Black Radish Dark Lager
Michelob Amber Rock
Sam Adams I.P.A.
Hacker-Pschorr Original Oktoberfest vs. Beamish Irish Stout
Sam Adams Oktoberfest & Anchor Porter
Skullsplitter, Shwartz-Ritter Dark, Affenpinscher Pilsner
Brooklyn Brewery Dark Chocolate Stout
Guinness Pub Draught in Bottles; Pete`s Wicked Ale Red Rush American Red Ale
Samuel Smith Tadcaster Taddy Porter; Victory Storm King Imperial Stout
Victory Wiezen Bock, O'Hara's Celtic Stout, Mobjack Old Coot Stout, Boddington's Pub Ale, Hobgoblin English ALE
Newcastle Brown Ale; Lawson Creek Vanilla Cream Stout and the maternal hatred of Josef Hoffbauer Lager and Ice...
Victory Hopdevil Ale, Dogfish Head Raison D'Etre, Mobjack Red Ale, Stoudt's Blonde Double Mai Bock, Smuttynose Robust Porter
Legend Pale Ale! Red Hill! Young's Oatmeal Stout! Sierra Nevade Porter! Warsteiner! and Mobjack Red Ale and Black Radish Dark Lager get another shot
ANCHOR PORTER vs ROCK CREEK BLACK RAVEN PORTER!
Welcome to new randomly produced content!
I tend to drink less when it's not watered American beer, thus I tend to not wake up still drunk surrounded by felons in a county jail in Manteo, North Carolina like in the old days. (Remind me to tell you THAT story at some point.) Since I want to stay married and don't want to "gift" my children with the memories of Good Old Dad being a big fat drunken cretin (they'll have enough trouble trying to get their analysts to get them through the "big fat cretin" part), I now tend to buy really thick, burly, breadlike beer to make up for the lack of quantity- thus continuing my marital...existence.
Tried the Black Hawk Stout which is from Sarasota Springs, New York. I love a good stout and I didn't mind this one. It tastes like it's 8 or 9% because it has that Bigfoot Expedition-Cum-Fin du Mond afterswig burn that makes one elude the euphoric grandeur of the usual Chocolate Stout "Viking Skullfuck ride up the River Styx"- such as when the glorous winter comes and they unleash the Brookland Brewery Chocolate Stout upon a grateful fat drunk public. The difference between Black Hawk and the pinnacle that Brookland Brewery makes is that with the Brookland Stout, the sweet booze is led to your drunkplace by the lilting refrain of the choclate mask, summoning the spirits from your own personal Valhalla and making you ramble at length about football. Black Hawk is more of a punch to the throat. It lacked the subtlety that makes a preposterously thick stout transcendent- but the body of it is sheer, naked stout so it covers the bases of what I initially want out of my overpriced booze. I'd buy it again, but not in the winter when everybody rolls out their far-superior-to-this stouts.
LATER TODAY: Black Radish Dark Lager:
DEAN RASMUSSEN, motherfucker.
Every friday and Saturday folks from around the Richmond Metro area drop by my house and we all watch wrestling tapes (What the FUCK are you talking about, Canz, when you say the motherfucking BRILLIANT Cerebro vs Felino match became a comedy match? I need to try the booze you're drinking.) Last night Tim, SatanPro and Fat Ass Dave came over and we watched the Lucha Libre and some newer Big Japan stuff. Usually Dave will truly despise the booze I offer because he is not a Brother Of The Stout- which doesn't necessarily make him a Lover Of The Zima, but he is a good gauge to see how far my beerlust has strayed from the Black Label/ Coors/ Miller days. I gave him a Black Radish Dark Lager (from the Weeping Radish Brewery in Baltimore) and he said, "Hey, this isn't bad." The Black Radish sits in the middle with me. Dark enough to give it some ass, but lagery enough that you can drink it without noticing it too much. That's perfectly fine but when you cross the line out of the swill world, you want something that puts the Joy Of Drinking Beer directly in the forefront. It actually has secondary taste sensations that I haven't come to appreciate yet- as I still can't get into the hoppiness of a beer and shit like that. Yeah, that's the final word, not enough sludge, too much hoppy.
