted artistic hipsters with no post-30’s goals. Way back in the beer timeline, people were super jazzed, Charlie Parker even, for this barleywine to drop. Let’s see how it fairs in today’s review.

Yeah, no pour picture for this one. Boo hoo, now you have to use your imagination. YOU ARE NOW A PART OF THE GREATEST GENERATION.

Hellshire I
Oakshire Brewing
Oregon, United States
American Barleywine | 10.00% ABV

A: This had a deep brown copper color to it with a great clarity considering the amount of frothy carbonation and lacing that it leaves on the glass. It seems pretty par for the course, not exactly turbid, not transparent, just by the numbers like a Jake Gyllenhaal movie.

This isn’t the best barleywine that I have had, but I will always ACEPT MOAR!!!!1!

S: The wood just leaves the bottle and the glass and makes itself right at home in the immediate vicinity. This has more wooden notes nice and boozy bourbon to it than most beers I have encountered, however the bourbon seems a bit imposing and overstays its welcome like basically every character in any Neil Simon play. There is a nice caramel smell with some vanilla and toffee, BUT YOU ALREADY KNEW THAT.

T: This beer dries and imparts a nice booziness to the palate in short order. Each sip is strangely overwhelming and alcoholic for its 10% profile. That’s not to say that 10% is insignificant but this is the life and substance of this beer: booze, oak, and caramel. It is a wire frame drawing stripped down to the component frame of what a barleywine is. I need some more padding before I get double stuffed like an Oreo.

This feels familiar like other BA offerings but unbalanced and strange. Kinda creepy.

M: This has a great caramel body to it that coats nicely, however, no one should smoke around you as you will clearly be a fire hazard. The waft of this is like rubbing alcohol that is somehow abated by the sticky wood and malty notes. Unbalanced, but refined, is how I would describe this beer. Take your Nova II and drop a 454 into it, allow your 16 year old to take it to prom. Post obituary results.

D: This is incredibly shippable, for long periods. Drinkable? I guess that comes down to how much time you have on your hands. Get yourself and old tymie rocking chair, and a Victorian porch, sure you could pass the days away sipping this and telling the neighborhood kids what words “used to fly back in your day.” But for the rest of us, this is just too big of a beast to control. That being said, please send me more of this, for the lulz.

If Martians came to our planet and saw us drinking this, they would assume we were bourbon cyborgs that ran on Kentucky tears.

Narrative: “Well nah….I aint no big city lahyuh!” Atticus Oakwood boomed to the ladies and gentlemen of the jury. “But I say, I say, it seems to me that if you exude negligence, then proximate cause is just gonna, I say follow!” The voir dire went almost as strangely. This man was clearly drunk each day of Trial, reeking of cigars and cheap whiskey, yet somehow, he could articulate the finer points of incredibly dense material. “See now here, hyennnnhhh, see now, if the perpetrator were using the oak resaw machine, wouldn’t the shavings land to the right? Closer I say to the barrel refinery?” Each juror nodded intently and breathed through their mouth to avoid the acrimonius cloud that was imparted upon them with each passing word from Mr. Oakwood. “SO THERE CAN BE NO NEGLIGENCE!” he declared triumphantly and the words resonated against the rich mahogany walls of the courtroom. “Mr. Oakwood, your methods are unorthodox, but I must concur, I RULE IN FAVOR OF THE DEFENDANT!” He wiped his brow and popped a Worthers’ Original into his mouth, just another day in the office for that old boozer Oakwood.

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Avery Uncle Jacob’s Stout, A Stout that Socks You 215 years Beyond the Grave

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Avery beers have been divisive for me, sometimes it is a tart delight, other times it is a dramatic wine substitute. This is a nice foray into the world of their hellish huge beers in the same lineage as Mephistopheles, The Beast, Grand Cru, etc. I enjoyed one of those three, so we shall see how this 17.42% abv giant socks me in the face in today’s review.

The Left Hand glass is appropriate because this beer straight slapped me across the face.

