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.”


Funky Buddha No Crusts, Pack This in Your Child’s Lunch, Crazy Trading Power At Recess

Do you like peanut butter? How about sticky jelly? You like being drunk? Well here is the solution for you, drunken PB and J explosion. I had this beer on two occassions, last June it was amazing, last January, it was like peanut butter Consecration and half the bottle erupted. In the interests of fairness, I will review the amazing first foray. Drink those Funky Buddha bottles early, guize, srsly.

Who knows, maybe your shining face will appear on this very illustrious beer website as an alecreeper. One can only dream.

The Funky Buddha Lounge & Brewery
Florida, United States
American Brown Ale | 6.00% ABV

A: This beer had a nice fluffy appearance and great transparency to it with lucid brown hues throughout with amber at the edges. There’s a tame stickiness to it like a turbid glass of sticky chocolate milk.

PB and J beer? Next level ale maneuver. Fucking smart.

S: This is bizarre through and through. It has a deep peanut smell to it. Seriously. It smells like a burnt peanut/walnut with some oiliness to it. There is a grape skin element to it as well. It smells like an uncrustable.

T: This will be incredible easy: this is a pureed peanut butter and jelly sandwich. That is all that needs to be said. A grape juiciness is imparted in the middle with a huge dry peanut finish. I cant believe that I just typed that but yes, it is a peanut and grape beer.

This beer reaches for new heights and scores hard in the paint. Peanut butter alegasm dunking on fools.

M: It is light and lingers gently with a peanut oils finish. There is a huge amount of sediment in the bottom of the glass. It washes away clean and tastes incredible. I have no style guidelines to base this on but its is just simply amazing.

D: I have no idea how that they did this but it is incredibly offbeat and amazing. This is my introduction to this bizarre brewery and I am incredibly impressed. I feel like I could drink a ton of this, in the same way that I weighed 120 lbs in 5th grade. I love PBnJ sammies. Hands down.

I am content, but I want this many more of these.

Narrative: The Ukraine Gulag was oppressive and cold. The winters were harsh and provided little reprieve to its prisoners. Fyodor broke granite slabs in the dry cold winds day in and day out. The prisoners would have no hope were it not for one thing: the smackerels. Sergeyevich, the local lifer had developed an incredible knack for taking the hard tack, provisions and crafting delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from them. The prisoners bit delightfully into the sticky messes with careless abandon. “To the devil with the proletariat masses who keep us within these walls brother Sergey, for a single bit of your smackerels, I would brave the plains of the Gobi desert TWICE OVER!” An overseeing magistrate rapped his cane hatefully on the metal railing twice and the prisoners meekly demurred. “for your jelly…I will live on.” The prisoners nodded in concurrence. Sergey raised a single palm and sagely advised: “I don’t think you are ready for this jelly. No Alexey, you are not ready for this jelly.” He exhaled with indolence and continued to smash granite slabs, looking out upon the icy plains.


De Struise Aardmonnik – Earthmonk, For Those Times When Spacemonks are too Terrestrial

Ah Struise, these crazy mixologists always roll out noteworthy gems and I always love getting these on my doorstep. Today we step away from their stouts and take a dive into their sourer side for some Belgian kisses in today’s review.

The Ansel Adams of beer photos up in the club popping bottles.

De Struise Brouwers
Flanders Oud Bruin | 8.00% ABV

A: This beer is completely flat. I am talking like day 5 of bottle conditioning flat for the novice home brewer. I poured it with anger and, nothing. It looks like a murky quad with some deep amber tones against the light but overall just a deep cola color.

The perfect beer for baseball season. Have fun.

S: Holy hell, this lights up the nostrils with a bouquet of cherry, currant, red grape, and a huge vinegar profile. There’s a sort of delicious nail polish remover aspect going on here, but with figs. It’s like M.A.S.K. vehicles that look all janky until they transform into some bad ass robot and get sued by the Transformers lawyers, except, no one gets sued. WHICH IS ALSO BAD ASS.