Then my wife got off work and me n SatanPro went to Country Song Of The Day Lee's birthday party- where I officially chastized him for being off the board for so long. He said he had been busy and I laughed at him and we listened to "You Make Me Feel Brand New" by the Stylistics and drank some Miller High Life, which had been sitting in a barrel of ice. Mmmmmmm.... Me and Miller go back. I remember my first apartment when I was 19 and I was sitting around gearing up to drink a 12 pak o Millah becuz there was nothing else to do. This girl I was completely secretly in love with was going off with my roomate Tom- since they had gone to high school together and were friends n stuff. Tom was late getting back so she was forced to hang out with me, so I offered her a Miller and we waited in Tom's room. She was 18 and flirting with a Grateful Dead phase, so we drank a bunch a Miller and listened to Workingman's Dead and we were taking by the oddness of the moment and we started kissing each other. And we were together for four years. So that catapults it over the other beer available at the Lee shindig- PBR. Any swill is good ice cold but PBR is just GRIM. Gimme a Black Lab or a Miller if I gotta go mainstream. The highlight of the party was Lee, SatanPro and I trying to find "Riot Squad" on the Rock For Light cd by the Bad Brains. Lee and SatanPro swapped Bad Brains stories and I kept yelling "somebodycallthe RIOT SQUAD! somebodycallthe RIOTSQUAD!" It was great.
Cel, Phil, Phil, Ray, Pete, Tom and I all congregated at Schneider's house to watch hours upon hours of REALLY great wrestling (The SATS, LOW-KI, Shocker vs Dr. Wagner from Top O The Super J, The GREAT GREAT GREAT GREAT Silver King and Dr Wagner contract signing with Lyger and El Samurai with the Wagner Brothers cutting the PROMO~! in English and TRULY ruling the world.
SILVER KING: It doesn't matter if I sign this contract.... what is this contract. Perhaps I will just KILL Lyger. Maybe....my brother.... Perhaps me and my brother, maybe we KILL El Samurai...
Ray and Pete, being kings of men, continued the tradition of bringing me fine fine swill from Pioneer Market in the heart New York City. It started when we got a six of the beautiful Midnight Dragon waay back in the day, continued with the MOTHERFUCKING MEISTERBRAU for the OMEGA reunion, and updated it yesterday with the fabulous six of Maccabee- a product of Israel, with the pricetag saying $2.99 a six (which is- WHAT?- 87 cents everywhere else in the world?). It was a fine light brew, lilting in it's unpretentious swilliness. It was a good as that weird ass Czech Republic Pilsner that we found there last time I was with Ray and Pete in New York and my laaaady, New Jersey. Then Tom and Cel came in with 40s of Magnum and Colt 45, and a six of Millah Tall boyz- so I made the Super Swill BLAKK AND TANZ~!- yes, the M&M: Magnum and Miller. They were the finest thing to ever grace the Booeymongers plastic cup I was swigging from. It was at this point when I proposed my next batch of content: a serial of Dickensian proportions combining Rudolf the Rednose Reindeer Christmas Special with the song "Iron Man" by Black Sabbath. Plan on seeing the first installment Wednesday.
My wife was limited to a 7-11 for her beer choices and decided to risk a six of Michelob Amber Bock. She knows how ludicrously bad Michelob so the fact that it clocks in at 5 bux a six made an easy purchase. I'll put aside my inherent hatred of Michelob to give the attempt by Anheuser-Bush to enter the true fancy boozeworld a shot. I'm on the second one and I ask the wife what she thinks. "Dark beer for wimps. It's like a dark beer but without taste of a dark beer." I tend to agree. It wouldn't be so bad if it didn't have the watered down aftertaste. SOOOOO not a Shiner Bock. I'm gonna drink another though.