Avery Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 17.42% ABV

Let’s let the label speak for itself:

In the quest to create a collection of barrel-aged beers to be reproduced annually, Avery Brewing Company is releasing Uncle Jacob’s Stout, the second member of its Annual Barrel Series. The collection began with Rumpkin rum barrel-aged pumpkin ale in the fall of 2011, and now continues with this 17.4% ABV stout that was aged in first-use Bourbon barrels for 6 months. While the Avery Barrel-Aged Series features one-time-only batches, such as the recent Muscat d’Amour and Récolte Sauvage, the Annual Barrel Series features a selection of cellarable barrel-aged beers that fans can return to and get to know every year.

In other words, get ready to get socked in the liver.

A: This is jet black, Joan Jett black and this beer loves rock and/or roll. The lacing is minimal largely due to the huge slick sheeting imparted by the massive ABV. It settles to an inky blackness almost instantly but I wouldn’t expect my tank class to be nimble.

This beer will beat you ass, but you won’t feel embarrassed about it at all, well maybe a little.

S: The smell of this beer isn’t too menacing and almost comes across as something at half the alcohol content. There’s some gentle chocolate and brownie batter smell that subsides into some nice light char similar to a sweet Cohiba cigar. The bourbon has that oaky vanilla aspect similar to single barrel Buffalo Trace, but at 684 cases you know they used Rebel Yell or some shit that Eclipse nerds go apeshit for. Smells good, but this is the eye of the storm.

T: The sweetness of the bourbon rolls onto the sweet zones like tight sickles prickling the entire way back in a crackly chocolate pop rocks sensation. The light char can barely hold back the massive kraken that is the bourbon and sweet malts profile. Even the baker’s chocolate looks pissed, furiously rolling out baked macaroon shurikens and tossing them down the back of my throat.

Maybe it is the 17.4% abv, or maybe I am just too immature for this shit. Or both.

M: This is as hot as a New Mexico meth lab and scorches the insides just the same. The chocolate and coffee notes haunt like specters of mouths past, letting me know that this 12oz bottle should have been shared but, oh well, too late for those prodigious moments, off to 17.42% assaults. The chocolate octagon takes it out on your liver and Uncle Jacob stares on knowingly from a bourbon barrel altar, thumbing through the maltronomicon.

D: This is a tough call, at the outset I want to pull the simple “too hot, too big” red flag like all the haters but, I don’t think deserves that treatment. Sure it is a behemoth to wrangle and puts you back in 6th grade pretty quickly, the 16 bit RPGs are busted out after a single bottle. Sure you CAN drink a single bottle, but you certainly SHOULDN’T. I mean, sure I did, but do you want to be like me? Buying clothes at the LA Morgue and running a website that talks shit on beer nerds and hipsters? Well, I guess it isn’t so bad.

I guess this is similar to being put at peace, it is tantamount to self administered anesthesia.

Narrative: “This is a cop out but, I can’t formulate a reasonable response to this beer. My chest feels like E.T. punched my sternum and my mouth is like a 5th grade sleepover chocolate binge. I was gonna write this dystopian steampunk novella about a chocolate harbinger that steals bourbon souls, or some shit, but after a couple beers and then this haymaker, the creative juices are frozen in my head. I homebrewed something of a similar strength that was aged on Willet oak and it gave me this same heat in my chest and light residual headaches. Maybe I am just a cooze, maybe I could have just framed it as a first person narrative from some dialogue mouthpiece but oh well, here we are-” Thomas Jacobs thought to himself in his 8th grade algebra class, thinking of the 6’er of Coronas he had hidden under his bed.

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Peg’s Cantina G.O.O.D. Rare D.O.S., C:/run_DOSwhale.rar IT’S SUPER EFFECTIVE

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For anyone watching at home that isn’t familiar with this big fat cetacean beast, this is the initmitable Rare D.O.S. I am sure that the RareR was amazing, but this is the unassailable O.G. of the stout world. I am hesitant to toss around definitive titles but this may be the best stout that I have ever had. I said it. What your stout got to do with me? I ain’t trying to hear that see.