T: This imparts a cherry juice sweetness at the outset and then, like bosses when you chip away that their HP, it turns into this deep brown ale base the finally fades into a bitter merlot. This is similar to Veritas 009 in that it is just completely confusing. At the bottom of it all there is a bitter cherry aspect stacked on top of a flat brown ale. This 11oz bottle was more than enough.

This beer is weird, dark, but I like it. Don’t ask me for a full analysis, it just works.

M: This has a flat, stinging, drying aspect to it. I don’t know if that was an intentional Brew Dog tactic to attempt to push the envelope but it didn’t resonate too well. Part of me doesn’t want to keep it swashing around my mouth to determine the coating. I will give this a moment to warm up to determine if it improves.

D: Ok so, it improves a bit with some heat on it but, the result is that it turns into a bottle of Rodenbach with a bit of age on it. Only more expensive. I don’t want to have to buy an Accord and wait around for it to turn into an RSX. That seems wasteful. I guess this is drinkable if you have the time to age it, or sit around and wish for better days. I like my beers good out of the bottle, not with all this molly coddling. To be clear, sours and wilds are my favorite style and this Oud Bruin should have been lazily draping its arm all up in my palate, cuddling within the ambit of my tastes. Sadly no, I can’t recommend this with more accessible and delicious things taking place all pell mell.

When you see it, you will realize this book was published in 1990.

Narrative: “Kenny, good to finally meet you, please, come in-” Mr. Jennings motioned entreatingly to a palatial foyer, a mere pre-foyer to another foyer, the transition from French to Portugese marble was an option that was specifically selected during construction way back in 2006. “Have a seat son.” Kenny’s palms began to sweat profusely and he wiped them upon his finest jeans, purchased from Nordstom Rack. The boot cut ¾ standard common to last year’s denim was not unnoticed by the constituents of the home. “They know, I can tell they are judging me.” he thought to himself scornfully. “Now Kenny, Miranda tells us that your parents own a fruit packing conglomerate, that sounds fascinating. Please, tell me about it” Mr. Jennings leaned forward importuning Kenny gracefully. “Well it’s uh, pretty interesting with the cans, and well you know the-” Kenny looked down, “they can tell that my parents own a modest preservatives operation. Why am I even bothering?” He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, “hey son, relax, I know you aren’t who you say you are, but, I respect that” “Sir, I” “son, the pectin on your shirt sleeve, the wax seal stain on your jeans, it’s obvious you are not who you say you are, but, I like the cut of your jib.”


Nail Brewing, Clout Stout, This Australian Brewery Just Nailed Me Harder than a Beta bro.

Alright so from Cabo to Vermont to…Australia we travel today to sample this super .rar 300 bottle gem. Mad props to my Aussie homie Pat for hooking this up, keeping it cutty with backwards flowing toilets. Alright so you’re thinking “So what, a Bourbon Barrel Aged Stout, we have that shit here in (wherever assholes live.)” Well sure, but I thought that I knew what candy was until I tried some of those dope Bimbo jams coming from down south, so let’s see what is going on in that penal colony and determine if having the world’s best beaches has helped them step up their alegame.

Ehhh damn I think I just got a Clout, it’s pointing to the left-

Nail Brewing Australia Pty Ltd
Russian Imperial Stout | 10.60% ABV

A: First and foremost, can we talk about how fucking awesome that bottle is? I think I am nailed up just looking at it. Clearly the Aussies love to develop a bottle that will 1) cost a fuckton to ship to the US and 2) can be used as a bludgeoning weapon once you drill all 750ml of 10% stout inside. That’s how I roll with growlers so maybe they know me better than I know myself. The beer itself is slick with nice wateriness that doesn’t coat massively but leaves some nice mocha frap foam on the edges and the slightest sight of this beer will make you instantly unattractive to all chicks born later than 1991, oh well, haters gonna hate.

Sometimes you just know you are taking on more than you should at the outset, with awesome results.

S: This takes you to the candy shop and proceeds to demand that you lick the lollipop. It has a deep frothy Nestle Quik aspect of sweet diluted chocolate and Horchata sweetness that goes to a nice pumpernickle dryness to round shit out. I don’t see myself drinking this after hitting sick barrels or getting super pitted but hey, I have never been to Australia. If I went down there and merked this entire bottle to myself, I would probably be down to teabag a rattlesnake. Don’t threaten me with a good time.

