@santeadairius Palimpsest, A NEW FLANDERS CHALLENGER APPEARS, Alexander about to defend the throne

Man I really was torn whether to do a write up of this incredible Flanders Red or write a piece shitting on the profiteers who are currently arguing that their bottles of Huna are worth $50 each due to the $200 ticket.  Cooler stretch marks prevailed and you get this instead of a tired rift on the same hairy backs.  So what do we have today? Sante Adairius, not content with dominating several categories in the farmhouse world has now cast those Omega Red tendrils into the Flanders region.  If you were invited to their Cellar Society, you got a single bottle and the option to buy a second bottle of this. No public sale.  Fret not, you can argue that your $50 Huna costs over twice as much, dont even trip.

Let’s see how this stacks up to the Cherry Oude Tarts and Alexanders of the world in today’s review.

I added some cutlery so no one gets confused and thinks they are at THEBEERHEADS instead of old DDB.


Sante Adairius, Capitola CA

6%, Barrel Aged Flanders Red Ale

Let’s get this commercial full release on the sheets so we can continue with a level head:
Palimpsest is our interpretation of the classic Flanders style ales, lovingly dubbed the “Burgundies of Belgium.” Like its ancestral counterparts, Palimpsest matured in oak barrels, while time, simple and elegant, burnished Palimpsest to reveal a bright and bracing acidity. As its numerous layers are exposed, traditional characteristics including dark cherries, leathery parchment, and earthy bark round the palate. With excitement, we offer Palimpsest as a harbinger of great things to come in 2015. Sante!

A:   This is admittedly not the most beautiful flanders you have ever seen.  It has a ruddy brown and light brick and amber hues at the edges.  FUCK WHY DIDNT THEY COLD CRASH AND ADD GELATIN AND IRISH MOSS AND THEN CHERRY JUICE AND RED 5 LIKE ALL MY OTHER FAVORITES.  It looks pretty similar to oude tart and has a clean slickness on the glass and leaves spotty lacing, like when your homie be drooing on himself in the passenger seat after you drove 13 hours to that SICK SR71 release. Worth it.

Honestly I can review whateverthefuck right now and all my CPAP readers will just be fantasizing about running outside  in this hot new simulator.


S:  I braced myself for the typical acetic onslaught that makes me eschew Flanders Reds, but like a Mormon camp counselor, it never came. Instead you get a lovely waft of cherry blossom, raspberry, a sory of jammy preserve and fuji apple finish.  There is a mild touch of red wine vinegar aspects at higher temps, but for the style, I knew that minx was gonna pop its head up eventually.

At least they didn't go this route, holy shit those cliche puns are more tired than HOP portmanteaus.

At least they didn’t go this route, holy shit those cliche puns are more tired than HOP portmanteaus.

T:  This is exceedingly dry even when it hits the sweet zones it starts clearing ground like a Terran Firebat.  It never becomes excessively sour or allows itself to get of pocket with the acidity along the gumline.  There’s a lovely creamy maraschino cherry and shirley temple sweetness on the middle palate and an entire cort of oak spilled down your back palate on the swallow.  NOT THE FIRST TIME YOUVE SWALLOWED THAT MUCH WOO- alright.  It is very pleasant despite my picayunes, they all essential arise as a result of the style itself and they could have easily put cherries in a sour blonde to get shitsacks to fall in love, pulling the tarp away like TADAA LOOK AT THE NEW FLANDERS RED.  But they didnt, and I love them more for it.  It’s like when coach makes you like run laps in front of his bicycle, making you put in those extra reps so that you can get to like the State finals or something. Full disclosure, I am not entiretly sure what coaches do exactly.

M:  The acidity is dry as noted above, BUUUUUT i will note that this has a heavenly frothiness and creaminess to the mouthfeel like if they made Cherry Nestle Quik.  It is truly tasty stuff and good luck finding a comparable barrel aged Flanders Red, just drink pasteurized La Folie and use your imagination extra hard or something.

Ask all these #newmoney ballers about Alexander and they be like

FLANDERS RED GOD TIER MOVE. Ask all these #newmoney ballers about Alexander and they be like

O:  Is this better than Cherry Oude Tart? Sure.  Is it better than the goliath Alexander? No, but it falls somewhere above Caracterie Rouge and below those waley C&C La Folies.  Obviously you should seek this out as it is within the pinnacle of the genre, but in all honesty, unless you are completely apeshit for the style, just trade for Cherry Oude Tart and hang up your spurs.  I can only assume this will be tough to land and if you split this 12 ways after 12 other bottles, youll probably be like “FUKN DDB AND ALL HIS RECOMMEN I AM…I NEED TO SIT DOWN…HEY DID ANYONE LOSE A NUVA RING?”


