Category: Belgian IPA

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*

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The Portland Project part 2: Review: Foundation Brewing Company | Blaze Belgian IPA

An escort
Rich, golden hair
A soft smile
Whisked off
Into the city night
Street
light
strobe
Electrocardiogram
Still alive
With
Each
Pulsing
Flash
Electrocardiogram
Is hardly poetic
But
In the grand scheme
Of things
Fuck off
Move a little closer
In the back seat
Of the stretch limousine
A Lincoln
I believe
But what the hell do they do with these things?

Her skin smells of juniper
Hair of cheap bubblegum
Clearly her clients have not been
Paying
Well
I found myself bohemian
Gliding across the leather
She was effervescent
Quiet, yet somehow loquacious
Accented with a tinge of French
By way of Belgium
Mildly exotic
Vaguely romantic
Like TV dinners
That aluminum life
Is all competition
Like that of the Big Apple
When you buy tin.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
SHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTT

Brushing slightly
Her perfume emerges
More nutmeg than clove
More peach than pear
If only I could bare myself
Bare to her
But to touch is
Prohibited

To taste
I can only imagine

Grapefruit skin
Spice of a complicated kind
Bittersweet
Mango,
A kiss of jasmine,
But a kiss I ain’t having
Honey and everything sweet
With a dry sense of humor
To boot
Me from the car when the evening ends.

This Pretty Woman
Is no
Julia
Roberts
Everything
Would
Have been
Great
If
The cap
Was
Tightly
Fastened
To the
Lips
Of the bottle
Flat
As the day
I was born.

I’m literally screaming this diatribe at the brewery.

I’m “escorted” from the premises.

Man, I never should have watched Pretty Woman

Whatever, Richard Gere.

You’re not my dad.
*8.0 out of 10*