T: If the smell took you to the candyshop, then this is like getting sucked up into the chocolate water tube like Augustus Gloop. It is watery but not in a bad way, like it knows that if it was thicker this would take you to Darklordville real quick, population: no one in Australia. I like the gentle chocolate, mochafoam mixed with light coffee dryness, real sweet raisinette aspect to the finish that sticks the landing. Again to beat this aboriginal horse, this is sweet sticky icky ooh wee, put it in the air. You ever use magic shell but are too much of an impatient fat ass to allow it to congeal into a shell? Well this is what you get, slick, thick, watery, and sweet at the same time, like that stripper from Houston whose false name you can’t remember.

It all started so fun, awesome bottle then, oh shit Austalians just beat my ass, by proxy.

M: This is slick and gentle, splishy splashy by our American standards but it is not any worse off as a result. I like the agile aspect to this big beer and it comes across like Nightcrawler, nimble, steady, but can teleport you into some fucked up situations. The bubbles have a crackliness to them that is satisfying but drying at the same time.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and, like most good things, it is gone incredibly quickly. This reminds me of what would happen if you amped up Czar jack or another thin bodied stout to the sweet/Imperial Milk Stout direction. Not saying you need to talk to your kids about this style but, it is never too early. Remember that, it is never to early to warn your children about the dangers of Imperial Russian Milk Stouts from Australia Aged in Bourbon Barrels. Now you know.

Sure, it looks sweet and fun, but just try explaining to animal control how you got your genitals mangled by an otter.

Narrative: The speculative interests of the East Connecticut Trading Empire knew no bounds. While technically no one “owned” the south pacific island, the Connecticut government sent a flotilla of its most able seamen to claim it for the CT empire. Their public school system was an embarassment, their national image was tattered after Ernest Borgnine hit the scene, and this was just the act of aggression that would put old CT back on the map. The settlers wished to plant a new export crop, coffee, which seemed to be the rage with all the intellectuals that that fled their state, so they hoped to regain social image by founding Hipstonia, a coffee plantation that would disband if that residents all agreed that it was getting too incorporated. However, they tapped into a deep herbaceous presence, g4 cacao plant hybrid mixed with kudzu that spread at an alarming rate. The conquerors were strangled alive in their polos with upturned collars. When the residents of New New Hampshire paddled over, all that they could discern of the remaining bodies were, ironically, articles of Banana Republic khakis.


Founder’s Cerise, Would a Cherry by any other name pop juice like this?

Ok so let’s get one thing straight, Founders does stouts like no one’s business. Their IPA program is also very good. However, once the rough road of sours and wilds present acidic gravel, my limited slip palate differential just gets rocked so hard. So is this the best cherry beer I have ever tasted? Let me save the suspense, unless this is Cable Car Kriek, then fuck no, but my point is, this might not even come close to the mark…OR DOES IT?

If you walk into this expecting some majestic kriek experience, check your high hopes at the door and go meet the grenadine escort.

Founders, Cerise, Fruit Beer,
Michigan dropping elbows, 6.5% abv

A: This has a hue akin to a ruby red grapefruit juice, it is translucent with light reddish orange luminescence. The carbonation is swift and exits quickly, not unlike the time I went to see Pootie Tang, starring the inimitable Chris Rock.

This is a refreshing blast you might want to avoid.

S: This smells similar to a white zinfandel with cherry notes added to it. There are sweet sticky grenadine notes and a dryness that pangs of oakiness. I have my fingers crossed that this doesn’t go all ape shit and hit that fruit juice and cider tone. Often times, the fruit shoes are illfitting and they readily follow the Toucan Sam maxim of following one’s nose.

T: It begins with a sweet juicy note, cherries of course but with a lingering acidic sweetness similar to a grape juice. It is a bit too sweet for my tastes, not as oppressive as the New Glarus Belgian Red train wreck, but this is a currant fender bender. The dryness and wine notes offer a wine cooler reminiscence that reminds me a bit of red champagne. This is strange, but you enjoy it if only for the innovation, not unlike going to see a Ray Romano stand up comedy show.