Oh here's the thing I spoke of last Booze Review:
RUDOLPH- installment 1.
Rudolph was uneasy. He was at an emotional crossroads. Cornelius had to tend his snowman and Herbie had fallen for baritone in the elf choir. The three week excursion to relive their wilder days when they were outcasts instead of heroes left Rudolph wistfully longing for his single days. Before Clarise stopped his wandering days, Rudolf, Herbie and Cornelius would wander the badlands, cleansed by the lack of material possession, haunted but not crippled by the existential terror of loneliness. They were three men without women (or in Herbie's case "Men without lovers who were men"). There were other Reindeer before Clarise- WILD non-flying reindeer who were untamed by the hand of man, much less the sickening hand of Santa. Rudolph wistfully and yet grimly remembers how they made him feel. It was without love, it was savage. It made him feel like a true wild buck- ready to kill with horns and to stud with a female and roam the prairie fearless and savage. He also knew that that life was behind him. Felicity and domesticity with Clarise was straight ahead- as domestic life for Cornelius as the snowman's caretaker and Herbie's new lifestyle were so inherent now to all of their futures. It would be calm and peaceful. The wild years were over. "I can live with this. I've had my wildtimes. I can have passive sex in the acceptable style during the correct times of the mating season. I can live in Christmas Town awaiting one break from it all every Christmas Eve. I'm a hero who saved Christmas and I have become a legend among reindeer. I will become like the great Donner who sired me- a grim, steady provider and keeper of the community." Rudolph laughed at his own attempt to believe his own words. "It's my lot and there are far worse lots. Like freezing in the tundra, alone and hungry."
Meanwhile, at the cave, Clarise nuzzles Fireball, as the mounting has finished, conversation takes over and the hard facts of their lives comes to the forefront. "Fireball, I don't know what to do."
"Clarise, I love you. I was here for you when Rudolph was cast out. I could have led the sleigh just as well as he did. I could have been the hero if I were a glowing freak like he is. That's no great feat- just good timing. You know that I'm twice the buck that he is. I could show you again if you want." Fireball was fierce and always straighforward about his feelings. His hatred and jealousy of Rudolph was all-consuming.
Clarise was not so forthcoming with herself. "I've betrayed him enough. I won't talk about him like that..."
"Oh now my love, don't get all sentimental now.
Say the word and I'm gone, never to tell anyone. Say the word.
I know that you love me. You love me more than you could ever love that red-nosed freak. That's the God's honest truth. I know it. You know it."
"Of course I love you more than I love him. But there are other considerations. The scandal, the wrath of Rudolph and Donner..."
"I'm ready to live with it. I love you."
Sometimes I get hung up on a song. I remember a few weeks back listening to "Time Has Come today" end over end for three days- finally getting the whole message of the struggle of the singer of the song. Currently, I'm listening to "Fight The Power" by the Isley Brothers. It came out when I was 11 or 12 and it was too scary for me back then. Actually, it's a song that you can't get into thoroughly until you're 35. You haven't seen enough or done enough time in the world for the true meaning to resonate in your head. It's not about revolution. It's not about the goverment. It's about struggling to keep the energy to keep your own identity. "I tried to play my music- they say my music's too loud. I tried talking about it- I got the big runaround. When I tried to roll with the punches but I got knocked to the ground- by all this bullshit going down..." It's like "Folsom Prison Blues". It's a song about anyone anywhere. It could be about your banal life killing uyou, or self-loathing or anything you can't really control or GET A HANDLE ON that keeps you from being the you that you can truly be. For me personally, it's more of a Me against God kinda anthem. When I listen to it in that context, it's the most cathartic way to remedy my fractured relationship with God- a relationship which is crippled beyond rational repair for reasons I won't go into. But it also works on a mundane level. You make decisions in your life, you live with them. I dwell on some regrets for things I didn't do and paths I took that led to questionable results, so much that one can get to 35 and feel like one has dug a hole to deep to salvage half of what life promised when one was 18. I'm a very lucky motherfucker to have all I have, but the regrets and dwelling on them are part my personal idea of "all this bullshit going down". The pressure to succeed beyond being a decent person and good provider for my children- MORE "BULLSHIT GOING DOWN"! Time is truly wasting! There's no guarantee! FIGHT THE POWER! It's so one of the greatest songs ever written.