This may have been the mostly costly stout that I have ever landed, excepting a certain black whale that is forthcoming.

Peg’s Cantina & Brewpub
Florida, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | ABV ?

This has never been bottled. This has never been growlered. It took some seriously shady maneuvers to lock this one down, enjoy the fruits of my efforts.

A: This came from a 15oz swingtop so at the outset I figured that this would be flatter than Keira Knightley but it actually still came through with a huge viscosity, deep sheeting like Bed Bath and Beyond. The lacing still arranged mocha foam streamers like some barista baby shower. The deep mahogany pool reflects my failures like the portal at Delphi.

I hope you tried plenty of great bourbon barrel stouts before this one, because this beer will end that shit pretty quickly.

S: God damn this smells so good. This is like the discarded uniforms of the employees from See’s Candy. There is a nice charred molasses and baker’s chocolate that feels like a Sequoia and Willy Wonka scrapped it up hard. There’s also muted marshmallow foam and vanilla bean on the backend. It is an extremely well balanced and delicious smell. It takes the ultimate Voltron aspects of my favorite stouts and composes this beast mode Power Ranger amalgamate for a crazy hybrid stout.

T: This is the best tasting stout that I have ever encountered with the tight reigns of Goose Island Rare pulled close. To think that this second hand handbottle approached the throne of the best stouts that I have ever had and comfortably sits upon the throne. I can only imagine this fresh off the tap, but that would require a trip to Florida, a prospect that seems like slamming my cock in a bourbon barrel aged car door. Alas I digress, this beer tastes amazing and I can’t honestly rattle off the traditional cadre of adjectives because it killed my palate in such an inventive way that it seems like a series of serial murders that remains unrequited to date.

I dream of a world where everyone can enjoy beers like this, without having their handbottles questioned.

M: The mouthfeel has a coating somewhere inbetween Huna and Abyss but delivers much longer lasting satisfaction on the sweet coffee notes that just resonates like an Adele wail. You didn’t even have to get dumped by a chubby chaser to enjoy this beer. The sheeting coasts like a bourbon SeaDoo kicking up a noteworthy vanilla froth.

D: If you have ever seen some crazy shit on AMC that you can’t explain to anyone that approaches brilliance, you will know how it feels to try this. It was like a fleeting phantom that I opened alone like a complete asshole on a Tuesday night and I sat looking at the wall like an apparition in Plato’s cave. I have had other stouts that approach this archetype but this particular little gem from a certain unnamed source rocked my conception of what bourbon stouts could be. If you have seen my site, I have had a few within the genre. I could easily merk a growler of this and smile under the dialysis machine.

My face was all like this when the bottle was gone, but I was too lost in the moment for a fuck to spare.

Narrative: It was the day of the MCATs and Jordan Belzer felt a tinge of panic in his brow but knowingly patted the inside of his jacket. The sweet caress of the cool 15oz bottle gave him the assurance that he needed to pull through this endeavor. “At the sound of the alarm, you may begin the examination” the proctor announced and Jordan spit out a chocolate candy from his gumline with khaki stained teeth and grinned to himself. The alarm sounded and Jordan took a deep pull from his medicinal bottle within his Kill City jacket and felt the sweet elixit run through his veins, edifying everything that he had known before and after, all synapses blasting on full bourbon glory. Jordan was technically intoxicated while completing each section, but it was a lightning fast panache, and the brew/apothecary in Koreatown did not lie. Whether it was the tiger penis or the phen phen in the chocolately solution, he achieved the peaks of greatness he would never know again. “BZZZZZZ!!!!” the final alarm buzzed and Jordan awoke to find the entire test completed. He staggered out into the afternoon sun and squinted at the prospect of medical school and gripped his empty glass container. The swingtop clipped back and forth jovially, almost calling him to the apex of greatness that the liquid blessing just imposed upon him. Jordan spit a deep vanilla black expiration upon the asphalt and watched it glimmer in the summer sun. He had just approached the edge of greatness and blacked out to tell about it.