Avery Odio Equum, Proof that not all Sours Are Created Equal (AMBIGUOUS TITLES FTW)

Man everyone is all kinda of butthurt about 12oz Black Note and just when the midwest about to sit on a rubber donut, Kopi Luwak Speedway comes out and prolapses their beer anuses even further. I wanted to get away from stouts for a bit to survey something we don’t get enough of on this site: MEDIOCRE ASS SOUR BEERS. Avery has turned out some solid beers in their 13 different offerings, but they have also lobbed some vinegar grenades that are like a Tempe taint after a long bike ride. This is closer to the taint side, but not for the reasons you would expect. IN WRITING WE CALL THAT A CLIFFHANGE-

Odio, sour odio,...would a rose by any other name taste as butyric?

Odio, sour odio,…would a rose by any other name taste as butyric?

Avery Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Wild Ale | 7.10% ABV

A: This has a deep muddy crimson aspect to it with burnt sienna meets magenta all up in the mix and very little wispy carbonation that subsides almost instantly. It looks kinda like if you took Consecration and beat its ass so bad that when you get into the beer hospital it is all taped up and all you can do it pat its hand and assure Consecration that they will find whoever did this to it.

You come expecting a fruity treat and leave with a savage bite.


S: This smelled like red wine vinegar at the outset when it was really cold and then I realized that I was beating a peanutbutter cunt drinking a beer at like 45 degrees, so I went and watched an episode of MTV Catfish to feel better about myself and returned. When I came back, the vinegar had spread its legs and introduced a minor aspect of some cranberry with a light blackberry on the backend, like the smallest dirtiest child in a foster home. There was some serious sour abuse going on here. WHO IS IN CHARGE OF THIS ACETYL HOUSE OF ILL REPUTE?

T: This just seriously goes butyric and tart to the point that it almost has a salinity to it. I don’t mean this in the sloppy labia crybaby way like when people try Cantillon for the first time, I mean this is one note, and that one note is not enjoyable, like the movie White Chicks. You get this intense grenadine meets soda left out after a sleepover, there is a bit of oak drying your gumline and giving you cankersores, the vinegar dryness finishes strong and lets you know that you aren’t welcome in Colorado. I want to say “oh but the fruit profile balances out the blahblahstrokingitblah” but I cannot. The fruit is like when you see a crew of homies and there is the one super small dude who does most of the out of the way tagging. It is hardly the dominant person up in the mix. This is not horrible, it is not as bad as something like Pipeworks Blue Lady, but YOU FEEL LIKE AVERY PHONED IT IN.

Once you open this, something seems very off.

Once you open this, something seems very off.

M: See above, as dry as the scenery and acting in Lawrence of Arabia, painful almost. I let it warm to see if there was some complexity to this, but at best it feels like the beautiful Consecration got wasted and boned the horrible Allagash Vagabond and this beast was the result. AND HERE WE ARE TO PICK UP THE PIECES. This is simply too tart in a way that has no redeeming balance. People who don’t know shit will be like “AHHH YEAHH I LOVEEE SOURSS LIKE THISS, YOU JUST…YOU CANT…HANG” I killed 2010 Weyerbacher Riserva myself, I dont need some weak penis lecture on sour beers, this lacks balance and YOUR TASTEBUDS ARE FUCKING WRONG.

D: Not very.

Alright I guess I have to say more than that unless I want this to look like a shitty youtube review. The biggest problem is the dryness that has no balance from the fruit or barrel characteristics. Perhaps a malties base beer would have offset the effects of the salty vinegar dryness, I don’t know, my job is to bitch and complain. If you come into this expecting some 2007 Rodenbach Grand Reserve treat, prepare for sads. You would be better served with a Duchess, better still Supplication, even more so Consecration. Or, call me crazy, stop being a poor fuck and spend $20 on Bruery Oude Tart and give your grandkids something to be proud of you for.

When it kicks in, you feel it in your jaw.  And testicles.