Sam Adam's IPA starts off all fabulous. Kinda
reminds me of an old 80s regional Ale- Chesbay beer from Maryland. All
light and jumpy but with this burly barbed-wire heart that stayed on the
tongue a while after the first sip. This India Pale Ale doesn't have the
staying power. It's a quick hook that is gone by the first half of the
bottle. The really good upside is that- as a non-Stout, actual Ale goes,
it's not nearly as pussy-assed as you would think. It packs 6% alcohol
but the FUGGLES (HAHAHAHHHA! That's the name of the special hops) keep
it from taking the Alcohol-Dominates-The-Beer-Taste route which one would
think would happen without the thick trappings of a more syrupy offering.
It delivers a fine amount of booze with an generally peppy conduit so I
got no beef with it.
RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER + IRONMAN by BLACK SABBATH
- The SECOND Installment.
Rudolph entered the cave he had claimed for himself and his new bride a season ago. Fireball had left hours ago, but he could see him in the eyes of Clarise.
"Clarise, there's something you need to tell me. I've heard rumors from my family, but they weren't telling me anything specific...'
"Rudolph, I guess you would find out... sooner or later..."
"Who is it?"
"It doesn't matter..."
"The fuck it doesn't. If you tell me, I can tell if it's someone in love with you or someone who wants to fuck you because you're my woman."
"What the fuck does that mean? Do you think I'm that stupid?"
"It's matters of the heart, doll. You have no fucking control who you are love with. You know that much. Just tell me who the fuck it is. Dasher?"
"It's Blitzen. That's fine. He always loved you. I know he wouldn't do anything to hurt me..."
"No, it's not Blitzen."
"Look, sweetheart. You can tell me. I really can be allright with this. I mena it's not like it's gonna be Fireball or anything..."
"He's the one. I'm in love with Fireball."
"YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME. What the FUCK! What the fuck are you thinking! What the fuck did you think I was going to do?!?"
"Oh GOD, I shouldn't have told you... There's no good wauy to break this to you..."
"You're FUCKING RIGHT! What the FUCK! It's fucking FIREBALL! Why the FUCK didn't you just kill me in my sleep? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! Get the FUCK out of here. You repay my true love with THIS? WITH THIS?!?"
Clarise decided to not be the victim of the Rudolph's rage and goes on offense.
"Fireball told me about you and Cornelius and Herbie and all the sluts you were fucking in the wasteland! YEAH, Rudolph, you got room to talk!"
"Fuck that! Those were nothing to me and you know it. I loved you...."
Rudolph's rage had been mitigated and Clarise left the cave. Rudolph stared into the maw of the future without his true love.
TO BE CONTINUED...