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Hill Farmstead Biere De Norma, Norma-tive Statements Abound

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In continuing with our theme this week of beers that were not easy to come by, we turn to lovely old Norma. This was a Hill Farmstead release, 180 bottles released to the public, 1 per person. Do the math on that one and figure out how easy this one was to lock down. Oh, and it is also completely amazing, so there’s also that going for it. Let’s develop the record in today’s review:

Norma-tive and Prescriptive ontology both declare that one must rationally seek out this tart gem.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
Bière de Garde | 7.00% ABV

A: This pours in a similar vein as the other Hill Farmstead offerings but instead of the hazy straw this looks a bit more amber with some murky orange tones at the edges. The radiance is undeniable and the halogen lighting doesn’t do this one justice. The carbonation was incredible and took a while to subside into some tattered lacing on the edges like zombie clothing. Norma is beautiful.

The sour nature will burn your face off and make you stronger as a result.

S: The lactic aspect of this beer is undeniable and straight out of the gates it sets to work scorching my eyes and nostrils with tropical juicy fury. The funk is really apparent and there’s a certain hay, fallen leaves, and cobweb panache to this beer that delivers the tartness with a strange aplomb.

T: This just gets to drilling my bisucpids right away and there are no fucks to be given about my dental care. I get ripe oranges, tangelo, papaya and acidic grapefruit sans the bitterness. There’s a solid malty backend on this beer that is like fresh buttery sour cornbread that exudes old barn musk. If that makes this seem undesirable, let me rephrase that, it is incredible and well worth the repeated failed efforts it took me to land it. Incredibly puckering and musky at the same time, like gym class at the Sunkist fruit factory. We’ve all been there.

When this finally arrived in the mail, I was like BOOYA! Borderline racist caricatures from Tostitos.

M: This is as dry as Diane Keaton’s vagina and just as refined. Every aspect of this beer exudes poise and refinement while completely tattering my incisors and gumline. Despite the punitive aspects, I come back for more, obediently seeking tart lashings. Again, the review uses off-kilter comparisons that might convey negative aspects but I mean this with incredible reverence, this is a great beer. It is hardly a Biere De Garde, but awesome nonetheless.

D: This is fantastic and the acidic notes make you come back for more, while working in tandem with the voluminous carbonation to push it down your facehole with staggering speed. I want more but, I think with minimal effort we can get a tally of the bottles that are gone, so cue the sighs.

And eventually, the delicious bottle was gone, anger sets in.

Narrative: Nana Acrimom was a silent old matriarch that ruled her farm home with loving care and a tender arthritic hand cased in iron. The children would scamper home from school up the dirty path reeking of the floral presentation that only autumn in Vermont could deliver. The leaves were crushed in their hair and trousers with careless abandon. Nana Acrimom had a special method of allowing her tart apple pies to cool in the barn amongst old cars and her leatherworking equipment. When the children would dig their hands greedily into the tart batter, the musk from the barn would rise to the sky sending a cascade of old denim, dust, and dried hay into the air. They wouldn’t have it any other way. Later, the children each underwent orthodontic surgery for enamel destruction, but those special summers eating face melting pastries were the bee’s knees.

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Founders Imperial Stout, KBS, FBS, CBS, Now it IS time to cut the BS.

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The first time that I tried this beer was in a bar called “Blind Tiger” in Manhattan and I looked like Jafar discovering a bottle with a malty chocolate genie inside. Then I got into trading and the generous ass beer community ruined it for me by forwarding delicious morsels like this my way on the reg. THANKS A LOT GUYS. So this isn’t breakfast, it isn’t from Kentucky, it has no health care so it sure isn’t Canadian: IT IS JUST A FUCKING STOUT GUIZE. Alright, so let’s cut the shit and get down to business today.