The elements are all in place but the execution leaves something to be desired like a stupid fucking 15 year old with a $700 camera who posts shit on instagram.

M: The mouthfeel is dry but the overbearing sweetness just submarines the gains that the innovation and tartness makes. It is difficult to focus on the coating and mouthfeel when there’s this din of sticky madness going on. Sure I can try and write the next great American novel at Boomers! But it just seems wildly inefficient. This shit is just too wacky, cherries all up in my dome piece.

D: This is light and has pleasant carbonation but, the sweetness just pangs the conscience and I feel like I am drinking fruit roll ups and melted starburst. It doesn’t go so far as being as saccharine as the energy drink fold, but it is still cloying. As a result, this remains sticky icky ooh wee, the likes of which I do not wish to put into the air.

The moral that I learned is that you need to prepare for disappointment from your greatest hero.

Narrative: “I just can’t do this anymore, I’m…I’m so sorry.” Ted Langston hung his head in shame. “What do you mean you CAN’T DO IT? It’s the 1990’s, get with it TED! People are on board, SMALL WONDER IS A HUGE SUCCESS!” Ted spun small circles with the toe of his shoe and shook his head in a recalcitrant fashion. “No, V.I.C.I just doesn’t make any damn sense. You’ve taken my science fiction sit com and turned it into a sticky sweet mess. I mean, have you watch the intro? The father is sitting on the grass laughing, that’s not the face of a man who just developed a fully functioning android daughter.” The FOX board official wiped his face with the utmost solemnity. “We have so much riding on this, the love triangle, the adopted asian robot brother that we were going to integrate, you’re…you’re just gonna give up on Small Wonder, just like that?” Ted rubbed his palms together and stared at the plaque on the wall “Young Artist Award.” “I’ve vested too much in this, it began as something amazing, a great institution, but here we are, 4 seasons deep, things are just sticky sweet and messy, there’s a what, what are we doing now a CLONE robot who talks in non-monotone? This doesn’t make any damn sense, there’s too much goddamn nonsense in this show!” He banged his fist on the mahogany table and delivered the absolute shall to the executives. “Alright Ted, but how about in season five we don’t add the alternate dimension, the adopted kid, the prohibition timeline time machine, the love interest for every main character, or the very special episode where V.IC.I. learns about sexually transmitted diseases, will that make you stay?” Ted was not a tart berry to be picked and pressed, besides, he had a new project, Clarissa Explains it All, through which to expound his existential views.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Uinta Labyrinth Black Ale, You Have To Fight a Minotaur at the End of The Bottle

Alright so let’s lay this to rest, black ale? No. Imperial porter? No. This is an imperial stout aged in rye barrels. I swear if they wrote that on the front in font size 22 they would have sold 200% more units. Everyone who stumbles across this ends up loving it and always says the same shit “BLACK ALE? I NEVER KNEW IT WOULD BE THIS GOOD!” Brewery kudos, labeling gaff, but in the end if you make an amazing product, you could call is Manticor Jizz and I would still probably drop the $15.99, just to, you know what I mean-

Infantile beer pics for the win.

Uinta Brewing Company
Utah, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 13.20% ABV

A: shiny black with a dull pallour that reflects a slight viscosity above a super black stout such as Abyss etc. Nice coffee colored head with thick lacing. The light around the glass was sucked in and not even photons could escape the lacing. This stout is a straight up entropy vacuum.

S: Black licorice notes, whisky heat on the nose, burnt coffee and oak scents, with a final sweetness that I cannot place, something akin to “dark caramel” if such a thing existed. There’s a mild anise and some leathery aspects, but a manly ass spaghetti western chocolate leather. That kinda shit.

A gigantic dark ale aged in rye barrels, Utah just introduced some serious problems to the rest of the Union.

