BoozeReviews.net

“It’s all very exciting. We have wood. Now you do too.” Huh, you might ask? But it’s true: I’ve never been so excited- to the point of getting wood- that another dude got wood! Palo Santo Marron is a brown ale brewed in 10,000 gallon Palo Santo wood vessels. That’s right, the off-centered folks at Dogfish Head went all the way down to Paraguay to get…wood! And I’m pretty god damn happy that they did.

The first time I tried this beer last year I wasn’t a big fan. But don’t fault the beer. You see, drinking a big, malty, high abv (12%) beer in 100 degree heat is a lot like getting head when you feel like having diarrhea. Whether you’re male or female, it’s hard to focus on pleasure when you’re worried about a butt pee eruption exploding in your lover’s face. I’m just not down with fecalphelia; But Palo Santo Marron when it’s cold out, yes I am.
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This west coast style triple IPA is big and unapologetic. With an abv over 11% disguised like a stripper in a nun’s suit, Exponential Hoppiness will leave you exponentially inebriated and absolved satisfied. Drunken hyperbole aside, it is with good reason that this beer has been dubbed “the most dangerous beer in America.” Having split my last growler with Tunk last night, I’m still fighting back a headache today (the 09 Stone IRS and the Cuvee Rene I had first probably didn’t help). Drinking your own growler is not advised!
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No, this is not a Star Wars spoof. But I’m guessing the good vs. evil theme will figure prominently. Beer Wars is a documentary that will only be shown in theaters across the country on April 16. Directly after its screening, a live half-hour discussion with various beer experts and moderator, Ben Stein, will take place. If you like craft beer and have ever wondered how hard it is for the little upstart brewery to carve out a niche in the face of the evil BMC (Bud-Miller-Coors) Galactic Empire, then this may be the documentary for you. For more info, go here.

I’d been avoiding this beer now for close to 2 years. It scares me. From what I could remember, it was a great big malty, bitter (102 IBUs), alcoholic (10.27% abv) motherfuckin’ beast. More of a chore than a pleasure to put back. But after initially hating Green Flash Imperial IPA (it was a bad bottle), then really enjoying it on tap a few months back, I decided to give some IIPAs that I hadn’t really enjoyed another chance. Having just been bottled in February (thanks, Avery, for the bottled-on date), I thought I might catch Batch 9 nice and fresh and maybe enjoy it a little more. One thing is sure, it’s still a fuckin’ beast.
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After making our pilgrimage to wi…, er, beer country back in February for my wife’s birthday, we’d been anxious to try Apex IPA again. Among other non-bottled offerings that we enjoyed at Bear Republic, Apex was definitely a standout for both of us (although the Chardonnay Hop Rod Rye was my favorite), but were we just caught up in the moment, wandering euphorically at half-mast just at the thought of finally getting to the source of Racer 5? Well, maybe just a bit…
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As soon as we saw the announcement for anniversary month at O’Brien’s pub from owner Tom Nickel, the scheming began.  How could we justify so many trips to the pub in one month? And while every week offered countless tasty options spread across multiple days, it was the Russian River Brewing Company TION night that had everyone salivating (and perhaps in a few cases, prematurely ejaculating), and happened to fall just a few days before JDavid’s birthday. Perfect! One of those few days a year now when going on a serious bender is actually somewhat acceptable- that is, of course, assuming you don’t end up in jail for pissing on the side of the cop car that stops in the middle of the road to fuck with you when you’re walking your drunk ass home.

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The most recent batch of Alpine Beer Company’s Nelson IPA- what they call a golden rye IPA- is phenomenal. In my opinion, the best batch yet. The color of the beer is amazing: if someone handed me a pint and didn’t tell me what it was, by look alone I’d think someone just handed me a fizzy yellow beer, the type that tastes like someone took a bad lager and doubled its volume by adding water (the picture here doesn’t do it justice-go to Summer of Beer for a better look). Fortunately, in this case, looks are very misleading. It has a great fluffy head, a really nice fruity, pungent nose, and the magical 7% abv, but the taste of this beer is what sets it apart. There is some citrus, but it is the passion fruit and guava that makes Nelson supremely delicious, elevating it to the same pedestal that Pliny and Sculpin occupy. I’m not sure if this is just the work of the Nelson Sauvin hops sourced from New Zealand, but whatever the case, Nelson is the result of one seriously serendipitous fusion.

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I’ll be the first to admit it: I have an aversion to Belgian and Belgian-style beers. It’s just hard for me to enjoy any beer that has a pronounced yeasty-funkiness to it. I’m not quite sure why, but it probably has something to do with my first exposure to this style. I was 17 and running rampant in Europe, drinking as if I were an alcoholic who had busted out of lockdown on the 27th night of rehab. I was in Paris, drank 2 Chimay blue labels, followed them up with some pink-colored abomination of a bottled vodka cocktail, threw up twice at dinner, then proceeded to clamor my way up the Eiffel Tower. From what I can remember, when I wasn’t spinning, fighting back bouts of nausea and trying not spray a rain of vomit on the poor people below me, the view was quite impressive. Anyways, whatever the reason, I struggle with Belgian beers and it is only lately that I’ve been able to palate any without straining to fight back my gag reflex.

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Whenever it may be, It’s a special time of the day: that climactic moment when you crack into your first beer- mouth watering, corpus cavernosa beginning to inflate- then fill your favorite glass and take your first drink of the day. Whether it’s 9:55 am (Abyss for breakfast?) or 6 pm. But there is nothing worse than going through this glorious ritual only to find that you’ve poured yourself a glass of poop: a spoiled or past-its-prime beer, now only a shell of its former self. Talk about fucking blue balls. A feeling probably much like the one Ronaldo felt when he realized his three beautiful call girls were actually men.

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For quite some time I’ve been hesitant to try any IPA that isn’t made in California. It’s not that I’m inherently Cali-centric, I’ve just never had an IPA brewed outside of The Golden State that I’ve really, really enjoyed. However, when I stumbled across Punk IPA at my local liquor store, Palm Springs (no, not the arid, geriatric inferno to the east of Mt. San Jacinto), I was feeling adventurous and the thought of a ‘Punk’ IPA sparked a wave of nostalgia carrying me back to the old days of sweaty, smoky anarchy at Soma Live. I should have known better. Like many of the “punk” boy bands to play at Soma, this IPA has little substance to accompany an aggressive façade. This beer is no Bad Religion. And while I typically won’t review a beer that I’m not particularly fond of, the proclamation of “We don’t care if you don’t like it” on the bottle pushed me forward, much like the dumb fuckin’ skinheads used to do at Soma.

So about that beer…

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