See that there, that is a real pour. Go to other beer blogs, look at the Vanilla Dark Lord pours, 1 molar unit of beer, FUCK THAT. Embrace your self-effacement.

Founders Imperial Stout, 10.5% abv, 90 ibu

A: This beer is as black as an Al-Quaeda masquerade ball. Deep slick oil tones, khaki bubbles, mocha tones, great middle carbonation. Deep murky ink sitting hatefully waiting for someone to love. Don’t you want somebody to love? Or would you say you NEED- alright. The carbonation is legitimate but doesn’t flex on you too hard. It’s like some officious gym advice that scare you but, just look at those malty traps.

finally a beer drank exclusively by non-virgins. This is a tough, beef jerky making, log slaying, man beer, Equal opportunity inebriator.

S: Licorice, vanilla, bourbon, toffee, burnt cigars, and a caramel finish. A complex and interesting bouquet. Beers like this are a bitch to review because the sweet husk of perfect execution makes me have to point out how the hot girl had mid digit hair and build an entire case against her as a result. This beer has mid digit hair, ON MY CHEST AFTER I DRINK IT.

T: This tastes like KBS, introductory edition. It has hints of bourbon, hints of the big coffee roasted notes, but doesn’t take it over the top. The balance is phenomenal and it feels like a powered down version of a supercar, the Porsche Boxster to the Carrera if you will. It is by no means deficient, just hits a different mark. This beer tastes as barrel aged at they come without involving a barrel. I don’t know the exact availability but wow, this is the flagship of the east coast (psst Midwest, whatevs, geography lulz.) Just fantastic through and through, it’s like the FAMAS in every single first person shooter, you basically don’t NEED anything else, but, its a solid standby.

This stout straight werks it, borderline twerks it.

M: This has a great coating, nice sticky coating, not overly possessive, lets you go out with your friends without dominating your life, just a nice resonant stickiness that makes a mess without making your life messy. It puts a bit of a resin on your teeth but it feels responsible. The oral hygenist that leans over your lap a little longer but not uncomfortably, you know the dreeze.

D: This is incredibly drinkable despite the ABV, despite the IBUs, despite the errant nay sayers, you can love your Founder’s Imperial Stout however you’d like. I could drink this under any conditions, well, ok, if I had my testicles in a vice, I would enjoy it moderately less, but still, could be worse. This is amazing and if not for its overachieving older brothers, this would easily be in the top 100. GOD DAMN OLDER BROTHERS THAT STOICALLY LIVE IN BARRELS.

Nothing fishy here, just an entertaining stout, through and through.

Narrative: “I can’t go in there, I promised that this would be the last time,” Doug muttered to himself while sitting in his 1995 Dodge Stratus trying to create an explanation for his situation. “Don’t go to the coffee store Doug, that’s what the therapist said, you don’t need any more chocolate Doug, you know, AH HELL!” he cried out to himself and swung the door of his unremarkable, poorly made sedan. Doug burst through the door and entered the modest foyer holding several bags in each hand with a menacing grin on his face. “Oh for the love of God, Doug, MORE? Seriously?” he issued a flippant smile and proceeded to walk to the parlor and deposit his treasures. The parlor had become less of a refuge from domestic life and more of a Wonka/Starbucks/Scrooge McDuck den of iniquity. He emptied the bags into the pile and bags upon bags of 85% cocoa chocolate, whole coffee beans and even vanilla nibs were embraced by the pile. “THIS IS JUST GETTING OUT OF HAND, YOU, I MEAN LOOK AT THIS!” Madeline pleaded with him. In Doug’s mind, this was not excess, but the paradigm of balance. “Oh sure, one room with 125 lbs of chocolate, 125 lbs of coffee and assorted toffee and vanilla snacks seemed obsessive TO SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T UNDERSTAND!” Doug slammed the rich mahogany door and laid in his treasure trove of sweet succor. The sheer balance alone was enough, but there was a special embrace he felt while making a coffee/chocolate/vanilla/toffee angel in his living room floor.