T: Fantastic complexity, tons of bittering on the front with tomahawk hops and very herbal notes that give it an anise black licorice taste, think a shot of fernet brancha that fades into a chocolate milkshake. The coffee maltiness rounds out the body of this beer. The front explosion on the sweet taste buds is so overwhelming because the beer itself is so bitter, labyrinthian in character, your tongue cant make heads or tails as to where to go. The carbonation is moderate so the heat and chocolate oiliness is left to linger, which might be bad if the finish weren’t so pleasant.

At first when I realized this was a big black ale, my jimmies were rustled, then they were unrustled when I realized how good it was.

M: the mouthfeel has great coating, not excessive maltiness or carbonation. In fact, I feel that it was slightly flat if anything, but given the complexity of the flavor this is not a fair sleight to such an ambitious beer. Tough to push past the 2 beer mark unless you are really a fan of stouts and darkness to your beers. Most palates could handle a 5oz taster and that would be sufficient I am sure. But very tastey nonetheless and highly recommended.

D: I dont remember liking this style that much, what with Unibroue’s Terrible and Death and Taxes not leaving lasting impressions, however, this is probably the best “black ale” that I have ever had, excepting Mortification, which is very tough to find. It will likely be clositered into a niche where you use it to impress your friends who dont like beer, or relegated to the back of the cellar until Autumn begins its defoliation. This beer is certainly not welcome while one is working on his Transam or wearing cutoff jean shorts by the lake. Both activities comprise a large amount of my general lifestyle so it will be a tough one to work in.

After about 700ml of this, shit gets real and you start to wonder how you are going to get anything done in the morning. Scary realizations abound.

Narrative: Fumbling with the, is this it, my lighter? Click click, the flint strikes but only reveals more blackness. The last thing that I remember was approaching the everglades at night when I tripped over some licorice vines and, now I can’t make heads or tails as to where I am. The moon itself is obfuscated into a murky pallour behind jet black clouds, projecting a pathetic reflection. CLICK, finally the lighter strikes and I can see that my predicament is more complicated than I remembered, just darkness in each direction, an enveloping shroud that slowly seeps one of any hope of escape. Several paces later, and I feel more weathered, yet it seems I remain in my same position, more fatigued, with a lightness of the mind and body. Is this the “cave sickness” that they spoke of when I visited the mercer caverns as a boy? No, no time for that now, I have two options, continue down this murky path, ever exhausting and relentless in darkness OR lay down and succumb to the blackness. The labyrith will wait patiently for the sun to come.


Terrapin Hopzilla, White Men Can’t Jump, But HOP PUNS sure can

I always scratch my chin and look with supreme circumspect glances when someone outside of California tells me about their awesome Double IPA. It’s like someone at a bar who hypes up how hot the girls are that are not at the club you currently are at, yet under it all you know deep inside that it might be true, inside (HIGH SCORE MOST PREPOSITIONS IN A SINGLE SENTENCE.) So I heard about this Double IPA from Terrapin, a brewery that I have a special fondness for anyway. From their marketing to their rad product, I am on board with their intents. Some say that they made REM form, I like to believe that, hailing from Athens, Georgia, they made REM break up. EITHER WAY IS AWESOME.

Japanese people hold a special reverence and respect for this beer, despite having never heard of it and having no access to it.

Terrapin Beer Company
Georgia, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 10.80% ABV

Alright so we have a burly, almost 11% abv DIPA on our hands here, look out, complete hard ass coming through. The appearance is awesome, and not just for the style FOR ANYTHING. It has a purely brass radiance that you can see through with a perfectly luminous sheen to it. The carbonation is almost annoying, but bubbly to a fault, like an insecure recent divorcee, but you understand the intent and forgive it. The smell is interesting because at first it hits that tropical o spot (olfactory) but then the heat warms it and it gets onto this honey meets pinecone jam sesh that I am less stoked on. The stoke levels remain noteworthy throughout.

An incredibly hoppy beer from Georgia, no time to explain.

The taste is downright neighborly and it feels like a local kid just raked your leaves and Old Man Clemson just baked one of his famous wheatgrass pies. The block is bustling with honey and springtime and also there is a drug dealer pumping 10.8% abv to the kids RIGHT UNDER YOUR NOSE. Seriously, check your kids room, there’s some ABV snuck in here and Trojan babies will be thrown from the windows when the sacking is complete. I guess you can read that as a larger USC reference, but no one going to that school would have their hands on this, which is a blessing to all.