The beer nerdz at work were in a tither. I told them about finding the greatness of Mackeson Triple Stout (which is thick as Aunt Jemima's but only 3.75% alcohol- so it IS truly for the lover of a stout) at the Total Wine And More beer store here in Richmond on Broad Street and they were suitably stoked. But Frank- the eldest of all the beer nerdz I know, eldest of Shane, Ollie, KOD Cliff, Clint, Mike, Brian (who brought the haymaker that is Lion Stout to the Weekend wrestling tape viewing last night)- was very excited about the Hacker-Pschorr Oktoberfest coming in this week. He later called me from his house while I was at work to hip me to the fact that Ellwood Thompson market in Carytown had gotten the first shipment in in the city. THUS when the wife said, "Why don't you go get some beer", I opted to venture into the petulie-scented doors of the biggest natural food store in Central Virginia and grab a six. At $9.99 a six, it was very hoppy and jumpy and beautiful and fun. But for $9.99 a six I also expect it puts it's beermouth directly on my loins, which it doesn't. Frank is a pale ale/hops guy and it would show in his love for this. It's really good and really FULL-FLAVORED~! and on the edge of being genuinely manly and burly, but- ON THE OTHER HAND- for $5.49 I also got the Beamish Irish Stout and it kicked the limited edition German counterparts ass, in my mind. The Beamish has the widget in the can that clinks around as you pour it. It also has the weird ass barbecue sauce first rush of flavor that says, "Normal people will not like this." God, Beamish is all thick and rich and smoky and fabulous- like you strapped a set of testicles to a four pack of Murphy's Irish Stout. Lemme go drink the other three before the wife finds them. In summary, if you like hoppy bouncy beer, the Hacker-Pschorr Original Oktoberfest is king of limited edition mountain. If you enjoy the thicker, darker, stiffer-working stout, Mackeson's is number 1 and Beamish is SOOOOO number 1a.
Serial installments after football restarts.
God Bless America.
My friend John- who hipped me to BOTH Brookland Brewery Chocolate Stout and the harsh beauty of the Urbock (so he is a true founding member of our beloved Booze Squad of Richmond)- e-mailed me about a chance encounter he had with my wife and comments I had made about the Sam Adams Oktoberfest ($6.99 a six here in the fine city of Richmond).
I ran into your wife and lovely daughters in the
booze store about an hour ago. Angie was telling me that you had Sam Adams'
Octoberfest last night and it was watery. Now, I know that thick, black,
chocolaty ales are y'all's forte, but I think that the Adams Fest is pretty
full-flavored for a lager. So, I was asking myself, why "watery"? How could
they have drank the same beer as I and yet come to such a different conclusion
as to it's merits? Then I remembered, you don't drink your booze out of
a glass, do you? Perhaps you consider it too quaint to use a glass, but
Dean, you are missing out on much of the flavor of your beer when you drink
it straight from the bottle. What if you ate your supper with your fingers
holding your nose
closed? Wouldn't you miss out on flavor? Please, Dean, pour that brew in a glass so you can get those aromatics working for you.
Anchor Porter: don't be fooled - it is quite stout. Thick, rich, yet full of subtle complexities.
Bored at Work,
Being a Freak,
I responded thusly (lovingly terse)
It wasn't so much that it was "watery" PER SE-
it was just NOT Mackeson Triple Stout. Thus I drank three Fests in about
15 minutes. Sure it was full-bodied for a lager- especially compared to
the other Sam Adams staples
(the last I tried being the India Pale Ale or IPA as the kidz call it), but didn't force me to savor this said same full-body as a wall of taste sensation would. I blame my lust for leaden stouts and porters to force me to blindly chug any less-sludgen boozes.
As for the glass argument, the beer's gotta BRING IT on it's own merit! How many sense's does it need me to use?!?! ARE WE SO VAIN?!?!
Your loving friend in booze,
As for the Anchor Porter, it is a truly fine batch
of booze. I heart a porter and this was far more energetic than my usual
foray into porter (Legend Porter- a fine porter from the Southside of Richmond).
I would comment more but my wife only bought one and drank most of it.
Me and (mul)doomstone and Angie the Wife bought a whole bunch of beer and we're gonna drink it. We sat around, listened to lots of Celtic Frost, spoke of weed and public radio and general life. King Of Danger Cliff called and we set up this years Cowboys-Redskins bet (winner treats the loser to a trip to Richard's Rendezvous) and points out that on the side of the Fischer Malt Liquor bottle (a French Malt Liquor that houses our dishwashing liquid at the moment) there is a child drinking a flask of beer while sitting on top of a keg. Only Cliff would notice this. Anyway...