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Dark Horse Brewing One Oatmeal Stout, One Stout to Bind Them

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Ok so you drank One, but what is it called? And other such “who’s on first jokes.” I always enjoy the mouthfeel of this style but hearing that it was done by the kings of HUGE BEERS, Dark Horse, I knew a shitstorm was a brewing. Let’s check the drizzle in today’s review.

If you are drinking this for breakfast, you probably work at the Post Office or some other government job with zero accountability.

Dark Horse Brewery, Oatmeal Stout Ale, 8% abv

A: I was expecting a bit of welcoming breakfast time fun here but it was just a petulant hatred of deep blacks and mild browns within the murky middle carbonation. The khaki head has that great lacing and tiny bubbles that I used to lay awake in my bunk and dream about in summer camp. Nice tiny bubbles and a coffee appearance make this clear that this is for big people and tattered livers.

This beer is just out of control, I don’t know what to do with it Maury.

S: This has a great coffee and chocolate profile with a mild cameo from everyone’s favorite trickster duo, toffee and caramel. Their appearance is fleeting and you wonder if they got IMDB credit in this project.

T: This is more bitter and acidic than the pleasing Founders Breakfast Stout, however, the bitterness isn’t cloying and the sweet chocolate notes balance this out pretty well. It’s like finding weed in your 7th grader son’s comic book binder: you aren’t mad, just disappointed. The experience doesn’t linger and keeps this to more of an everyday sort of stout instead of those 4 a.m. in Iowa City bender stouts where you walk around with khaki colored teeth. We have all been there.

This is clearly not the work of amateur brewers.

M: This is an oatmeal stout so I expected it to crush it out of the park in this category but, eh, it doesn’t have that silkiness and creamy pseudo-nitro tap feel to it that usually slam dunks this category. It seems almost like a black IPA were the coffee notes not so all up in the mix. It is decent but for an oatmeal stout, the mouthfeel should be too legit, even to quit.

D: This is moderately drinkable, and very pairable, for the old obvious reasons. I can’t say that this is a bad stout but it certainly doesn’t knock it out of the park and feels more like a baby Imperial Russian Stout instead of an Oatmeal Stout. It needs to practice its major chords and let go of its rock star arpeggio shredding dreams.

This is a great stout, without Koalifiers.

Narrative: “MICHAEL? God I swear sometimes you just don’t listen, go get some Gladwrap and DO NOT GET SARAN WRAP, you did that last time and ruined the bake sale for everyone, so if you want Kaitlyn to cry, go get Saran, you’re good at that, ok so can you handle just getting GLAD. WRAP? OK?” Michael stared off and ruminated to himself about the dreams that he entertained at age 16, gripping the steering wheel of a broken down Plymouth Neon Espresso. Now he gripped the plastic bar of a supermarket shopping cart and was the regular recipient of admonishing and chastising for minor purchase deviations. “Yeah, the Sara- GLAD. Ok, Glad.” He nodded and thought back to the raw energy of those first bluegrass shows that he attended. The raw oats crushed into the ground and the sticky sweet twang of the steel guitar. Now he felt so mildly bitter and artificial. “They, well, the Glad was more expensive so I got the other-” “GOD DAMNIT MIKE, is it really that hard not to be a complete failure at everything?” During his wife’s diatribe he heard the sweet dulcet tones of Loretta Lynn and drifted away to a time bereft of cellophane wrapping.

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Re-up the flows

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Alright I have been slacking, I will pump out some hot new yeastbeats soon, in the interim peep out what I have been sippin on lately, don’t worry, unlike Judy Winslow in season 3 of Family Matters, I won’t abruptly disappear.

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Barrel aged partridge with the Louis Vuitton belt buckle when it is keeping all the heat strapped.

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Bourbon barrel hunaphu, for when you want that cinnamon ancho to rock some BALs.

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Hill Farmstead Norma, next level lactic maneuver.

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Stone QM Virgin Oak El Camino Unreal, No peppercorn stems no fig seeds no sticks. Put your BALs on the 78 freeway for an Unreal experience.

