Category: IPAs

Review: Foam Brewers | Pavement

Yo, if you go see Blade Runner 2049, leave a comment about your thoughts on the movie. It’s almost three hours long, but it’s fast as fuck– You got to pay attention though, because the movie is all dialogue and random bird-eye view shots on dystopian LA and some desolation and shit.

There a bunch of sexy robots and allusions to the Immaculate Conception.

If you feel confused by the end of the movie, I don’t blame you, it’s fucking confusing as hell—Ryan Gosling flying a Peugeot and drinking robot liquor—how’s a robot drink liquor? You ever watch Futurama? Bender drinks all the fucking time. It’s crazy that robots can become alcoholics, but like, in reverse or some shit. Anyway

Harrison Ford kills it

If you don’t really understand the movie, there are some pretty good recaps in Variety and NPR, so check those out—oh, and there’s some on YouTube, but there are spoilers if you’re not careful. Don’t check out “Blade Runner Original RECAP – Everything You need to Know Before Blade Runner 2049” by New Rockstars if you haven’t seen the first movie but still want to see Blade Runner 2049 but are too cheap to rent the original Blade Runner but plan on watching it at some point. It’ll ruin the whole experience and you’re going to want to punch yourself in the dick afterwards.

So check out the new movie

Get there early with you and your buddies, maybe a few margaritas deep, and spend some money on some irresponsible bullshit. Get a large popcorn with extra butter sauce and some Sour Patch Kids™ but make sure all of that shit is well integrated. You’re already spending more money than you should on shit you could get at the grocery store for much cheaper, so if you get that gritty shit at the bottom of the bag, you might as well have an aneurysm and sue the shit out of the theater goddamn it

Get your tickets

Preferably in IMAX

IMAX is fucking amazing

How do they do that?

3D movies are trash though. Whoever

*7.8 out of 10*

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Review: Allagash Brewing Company | Hoppy Table Beer

source: allagash.com

Abstract: Though at first a tenuous argument, there is a comparison to be made between Chance the Rapper’s 2016 mixtape, Coloring Book, and  Allagash Brewing Company’s Hoppy Table Beer. Both are both modest in content and approach—Chance’s album was free and widely available. Fantastic in every sense of the word, it also deals with humbling topics while being very lighthearted. Allagash released a similarly fantastic beer the same year despite the hype of huge haze bombs, and— echoing Michael Kiser, here—  could have called it a session Belgian pale ale/IPA. However, they went another route because it wanted to be accessible to a wide audience and be true to themselves, the beer itself, and its image. Plus, the beer drinks well with the album. I’d want to meet Chance and Rob Tod equally for the same reasons. In this article, I will provide evidence of this esoteric relationship  and prove that two different creative paths can converge in one beautiful destination. With an open mind, please consider the following.

BIG UPDATE GUYS

Check out the new handle on the shitter!

 

Look

 

2016 was spent mostly drunk, stumbling through suburbia underneath the lampposts. The tall green oaks stretching over and above as stalactites, the nocturnal world was a cavern of summer hell. The creatures of the night, the specters of regret, slept in strangers’ beds or on sidewalks.

 

Like an

ass

hole

 

What used to tingle now went numb

As the sensation of subversion now became

Tapdancing

Upon the

Ceiling.

 

Effortless and

 

Mortifying.

 

FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKK

 

Sitting in the taproom, on the barstool yet to be broken, listening to Coloring Book, a sermon was delivered.

 

Ain’t no Twitter in Heaven

 

The sun bled into the room like over-salted stirfry, pungent and nauseating.

 

Wait

 

That’s not

The

Sun

Always good at hungover

 

conversation

 

A gift of gab

A

Svelte

Tongue

 

Thin and sharp

 

A pin

 

To

 

Pop

 

The puffed up

 

Neckbeards

 

Get the fuck out of my bar

 

And you ain’t slick either

 

You

 

Leather

Scented

 

Banana republic

 

Reject

 

Take

Your

Fuck

Shit

And

Bounch

 

 

Live

And

Let

Go

To

Bed.

 

 

4:30 and the seesaw plateaus

Head upon the picnic tables

 

Bottle in hand.

 

Chorus blaring a

Shrill

Bellow

 

Magnify, magnify,

 

Gold as straw and so mellow

 

Yellow haze, white and sticky

 

Using words like effervescent

 

Like it means something

 

Pineapple and cat piss.

 

Like it means something.

 

Juicy fruit gum.

 

That’s more like it. Light pine and grapefruit.

Floral.

Tulips.

Slight bandaid, but not to a fault

Classic latex glove.

 

Sterile, yet so dirty.

 

Pine. Peach. Pear. Dry Tonic water

—so, quinine and lemon?