Narrative: Francis Brackery bought a crumbling house on a fallow raspberry farm. No one thought to tell him that berries would not grow well in central Nebraska, and as a result he was bitter and acrimonious to the core. Children would come to his house on Halloween, dressed in their shabby Nebraska costumes, Austin Powers, the Mask, lots of recycled items from other wealthier states, and he would give them hard unripe fruit in their pillow sacks. Francis looked out the window and heard the crabapples bounce off of his windows, hard and unwanted. One day while poking around in the cellar, he found a false wall that extended into a substantial underground chamber with rows and rows of crabapple vinegar. “FINALLY A TURN OF LUCK FOR OLD FRANNY BRACKERY!” he exclaimed, knocking a pot over onto his J Crew khakis, burning his genitals severely. The neighbors being from Nebraska were naturally as poor as the day is long and could offer no help. Now old man Brackery just rocks in his glider on the porch, looking into his mangled crabapple burns, thinking of what could have been.


Cantillon Crianza Helena, The Face that Launched a Thousand Shits. On Ebay.

Cantillon one offs, just another Wednesday in this website, which is basically the perineum of the beer world. So let’s get tainted in today’s review. I remember someone told me the deal with this beer, something about a beer to celebrate someone’s daughter and special cognac barrels or something, but you don’t give a shit about that. You came for the labia jokes, and stay for the dick pix. Who am I to disappoint:

The sweet sound of beer nerd mantits slapping together as they pound their gamer keyboards in rage over not being able to have something.  Serenity.


Brasserie Cantillon
Gueuze | 5.00% ABV

A: This is a standard affair for an oldish gueuze, it has a hazy orange construction paper/sawdust sorta aspect going on. The lacing was insubstantial and the carbonation wasn’t really that intense either. I guess you don’t go to gueuzes for their pretty looks, they are the battered, old barrel aged bretheren of the sour world, mistreated mistresses always not pressing charges, making up excuses for the carbonation and bugs therein.

At first it seems sour and acrimonius, but then it is approachable and gentle.


S: I was really looking for something to hang my hat on to point to in an attempt to differentiate this from other baller ass gueuzes. Personally, I think this is kinda a standard execution, just polished up a bit, you get the dead bodies of the pellicle forward in a musky sponge dipped in orange juice, lemon rind, straw, some light attic aspects, but not the insulation/pink shit, like the creaky wood. I have some creaky wood fo- (PENIS JOKE LIMIT EXCEEDED.DLL_err0r)

T: This is lactic as the day in Morris Illinois is long. Ask Alewatcher, he will tell you, long ass days there. You get some white grape but the really hard ripe ones that pucker your face, some muscat grape, super small not ready yet apricots that make you deuce during Swim PE, oak, and a touch of the sweetness from cognac. This is pretty similar to Oude Gueuze Vintage from 3F, but with a lil bit more musk and funk mellowed out with a light caramel sweetness from the cognac. Maybe it doesn’t, train a Black Chocobo, get kings of the round, fuck if I know.

I guess this is better with age on it.  I will only have it once, so I can only speculate with regards to that person in red pants.


M: This is as dry as the discussions at Coachella and you don’t even have to listen to shitty Animal Collective to enjoy it. You get the crisp apple skin dryness that isn’t exactly acidity but it imparts this kind of lip smacking goodness. You know how old men always have that white stuff at the corners of their mouth and have to lick like 5 times to soak their mouths, it is like that, except you can’t buy this with your AARP card and you won’t be able to get away with saying borderline racist shit either.

D: This is pretty gentle and drinkable and I feel that the light sweetness is a nice touch to what is already a world class gueuze. I probably wouldnt/cant/impossible to get this again, so pressing my love handles against the glass and showing off makes this beer seem a bit underwhelming in retrospect, but that is relative to other massive walez on the infamous list. Seek it out for sheez, but don’t go turning tricks on Craigs List for it, the therapy will cost way moar.

Pop this open, get a glass, and get sour twisted with your friends.


Narrative: “Well boys, it is finally over, we did it,” Cabbage declared with a succinct statement, wiping a tiny tear of victory from his fur. He was a sweet Sea Otter who could be found regularly scampering through oak pieces or gripping tensely onto some driftwood, but tonight he was a leader. “The federal government tried to relocate us, put us otters in coastal habitats, I say YOU GO LIVE IN A COASTAL HABITAT SENATOR” he boomed to a group of sweet and outright adorable otters slowly turning in the tide. One otter banged a rock on an abelone to bring the meeting to order. “BUT WE ARE NOT DONE YET,” Cabbage splashed some water defiantly into the air, “OUR NEXT GOAL will be to spread our culture up the mouth of the Mississippi to reach the tolerant southern states and spread our culture of adorability to states that are inherently depressing!” The crowd clamored, unaware that Southern trappers had almost no regard for cute animals and amongst the worst public schools in the western hemisphere.