Enough beer porn, reviews will be back soon, cancel that Welbutrin prescription and flip that to some Valtrex instead because DDB is about to make it nasty.

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Green Flash Double Stout, When a Single Stout Isn’t Enough, Double That Shit Down.

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Green Flash, ah, just the name feels like the deal of the century. They nestle shoulders with Lagunitas warmly and provide amazing beers are incredibly affordable prices. I love this brewery and they consistently roll out great gems for everyone to enjoy, not just elitist aleholes with boxes littering their homes. So let’s double down some stouts in today’s review.

This beer is stunning and this shit didn’t even go into a barrel. . .that one is coming soon. . .FORESHADOWING TO THE MAXIMUM.

Green Flash Double Stout
8.8% abv

A: This is a welcoming blackness with some deep brown hues. There is a fantastic huge carbonation and lingering forestry of lacing that webs over itself and sticks with aggression. The entire beer is incredibly well done and surprising, not in an elitist way, but come on for the price this beer delivers more than some of the overhyped brewery only releases. I am super serial.

I need MORE OF THIS STOUT. All the time.

S: This is incredible for a beer that is not barrel aged. It presents a huge drying coffee, burnt wood, and 85% cocoa chocolate profile. But with a smoothness like a Feist sustained note. Deep, dark, but entreating. There’s a dryness and a crispy brownie batter aspect to it.

T: The taste is very simple. It imparts a huge burnt dryness that tastes like the dregs of a great espresso that melts into a chocolate profile with that bitterness that is common to very dark chocolate and then a splash of water, and it is over. It is a chocolate splash mountain of flavor and Brier Rabbit barely has time to say anything, edgewise or otherwise.

With something this dark and powerful, shit gets dangerous real quickly.

M: This is swift with a medium coating but a solid coating for about 2 seconds and then it scurries off. It is almost like they want you to drink the entire 4 pack in a single sitting. WELL GREEN FLASH, I see your challenge and respectfully decline, I have other matters to attend to. The end taste of the coating has a sort of a burned black licorice that is interesting, but fleeting. This is a swift little stout but even the most capricious Clipper spies a Galeon on the horizon. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

D: This is incredibly drinkable if, and only if 1) you enjoy coffee, a lot or 2) you cannot wait for baked good to be done and you like baker’s chocolate, a lot. If you want a huge filling stout, this isn’t the one. This is a deep dark oaky coffee ninja that imparts and retreats. Toffee shurikens are likely involved.

Smootheness coupled with an integrated alcohol profile makes me not know what the hell is going on before I knew it.

Narrative: “Another one, this is a series, to be sure.” Detective Branning spit angrily upon the ground and clenched his jaw. “Another chocolate store robbed blind, in an instant, with the insides gutted and replaced with…shitty coffee.” “Yes sir, it just doesn’t add up.” his assistant, Detective Willoughby added. Willoughby’s glasses slide down the bridge of his nose as he chewed on the end of his pen contemplatively. “You know, if someone wants chocolate that bad, why go through the trouble of replacing it with all this shitty coffee? Just don’t add up boss.” Branning nodded and looked into the bag’s of Seattle’s Best, then into a barrel of Yuban. “Someone is fucking with us, it’s a calling card, he’s letting us know that he can get away with it.” Branning ejaculated and flipped his notebook shut. Meanwhile, in the alley adjacent to the knocked off candy store, a lone Peruvian man garbed in all black shook his head morosely. “No detective Branning, this is far from a game, and it has only just begun,” he chortled as his diminutive 5’2” frame chortled with menacing laughter. “IN THE LAND OF SURPLUS CROPS, THE MAN WITH THE CHOCOLATE IS KING.” Branning took one long look at the crime scene and said, “well Willougby, whoever did this is either really sick, or was raised in a place that doesn’t understand relative product value, OR BOTH.” He kicked a lone coffee bean and watched it slide into a pool of melted chocolate.