Spice—

coriander comes through, mostly towards the end.

 

That unmistakable, indescribable

 

Azacca

 

So beautiful.

Deciduous,

temperate

and tropical all at the same time.

 

  • I’m telling you guys, the toilet works great!

 

*9.5 out of 10*

Review: Founders Brewing Co. | Azacca IPA

credit: foundersbrewing.com

credit: foundersbrewing.com

I suppose there are musicians who have aged into their art gracefully. Ironically, when I started writing this, David Bowie was still alive.

Even more ironically, near injuriously, there then are musicians who have aged like bananas,
And Keith Richards still tours.

…Something else about Ice Cube and Are We There Yet.

Then what’s left are the pajamas-in-the-daytime set.

These are those whose appeal you equate with spending the day sipping coffee until 1 in the afternoon, milling about, before driving 5 blocks up the street to the discount grocery store where you buy five potatoes, one beer, maple syrup and toilet paper while glaring at the couple in North Face apparel in a strangely classist manner.

Does life still have the same meaning under fluorescent light?

You stand in the checkout line, becoming itchy beneath your fleece, wondering if it’s psychosomatic. You’re captivated by the smell of fried resignation coming from the deli department. The chicken carcasses dance their post-mortem pirouettes. They glisten, all pretty and clean. They exist fondly as they do formerly. Soon, you wonder this of yourself. The high school sophomore who rings up your groceries asks for your ID. You pause, momentarily; shocked that you realize you have memories older than she is. She sulks and heaves her uncaring arm forth, demanding legal rectitude in the form of a seemingly meaningless magnetic plastic totem.

This robotic bitch has never been haunted by heartbreak or the inevitability of death. Or, maybe she has, and you’re just too cold as to exist beyond the confines of your hollow, garbage vessel.

You know: those artists you feel just awkwardly comfortable approaching when it comes to their latest endeavors, like Morrissey, or Dr. Dre.

So, yes, I guess I am saying that Founders Azacca IPA is sort of like Morrissey or Dr. Dre. I guess that sounds pretty great.

…but it’s pretty yeah.
Since the day Mike Stevens and Dave Engbers founded Founders, they have at least attempted to brew along the cutting edge. The question now is: ArE They FUKin 2 Old 2 BrU?
Well, they are at least using a new, fresh hop in their attempt to stay relevant.

…In a glass, it resembles 4C iced tea clutched in the fingers of an angry aunt, smoking a pack between a kid and the delicate cycle. Translucent to transparent, it carries a slight haze with an off-white inch of head that recedes to a soapy film.
Sparse bubbles rise slowly from the bottom of the glass. Congratulate them.

My nostrils aren’t necessarily arrested, but perturbed by suggestions of orange sherbet, apricot, some sort of bullshit earthiness like wet leaves.

Wait, wait,

there’s something else. Something I can only describe as peach chutney follows.

Fuck,

let’s just call it Ritz crackers with some Smuckers’ orange marmalade on top.

I taste orange, melon—cantaloupe, light mango, grapefruit. There’s a grape characteristic distinct enough to the point of being reminscent of grape pop rocks. It tastes… irresponsible. It hearkens to the reckless abandon of one who pisses on walls of city hall, of one who bothers arguing that it’s in the name of liberal values, shouting, “I READ THE NEW YORK TIMES! I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING! I’M ALIVE! WAKE UP WORLD!”

…but I’m not necessarily saying this is a good thing.

The mouth touch is clean, yet not exceptionally thin—somewhat watery. Therein lies a medium to light mouth touch, dry, astringent finish.

I don’t know. I appreciate what Founders is doing, but with a beer like this I can’t help but feel they are sort of like the cool mom with the tight clothes who claims to like Kendrick Lamar because she heard he was a Grammy nominee, but cannot get his album title right (“Pimping a Butterfly?).

I’m not expecting you to understand.

*8.3 out of 10*

Review: Foley Brothers Brewing | Prospect DIPA

cred: fckn beverage warehouse of vt

cred: fckn
beverage warehouse of vt

This beautiful ladey is a frantastic kind of beer to the godly pre-existing cataloge santamonius craft IPAs of Foley Brothers offerings. The promenade away from Winooski was well worth my time and effort and energy , notta mention my hard work sweat and blood .This beer Looks a lot like a honey-like. Golden. Hazey. Soapy lacing. Slightly off-white head. Kind of looks like duck sauce. Smells are very reminiscent of their Pisces of Eight, Kinda smells
like duck sauce.