We're starting with the Scottish 8.5 percent alcohol SKULLSPLITTER. It's very carmelly and beautiful. REALLY beautiful. The alcohol slugs you in the throat like a motherfucker. A true burly batch of booze.
DEAN: Holy fuck.
ANGIE: Pumpkin Ale got in the way.
RYAN: Tastes like a TANK album.
From Germany (in the Beers Of Germany Sampler Rack Of Booze), Schwartz-Ritter Dark. Very smooth and classsssy compared to the Skullsplitter. Has that "gnawing on oak" aftertaste that I love. I expect more from a beer this dark but I didn't mind.
ANGIE: It's beer. It's smoky. (She seems indifferent.)
RYAN: Tastes like a scratched Emerson, Lake and Palmer Album.
From the beautiful city of Cleveland, Ohio, CROOKED RIVER PUMPKIN HARVEST ALE. Angie wanted something else Oktoberfesty after the positive experience with the Sam Adams Oktoberfest and this was in the refrigerated section. I have just had a SKULLSPLITTER and Scwartz-Ritter -WOW! Skullsplitter kicks in and you feel a giant rush of giant (Paul Stanley mode on) AL-KEE-HAUL (Paul Stanley mode off). OWWWH YAY.- and the Pumpkin ale is like the Duggan vs Ray Traylor match after the TORYUMON ten man hair vs hair match. From what I can tell, it seems to be a nice little ale.
ANGIE: It's really subtle with the spices but it's really good. It kinda sits on the back of your tongue. And it's hitting me. Maybe I'm just a pansy ass.
RYAN: It's good but it's not SKULLSPLITTER.
DEAN: It's very watery at this point. I blame myself.
Back to the Teutonic Beer Testing, this time the ZIRKUS FEST BIER- a maltacular lager. I'm thinking that it will wilt in the blinding light of the SKULLSPLITTER. I just poured it and I can tell by it's see-throughness that it soooo gonna lose. Actually, it's got a pair. Kinda has that Belgian taste that I love so much. This is really good.
RYAN: Miller Lite.
DEAN: Delightful, tantilizing.
ANGIE: Grainy. Doesn't taste heavier than the pumpkin brew, just grainier. (She has the look of disdain.)
We slosh over to Affenpinscher Pils. At this point, it tastes a lot like Black Lab really cold. Very pale and hoppy.
ANGIE: This is really good. Better than that other crap.
RYAN: It's good. It's very good but it's no Skullsplitter.
DEAN: World's greatest Black Label.
We run back to the USA and bust open the Legend Porter from the Southside of Richmond. I fucking LOVE Legend Porter. I need a whole keg of it. So thick. So rich. So beautiful. The diamond in the sky of Virginia Boozes.
DEAN: Tastes like candy for grown-ups. Mmmmmm...
RYAN: Tastes like coffee after a night of drinking. After four Skullsplitters.
ANGIE: It's good. Chocolaty...mmmmm.
THERE YOU HAVE IT.
I'm in total 500 mode- which is the best mode to be and I'm gonna watch about 40000000000 tapes over the next 2 weeks to thoroughly tweak the update as much as I can- SO I figured it would be fun to free-form talk about what I'm watching to help everyone get in the spirit of the event- though I'll try not to give anything away as to where anyone is going. We do that through endless e-mail and phonecalls about the list
MOLSON CANADIAN- I had 6 dollars on me yesterday
and Molson Canadian was the swankiest booze I could come out with and it
is SOOOOOOO watery. I like it as a mass quantity to get super torn down
kinda drunk. The taste is inoffensive and the slight body and texture is
actually kinda like drinking lemon flavored spring water when you want
lemonade. You know, not what you want, but it will do. Plus it makes me
think of Canada and all my friends up yonder so it was perfectly fine corporate
DVDVR 500 TAPE SCOUTING REPORT #1
MICHINOKU PRO 8/8/01
MPro gets swept under the rug until 500 time because HEY! it's sooo fucking not TORYUMON or BattlARTS. Still, to make the 500 legit in our eyes ya gotta sit there and watch the matches- so here we go. I'm trying to figure out if Sasuke has lost anything, if Dick Togo is back, which way TM4 should go and who gets to plunge and who gets to surge.
