BoozeReviews.net

This website is intended for an audience over 21 years old, and contains some profanity and lots of stories about all sorts of things that happen while imbibing alcohol. If you are not of legal drinking age, or you are easily offended by profanity, then please, for our sake and yours, go away. Otherwise... enjoy the site, and hopefully we'll make you laugh in the process. And make sure you check out our ratings system on your first visit, so you know how we're judging this stuff.

Also, when we give a bad review of something here, before you get offended, please consider the source! And we've recently opened the blog up to comments, so feel free to register and post your thoughts on our reviews.

OK, so you're over 21? You can handle crudeness, juvenile humor and profanity? Then read on...

Second 22 ouncer of the night! YES! I need to remind myself that I also had three tall boys of Coors Light earlier in the day, so I’m now considering myself reminded, and also a bit drunk.

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(13 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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It’s been a while, but I thought it was time to hop back up on that pogo stick. You know, open up a bottle of good brew, throw a little rouge on, tuck the sack back, and write a review.

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(6 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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Holy Mother of God and a Mackerel, Kanzler stepped up to the plate, pointed to McCovey Cove, took a swing and plunked 300 stitches of wine love right into a kayaker’s mouth. Giant’s fans will understand the analogy, the rest of you are going to have to do the research on your own, but here’s a summary for the masses:What baseball analogy is about to ensue when your date hops into the backseat of your ‘65 Mustang after hanging her panties from the rearview mirror?Home fuckin’ run. Long ball. Upper decks in most parks, a shotgun marriage in others. Read more »

(5 votes, average: 4.8 out of 5)

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Where it all began. My first time with Bear Republic’s Racer 5 on tap was at the Zeitgeist biker (mountain, street, motorized and otherwise) bar in San Francisco. I clearly remember marveling at two things in particular: the fantastic pint of hoppy creaminess I was imbibing, and the dude sitting at the other end of the wooden picnic table who proceeded to roll, and then promptly smoke something that smelled equally as delicious as the floral, fruity aroma lingering from the frothy, creamy head of my pint. This was the beginning of the lupulin threshold shift, the shift that pushed such respectable pale ales as Sierra Nevada and Stone solely into the realm of ‘beer pong’ beers, or perhaps session beers if, unkindly, such session is limited to 10 seconds.

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(15 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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No kids tonight, so a little solo session. Finished with this beer, so I attempted the following drunken review:

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(7 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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The San Diego contingent of Boozereviewers escaped (wives, kids, responsibility in general) on a Saturday night to experiment with a one liter beer boot from Brendan at Bier Boot Haus. With some initial skepticism, we poured what appeared to be 2/3 of a one gallon growler of Ballast Point Dorado Double IPA (9.6% ABV). Skepticism because who the hell drinks a beer like this out of a boot? We do.

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(6 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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Just slugged a 22 oz. bomber (6.5% ABV) of one of the most recent releases from Tomme Arthur’s The Lost Abbey. As I drank it, I continually reminded myself “self, this is a saison style ale, appreciate it for what it is.” While contemplating the yeasty banana characteristics of this brew, I realized that one of the issues I have with Belgian style brews relates to the fact that, as a wine drinker, I have been conditioned to throw up (”throw up,” in no way reflects my reaction to this beer) red flags when I encounter overt bretty flavors. Don’t get me wrong, we are talking about mild brett funk in this beer, not Tijuana hooker yeast infection. Anyway, I managed to embrace the funk.

Poured a hazy golden color, medium head. Aromas of banana, maybe a little peach, a slight hint of citrus (due to American hops?), and aforementioned brett/funk. Taste was fruity/yeasty/a little bit of hoppy citrus peeking through (see above TJ/yeast reference, and add a beer-soaked lime wedge from your Pacifico). I felt like it lacked a little carbonation? Went down very easy, maybe due to the fact that I was craving and looking forward to something hoppy and bitter to go with the goddamn Kettle brand Thai potato chips that were burning my mouth. Shit, I admit to enjoying this beer despite my xenophobic views of Belgian beer, however, I am not rushing out to purchase it again for the $8.99 I paid.

87 points on the Boozereviews sliding scale.

(7 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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I don’t know about you, but when I’m in Mexico’s mainland I find it damn near impossible to get hungover. And, believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve done the research on this subject.

Let’s take the other day, for example.

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(6 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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T-h-e. Three letters. So simple, yet so profound. Anytime a name starts with “the,” that thing being described had better be good…no, it had better be the best.

“The” makes the promise of nonpareil sublimity, of prominence, of unparalleled perfection. Baseball had it’s version with “The Babe,” a larger than life spectacle whose off the field boozery was overshadowed only by his then unreachable home run record. He was a champion, the unrivaled quintessence of what a baseball player should be. George Herman Ruth just doesn’t have the same ring.

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(9 votes, average: 4.44 out of 5)

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Do you think Parker really spits when he’s tasting?

I mean, really?  Do you really think he actually spits out this glorious love juice we call wine?  When you think about it, if Jesus really went through the trouble to turn water into wine, then wouldn’t it be disrespectful– even sacrelegious or an outright affront to God– to spit it out?

No, I refuse to believe anyone would spit out a wine that tastes this good.  At least that’s what I told myself upon sucking down this whole bottle tonight.  You know what that means? Read more »

(2 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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