And now there is a pinecone in your mouth. Wat.

The mouthfeel has this deeply herbal stickiness like clearing super bubonic cashed g13, in common parlance. I have no notes to improve because it is basically doing its own thing, like that crazy dude weaking British Knights and dancing at 7/8ths time in the club, it’s like, he’s original and still good at doing…that…so you just don’t harsh his mellow. I would seek this out again, but more likely cross my fingers and hope for it as an extra in a box.

Ran out of time, i will jazz this post up later, for the haters, so no narrative today.

Here’s an adorable pic to tithe you over:



Cuvee Delphine 2009 De Struise Brouwers, After a Long Journey From Belgium, This Sweet Lady Lands Stateside

I have a long documented love for Struise, from Black Albert to the strangely fulfilling Schommelpeird. This beer is no exception. This is Black Albert aged in 4 Roses Barrels for maximum pwnage. The potential sweetness of the 4 Roses did not seem to be a great pair with Black Albert, however, let’s take the Pepsi challenge to see if this gem is better than the Classic.

Sweet Nestle Kisses from that old bourbon proprietor down by the creek. Don't tell your foster parents, they wont love you as much.

De Struise Brouwers
Russian Imperial Stout | 13.00% ABV

I always wonder about the labels on these beers, it’s like, seriously after all that time soaking in bourbon, it didn’t pick up a single aspect or ABV notch of bourbon, I don’t wanna talk to a scientist, those motherfuckers lyin’ and getting me pissed. It’s like how 50/50 Eclipse sits in Pappy Van Winkle for 9 months but somehow remains as non-alcoholic as ever. Anyway, this beer pours like Black Albert has been juicing, the sheeting is more intense, nice microfine bubbles, mocha foam lacing, but not super gnar on the clinging. It’s not like that 18 year old girl you accidentally told you loved her, not that level of cling. Still, undeniably a beautiful beer.

I wasn't super stoked on the 50/50 Eclipse 4 Roses but then this beer hit 60 degrees and shit went to maximum satisfaction real quick.

I know a bunch of beer nerds will get their pitchforks and rally but honestly, the nose (after it warms up) reminds me of Kate the Great in a huge way. “PORT SPIRELS ARE DIFERENT!” they will object, but seriously the sweet caramel tone of 4 roses got all up inside of Black Albert like a prostate exam, and the result is a healthier, burlier stout that can chuck kegs over a 12 foot wall. At first I was underwhelmed at 50 degrees because I was like, oh, apparently they put this in the barrel for about 3 days, then shit opened up like the throttle on an Audi R8 and the upshutfucks were distributed with panache and gracious aplomb. This stout has a lithe sweetness that doesn’t seem to come from the malt or the bourbon, it is a weird third aspect of caramel and marshmellow that comes in and interjects opinions like a poorly moderated Fox News show. All of a sudden you are confused as to who is correct, the deep bourbon or the chocolate toffee malts, existential conundrums abound.

This isn't exactly an automotive repair beer, then again, anything clocking in at 13% is basically a non-jetski beer.

The coating is actually thinner than I remember Black Albert being, but isna brown sugar manner that is hard to explain like finding concealer under the seat in your car. Again, it reminds me of Kate the Great that makes beef jerky and doesn’t tip valets. If this beer ratcheted back the cookie batter aspects, it would surpass kate, but this is like disputing the 911 Turbo vs. the Z06, there will never be a winner, just a huge amount of butthurt.

As far as drinkability goes, my glass is gone and that is a perfect indicator to me that, for 13%, people have been killed for less. It will not cross the threshhold of those people adverse to stouts or any dark beers, alepigment prejudice (APP) but if you have someone who is stoutcurious, you can get him/her to taste the succor of this sweet treat.

After a couple of these, I think it's safe to say I have no idea what is going on, chronology or otherwise.