Dick Togo vs. Mr. Cacao : Hey, they wrestled at TRIANGLE OF APEX! Togo throws motherfucking GREAT punches and Cacoa takes them like a man. Togo has lost weight and is ready to take his spot in the "Japan indies go all 1988 US Pro Style" sweepstakes and this is right in the middle of the coolest movement in Japan Indie Wrestling in recent memory. Dick in the vertical base to set up heelishness, More fucking GREAT punches. Cacao is looking super-bush league with the crappy dropkick and People's Elbow. Togo's Senton still rules. Cacao does hit a MANLY tope that could help him out. Need to find a longer Mr Cacao match beforte I can really say one way or the other since he didn't really show much at Apex Of Triangle. Kinda like a handsome version of GENTARO at this point, odd highflying that I dig from a earthy sense of the art of the Professional Wrestling.
Men's Teioh/ Daisuke Sekimoto vs. Jinsei Shinzaki/ Chi-Nen Hokkai: Is Men's ready to join Togo, Jado, Gedo and Masato Tanaka in TAKING BACK THE NIGHT for the indie workers of Japan? Let's see shall we. Hmmmm. Chi-Nen Hokkai looks like poop. Seikimoto is super sketchy. They both look pretty lost. MEN'S and Shinzaki have at it and MEN'S is overselling like Terry Funk. Seikimoto and Hokkai show a bit more by the end but nothing you could call "good". Seikimoto does lotsa spears. Actually these two are horrible. Seikimoto less so, but still horrible. Couldn't really get a read on the current state of MEN'S or Hakushi
Curry Man vs. Ikuto Hidaka: Daniels is slick as fuck in the clips. Hidaka is back to a Nise Ricky Morton thing here and that's cool. He's still all versatile and shit. his highflying is fabulous here. Daniels moonsault is soooo fucking beautiful. Daniels is dynamic and shit with the dramatic roll-up and Hidaka matches him as he flies into a few submissions. Daniels fucking rules. Hidaka looked good but I'm thinking that Minoru Fujita has passed him in comparison.
Pentagon Black/ Masao Orihara/ Fujin vs Great Sasuke/ Gran Hamada/ Tiger Mask IV: Orihara looks like he always has. Fujin is fun. Is he Ni Hao? Is he COW*COW? TM4 is fun here beating the fuck out of Orihara. Fujin will bump like a motherfucking freak. I love the evil mask. Pentagon Black is pretty stinky in this. Is he Kenchi Takano? Hamada still has mad phat ups. Sasuke is on cruise control the last six months but the Great Sasuke in cruisecontrol is still the Great Sasuke. Actually, Orihara is going the extra mile but he is still SO wherever he was before, I'm guessing. OH WAIT! Pentagon Black just tried to bump his way into his heart. I'm assuming that Fujin is already on the list as someone else because he fucking rules. Sasuke with the BEAUTIFUL Tope Con Hilo. Fuck it, Sasuke rules in this. Hmmm... I need singles matches of everyone.
Perro Russo/ Fujin vs. Tsubo Genjin/ Beef Wellington : Oh shit. I'm thinking three of these guys aren't getting on. Beef with a nice suplex. There ya go. Fujin can work- even with these choads. Oh Tsubo Tsubo Tsubo...