Double parking up the hill
Stepping out the Audi in your hoodie-footies,
Use one porto-potty to see how it works
Use the other to get the experience
Spit on the barn board to make sure it’s real

Pineapple. Apple sauce (no spicies, just straight sweet apples).
Orange marmalade.
Peachy/pear fruit cocktail. Syrupy. Very light alcohol
notes. Almost no pine. Chamomile escorted by a hop aroma and duck sauce
that is jointly fruity and pungeant. I over and over again instituted myself perplexed by the tang of this mangnmoneious tour de force. Going back to that Del Monte fruit cocktail cups—peaches, pears, marashino cherries in a syrupy cordiale.
Acrimony analoguous to orange blossom honey, then I obtain a strong honey and astringent orange pith in the hub of the mouth. Then there is desicated apricot. It withers into a understatedd pine and menthol.

Once again to make sure you’re real.
You don’t believe in chewing gum
Not even the kind that improves your smile.
Your ideal evening is casual conversation about your pets, the Phillies, and your favorite movie,
“Welcome to Mooseport.”

Very little malt temperment aside what can be illustrated as Hawaian sweet rolls.
Although Foley Brothers may not have created the carma surta on crafting the perfect IIIPA their allegieance to composing a extremist subdivision within the pages is quite ostensibel with all of this here before you, the most recent submission from what gives the impression to be THE superlative micro-brewery in the state most presently. “Prospect” should out to bea voluntarily analysized as a household erection of a rumble pack to the rectum by a brewery that is so completely forthright ready and adapt to procure the craft beer world by storm. To Paterick and Dan the master brewers, persevere with greatness. God sppeed and give em hell. Shoot em to thrill call em like you see em. You can get em when you wantem then get it get it done. You da best. I think you can kill ISIS

 

*8.9 out of 10*

Review: Stone/Baird/Ishii Brewing Co. | Japanese Green Tea IPA (2015 Edition)

Stone Japanese Green Tea IPA

Sun rises over the Akaishi Mountains.
The fog rolls in, billowing.
It slowly retreats as the gold tongues of sunlight lick against the tea fields.
Buddhist monks in a nearby monastery practice their levitation techniques while their pet dragon chases its tail around the premises.
A demented farmhand beats a goat with a swath of reeds.
In the distance, local schoolgirls engage in sexual intercourse with a demonic cephalopod.

Ah, Japan.

These things brought to mind when sipping this beer, I find.
It’s as if it gives me no excuse to travel.
If I only have to spend $7.99 on this “plane ticket,” that’s fine.
No, it’s not being culturally insensitive,
It’s being culturally economical.
Fuck you.
Moreover, if I drink enough, it’s like I’m flying anyway.

They can keep their Shaolin Soccer and feline delicacies.

…Wait, never mind; is that China?

…Eh, pretty much the same country—same difference.

I guess what I really trying to say, here, is that the Japanese can only wish they could brew beer like we Americans. I mean, hell, we pretty much invented beer.

Sure, the beer is really collaboration between Mitch Steele of Stone Brewing, Bryan Baird of Baird Brewing out of Numazu, Japan, and Toshi Ishii of Ishii Brewing in Guam, but we’ll just gloss that over.

USA! USA!

The Imperial IPA was originally brewed as part of a relief effort after an horrendous tsunami rent asunder much of Coastal Japan. So, again, America to the rescue.

USA! USA! USA! USA!

Due to increases in efficiency, this new brew improved upon the 9.2% ABV from 2011, to now 10.1%. Rejoice, then, that you can support your alcoholism at a near 10 percent discount!

USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA!

Before you black out, make sure to take time to appreciate the tangerine glow of this ale. Savor its great lacing, its bright white, pillowy (no, fuck you, Microsoft Word; “pillowy” is a fucking word, you fascist bastard, don’t give me that red squiggly line treatment) head, quickly receding. Note how very transparent it is. It has surprisingly vigorous carbonation, yet not so surprisingly, it tempers quickly.

Not unlike my astonishing sexual technique.

Before you zonk out on the counter, relish the aromas of peach, pineapple, grapefruit, honey, grass, and some floral crap—like orange blossom, or something.

Taste the spicy apricot. Understand the grapefruit. Attempt to rationalize the lemongrass. Challenge the bright, green tea flavor to an arm wrestling match. Flirt with the big herbal notes—salty seaweed, mango flavor (likely from the tea) grassy, vegetal qualities are all sweet nothings you can whisper to get brownie points. Appreciate the sweet finish. Settle with the sloppy seconds of more apricot, especially on the aftertaste.

Before your roommate calls an ambulance, notice that sticky texture left in the mouth, contemplate the beer’s decent carbonation and its warming, seemly post-coital coda.

Slam your head into the corner of the refrigerator door as you grab for the sushi.

USA! USA! USA! USSA! UAS! SSA! ASSASAUSSA! SUSSSUUSUSUSA! SAUSUDFHFNAKFOGSOEFGJAasaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

 

*8.8 out of 10*