Narrative: Treyvon Vizio had been a riverboat gambler as long as he could remember. Well, this warrants some clarification, Treyvon was born in northern Atlanta but adopted at age 3 to work a casino riverboat on the Meuse river in Belgium. The Netherlands were a strange place for a salt old gem like Trey, but he adapted quickly, swindling the passing German tourists, serving up “authentic” bayou cuisine coated in Belgian candied sugar, and espousing Mark Twain allegories that had no basis in fact. Old Trey was a sweet one, easy to like, but he would turn on you like an old Flemish adder once any form of jig was elevated. Technically, since he moved there at age 3, he shouldn’t have had a thick islander meets creole accent, but Noam Chomsky never called him out. He would just strum away on his river ukulele and tell the Belgian locals about his trials wrastling rivergators in a country where everyone carried firearms. Old Trey took a bite of imported cacao and surveyed his work amiably, sure, they were affluent river tourists, but what else would Belgian people be doing? Tracing back the roots of the Holy Roman Empire? Maybe investigating the history of 15th century oil painting materials? No fucking way. These people have enough X and trees to last through 18 Foster the People concerts, they were all about the riverboat gambling with old Treyvon.


Drie Fonteinen Hommage, Paying Hommage to all my broken bottles lost in shipment, RIP

So this beast took quite the fucking effort to land. As far as I know, not many bottles of this made it stateside and the jump across the pond involved quite a few amazing bottles and, in classic form, this bottle came in a lamp box all the way from Ireland. It didn’t speak the language, just a drain on the system, but I married it, so it’s chill. Well let’s see if all the hype is worth this sour unicorn.

This beer should pay Hommage to my Fedex account, so many damn boxes and an international trade to land this ruby bastard.

Brouwerij Drie Fonteinen
Lambic – Fruit | 6.00% ABV

I remember some nay sayer once told me “Don’t try for that beer, it’s too hard to lock down and it’s basically 3F Sch. Kriek but with raspberries.” Let me be the first to say, no fucking way. This beer is incredible in a waay even beyond the way that Sch. Kriek is amazing. I drank this side by side with Blabaer and I think this one carried the day. Just look at it, it has a radiant glow like fairy afterbirth. The lacing settles down and lets the berries and complex base beer shine like a telecaster sustained note. It doesn’t need lacing, no parlor tricks like a huge head, just balls out acid and musky complexity. You don’t like raspberries? Well too bad, this is like pink interior in a Murcielago, you fucking deal with it.

When this box arrived from Europe, I was all like this, shit was so cash.

Ok so, maybe there are some similarities to this and Sch. (cant spell it, too lazy, TL;DR) Kriek, but it is similar in the way that the way that a base v6 mustang is similar to a GT500 in that women can maybe tell the difference. Those of us who aren’t sexist generalizers will have something to say. There is a musky mossy cardboard finish to the nose of this beer. The raspberry notes do not fuck arond, even with age they are like sage old wise berries and smell delicious and almost too archetypical to be real, like this is a type of lambic bubble bath. The smell makes me think that this will melt my face like Christopher Lloyd in who Framed Roger Rabbit. Toontown up in this bitch.

This beer is mesmerizing and plays with your mind, in a sage wise old way.

There is an super drying tart raspberry taste to it that just tears the enamel off of your teeth. Your taste buds run for cover, but there will be no shelter provided under this oppressive regime. You get the tannins but then a sweetness comes in to stop the dental abuse, a halfway house. The drying nature combined with the raspberry gentleness makes this a bit more refined than Scharsbeer (I tried). It is delicious and caustic at the same time, like a well balanced Taylor Swift album. AND JUST AS BITTERING.

Despite the transatlantic voyage, violent yet classy mouthfeel, and incredible tartness, I love this lil pumpkin. My taste buds are like when Scarlett comes back to Antebellum south after Sherman’s march but, in death there is rebirth. Maybe my sour zones wont be such pussies next time. It is incredibly delicious and I am sure another vintage of this would be amazing. I just don’t know any average person that you could pop this open with at a ski lodge or, on a Grayhound bus to meet your baby’s momma. No pedestrian endeavors here, just raspberry violence and infidelity.

You taste a sip of this Belgium gem and want to embrace its European nature, kinda.