phot cred: Beerpulse.com

Take

me to the horse races, I said.

Let 
me cavort with the bourgeois, I said.

You
bet your life’s savings on a thoroughbred named “Saskatchewan Bull Dingus Mk
XXII: Dream Sequence.”

What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other
name would smell as sweet.

I,
beside myself, found my pockets out-turned and telling.

These
are unfortunate circumstances.

I
wound up in the streets.

It
was cold.

I
was bared to the world.

The
frigid air left my joints and appendages lay ramshackle, cracked and suppressed
by the elements.

Everything
was fine. I had my health, otherwise.

I
took the role of vagabond and forsook knowledge of the left hand from the
right.

The
darkness was my friend.

I
crept into the numbness of solace. 

The
solace of numbness.  

The
solness of numblace. 

The
numace of solmbness. 

The
offstace of numsolasticness. 

Oblastician
dastician numalsol. 

Ommss
sosd tosa numosola oosa colacolastion.

I
narrowed myself towards oblivion and entered my shoebox.

I
am a graceful donut.

…

Mikkel Borg Bjergsø and Kristian
  Klarup Keller can shut the fuck up for two hot seconds.

You want to make an offbeat
  experimental IPA.

Do it on your dime, not mine.

Let me clear my throat.

Beer gypsies Mikkeller have donned
  their extravagant Santa hats and have flounced about with a number of
  strange, wonky beers for the holiday season.

Hoppy Lovin’ Christmas is one of
  them.

It’s an IPA (a borderline double
  at 7.8 percent ABV) brewed with ginger and pine needles. Naturally, my
  loins tensed with the thought of such a brew. Surely, this is a beer that
  would embrace the rich intensity and spice that comes part and parcel with
  the ginger root and sport proudly the bold elegance of pine far beyond the
  casual recesses of its otherwise marked hop prowess.

Wait, no? It’s really just a
  standard IPA? I’m just getting hops here. I’m getting hops and sour. You’ve
  got to be kidding me. 

My palms got sweaty.

No, that can’t be right. I spent
  $14 whole dollars on a bottle of this. 

I’m ruined. I simply cannot
  believe I fell for this crap. Then again, this isn’t the first time I’ve been
  screwed by two Great Danes (…too far?).

…

But wait; there are subtle nuances to this beer.

No,
no, I see it. There, at the end of the tunnel, there is a light.

The
pitter-patter of horse hooves gallivant forward.

The
succor of fortune floods my being and I am rejuvenated.

I
realized the warmth that tickled my throat was in fact the ginger. As the brew
warmed to the air, I breathed deep in the glass. I got the pine. I got everything.
There was lemon, there was apricot. 

Oh,
I was pissed. 

Maybe
I’m just bitter. Maybe I am just so jealous of Mikkeller that I pretended I
couldn’t taste the ginger and pine that I so expected when picking up this
beer. Maybe I wished I was as cool as these new gods.

The
mouthfeel was smooth, yet brisk. The aroma was brilliant. There was tropical
fruit and a lingering tartness akin to sourdough. A brilliant effervescence
gave the ale character. 

Maybe
I was jealous. Maybe I went headlong into drinking this beer that I expected
terrific faults only to find quiet successes.

Maybe
they delivered what they promised. Nevertheless, don’t expect a robustness that
I did. You’ll just get all pissy and end up bitching about the government. Your
moodiness will overcome you and thoughts of romance, ambition, civil obligation
and certain bodily functions will seem blasé. 

Or,
maybe I just drank the whole bottle.

…Did
I mention it’s almost a double IPA?

Oops.

*8.1 out of 10*