Russian River Toronado 25th Anniversary, Don’t Tell Me You Forgot Our Anniversary, Baby

I feel like Toronados is the golden baby of the beer bar world. I swear that anytime that this place has an anniversary, bris, or restructuring of their corporate board, breweries find some damn reason to shower them with .rar walez. Alpine made a double batch of Nelson to celebrate and I MISSED OUT ON IT. But oh well, let’s see what Russian River has up their sleeve in today’s review.

Throw some 25’s on the whip, barrel blend is so sick.

Russian River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 8.75% ABV


4% Sonambic (barrel aged for 15 months)
16% Blonde Ale (barrel aged for 8 months)
36% Strong Pale Ale (barrel aged 12 months)
12% Strong Dark Ale (barrel aged for 12 months)
4% Baltic Porter (barrel aged for 10 months)

A: See all that going on up there? The result is a translucent orange hue with mild wispy carbonation that crackles and disappears slowly. This isn’t a particularly BEAUTIFUL beer like say, Ithaca Brute, but it has its own subtle charms, like that snaggletoothed woman in accounts receivable who always holds the elevator for you.

This blend got mad swag, gangnam steeze to the fullest.

S: This has a fantastic lactic smell to it that reminds me of Hill Farmstead Norma, since almost none of my readers have had that I GUESS I HAVE TO SAY MORE. There are aspects of cherries, orange rind, currants, fuji apples, and grapefruit juice. I don’t think that the Baltic Porter is pulling mad weight in the barrel as it seems to be incredibly acidic.

T: This is incredibly tart with a sort of refined Red Bull sort of sweetness to it that works well with the acidic profile. While cold, this beer is kinda one dimensional in the way that Beatification is just a 2D sour, but once it hits around 60 degrees the 3D glasses come on in a real way and you get a huge crisp and bright panoply of tart fruits.

This beer will get you rolling so hard.

M: This is puckering and very dry similar to an aged Temptation, let’s say b4. You get the oak and some lingering harshness but it welcomes another sip. The carbonation crackles and hits that gumline hard like Kimbo Slice, and the barrel be wood like a baseball bat.

D: This is insouciantly dry and doesn’t give a fuck if you can’t handle the puckering profile but ultimately, like a 14 year old girl I keep returning for this beer’s affection. It has a car. Ultimately, I wish this was a regular release amongst the other regular “-tions” but given how complex it is, I UNDERSTAND. Taking this beer to a bar with beer nerds present is kinda like getting your clit pierced at Claire’s, no one is exactly mad, but everyone is curious as fuck what you are up to.

This beer is daunting but completely satisfying.

Narrative: I dont quite understand Jacob, why is it that everyone wants to fight you?” You roll your eyes and offer this explanation once again “Alright fine, I got the same name as 5 other though kids in school and my dad is an MMA fighter and my mom is a WNBA player, those two people got beat up nonstop.” A sour taste fills your mouth knowing the struggle that you have faced on a daily basis. He looks puzzled and you stare at the principal’s snowglobe of Alberta and try to form a different explanation. “Alright, it’s like this see, if you wanna define yourself, sometimes you gotta be the bad guy, do things no one else does, like fight the girls softball team all at once…you see….no? Ok, so I got the same name and two bad as-” “LANGUAGE JACOB” “ok so I got two tough parents, so to prove my dominance, I go around trying things no one else does, milk enemas, eating lightbulbs, you know guy stuff, trying to prove my worth.” The tightness in your neck turns into a light acidity in your stomach. You have something to prove. It became clear that your laundry list of exploits was not exactly carrying the day for Principal Schlegel. “Alright to prove I am the baddest kid in school with the two roughest parents, I am gonna have sex with that Alberta snowglobe, see?” “That’s not necessary, you are suspended, get out of my office Jacob.”


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.”


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.”


Lost Abbey Veritas 007, Secret Agent Wild Ale, Busting Tart Spy Missions All Up in your Face

I feel like I have been wrestling with Lost Abbey lately and constantly looking in my rearview mirror, but one thing that I know is, aside from Duck Duck Gooze, this is probably my favorite sour that they have ever made and, spoiler alert, it is damn good. If landing this beer wasn’t such a kick in the taint, I would seek it out all the time. Let’s get this sourgasm going on today’s review.

Again, I forget if this is V009 or V007, you dont care, just close that Brazzers tab for a second and pay attention.

Veritas 007, Lost Abbey
American Wild Ale, 7% abv

A: This beer has a radiant glow to it and makes me suspect that Witches Wit or some golden was the base beer but, absent some searching on Alta Vista or AOL, the world may never know. Pathetic crackly carobnation and non-commital lacing make this beer ineligible for Jdate. Not sure where the tremblant red colors came from but, hey, belly up to the bar non-standard coloring, even a crazy off pink hue is welcome in these parts.

I can only assume that this beer will get more bad ass over time. If that is even possible.

S: This has that funky Jolly Pumpkin signature wet bandaids with sobbed upon cardboard smell to it. Sure there’s wheat and a tart finish but the trials of a broken breakdancer are the soul of the enterprise. Also, cherries and that aggressive raspberry that ruins everyone’s game and takes over shit rapaciously.

T: This has an incredibly expansive character with cherry and raspberry at the forefront. It mellow a bit, I was told but that is like saying that the kid with ADD is doing a little bit less shitty at math. This is still incredibly tart like a cider rampage but with more dryness. Somehow, skittles got invited to this bruja and decided that archetypical tart fruits would follow up the swallow. This is orgasm in a cup for a 6 year old palate. That, no I mean, it is what a 6 year old would really enjo-, shit nevermind, next category.

This beer is bizarre yet strangely refined.

M: This is super drying and light but refreshing. It would be more refreshing if I wasn’t so stressed out about drinking it at all. I can’t fault it for its existence. Sometime when I drink a rare beer, that comes through consciously and I am aware of it, denaturing the experience. I once drank ISO:FT and loved it, and then when someone told me what it was I bemoaned my fast gulps and distention to detail. This is a fantastic beer and the mouthfeel just served a self-destructive function. It was gone so quickly, said the Lotto winner, sobbing into a 4 seated jet ski.

D: See supra, this is beyond drinkable and, if I didn’t lack the temerity to seek this out, I would do so. Someone give me another bottle and I will write them a short story, just for a chance to indulge on this epic treat again. It is within the ambit of the best 10 sours that I have ever tried. It is like in Cold Mountain where Nicole Kidman falls in love with Jude Law after only giving him lemonade like once, WHAT? I didn’t even see that movie, I MEANT THE BEER WAS PRETTY LEGIT. That’s all.

Great in the morning, great as a nightcap, doesn’t matter, this beer is amazing, when Veritas is on a bagel you can drink V007 any time.

Narrative: The structure of Horatio Alger works and rom-coms had led poor Devin Terpin to believe that it was possible to transcend class structure immediately, if love and a 90 minute resolution was involved. “Repeat again Devin, ’And henceforth, the mandate shall remain tattered dicta’” instructed Ethyl Balmington, his social correctional instructor. “Hens for, this man-date is a tatted dick.” Devin stumbled out warily. Ms. Balmington shook her head reproachfully. “Devin, if you ever hope to attend this Laguna Nigel wedding, you need to work on your diction and content.” Devin sighed and kicked a patch of wild raspberries before him. “Wait, Devin, what is that?” he glanced down and the plant seemed to pulse at his distinctive Riverside dialect. “THIS STRAIN OF FLORA, it is highly combustible with your 909 prototype upbringing!” Ms. Balmington an experienced amateur florist snatched his Metal Mulisha bandana and ground some tart berries into a fine paste. “Now swallow this.” “OBVI!” Devin cried out and made his fraternal sign and downed the berries not unlike the sickest bro. These will take effect in approximately 90 minutes, and all of your romantic problems will be solved. “That sounds like the reprieve of some petulant candor, to say the least!” Devin retorted, astonished. His lifted Silverado changed into a Pumpkin Carriage, then it was on some sick twanky deuces, then it was a bagged pumpkin carriage, which, was pretty cutty irrespective of circumstance. A mere 90 minutes had passed and Devin joked with a pun based upon a portmanteau of Portugese and conversational Greek to one of the guests. “WELL I NEVER!” she cried out while polishing her monocle. “AND I NOW PRONOUNCE YOU HUSBAND AND WIFE!” the reverend shouted and credits began to roll, over the expanse of the life of the sickest bro. The berries were poisonous.