Dick Togo vs. Hideki Nishida: AH! The DDT tassle guy! AWESOME! Dick Togo looks fucking GREAT. Nishida is third best Armstrong on the list I'm a thinking. And he hits the fat ass tope on Togo. I am beginning to hop on some dicks as we say in DVDVRland. MAN, Dick Togo's punches fucking rule. NASHIDA blades in from of fourteen people- THUS, I am officially ON HIS DICK. JEEZUS, Nishida musta drank a fifth of grain and swallowed a bottle of aspirin. HOLY FUCK, NISHIDA IS THE FUCKING KING- the three twist Rana. He and Togo go all roll-up crazy. God, that's a lot of blood. I'm waaaay up on both these guys. I would need a non-Togo Nishida match to gauge him properly I would assume- because Togo can still rudo like an absolute motherfucker.
Jinsei Shinzaki/ Tiger Mask/ Chi-Nen Hokkai vs. Men's Teioh/ Ikuto Hidaka/ Daisuke Sekimoto: Let's see these again. Sekimoto and Hokkai look HIDEOUS and I blame Hokkai. Hidaka and TM4 go all lucha as hell. TM4 brings a new fun move- the backflip double knee to the chest. Nothing here is making me stir either way for anyone other than a new unlove for the youngsters. Actually TM4 and Hidaka have a fun exchange at the end but nthing that would cause any movement either way for any of the top four involved.
Curry Man vs. Great Sasuke: This match is pivotal, though Daniels in Japan is often problematic. In full Curryman gimmick you get a different Daniels. Either way, this is one of the major matches we can judge Sasuke on in the last 6 months- so it is key. Daniels works on the arm and Sasuke sells it early- so that's fine. Daniels has fun armbar variations. It's all a little sloppy but Sasuke sells the arm like a champ. Tope Con Hilo as first move after transition to offense is fun and Sasuke still sells the shoulder. And then the Senton To The Floor?!? AWRIGHT. Hmmm... I can see where the problems are with this match. They both sell really well and the arm-torture by Daniels looks really hurty and the big moves by Sasuke look really sharp but it never really heats up and gets really good. I dunno. Sasuke ruins a match by selling his arm too well? Yeah, kinda. I can't hold that against him too much.
More MPRO tommorow.
Greetings Fellow Drinker Of The Booze,
I was going to write this Saturday night because I was going to wait and see if [MUL]Doomstone still had the 15% al-kee-haul beer (the name of which escapes me for some reason) he bought from the FOURTH beer store we've found in the tiny berg called Richmond- Kegs&Corks at Horsepen and Patterson. Rippa was in town and we went to the fourth best Mexican restaurant in Richmond and opted to stop by and check it out. It had no Mackeson Triple Stout or Skullsplitter but it did have a lot of flavors of Fuller, so I plan on checking a few things out when I recover from the Dark Chocolate Stout liverstomp.
Anyhoos, since it came out this week and it's only around a few months, I go to get two sixs of the BB DCStout at Ellwood-Thompsons on Ellwood Ave and Thompson St (Get it? WOW!) and drift back to being 19 again. Ellwood-Thompson's is a very successful natural grocery store run by a guy who used to run this little natural grocery store under a vegetarian restaurant I used to work at when I was 19 and 20 in college. When I walk into Ellwood-Thompson's, it's the same people with different faces 16 years later- emaciated white girls with pechooli scented backpacks, faux rasta mama's with giant dreadlocks, twentysomething guys with bad facial hair and knit hats, older Lefties getting mineral water for the drive to McLean . The only difference is that there isn't anybody wearing FSNL or Sandinista periphenalia like was the wont when I was exposed to the Richmond Granola Culture on a daily basis bcak in the day. I'm glad we keep a healthy population of These Who Used To Be Called Macrobiotic But Who Are Now Called Vegan. there will always be someone in this fair town who can make a pipe out of a rutabaga. And it definately keeps us in fabulous booze. I developed an addiction to Guinness Extra Stout and Raffo and Bass Ale sneaking them out the storeroom at the vegetarian restaurant way back when. Ah youth.....
Anyway, I get the twelve and Ryan comes over and we start watching all the New Japan again and Lyger is SO #1 upon re-reveiw. And Yoshie is going on the 500 before Nakanishi. And Yoshie goes on after the Big Show. The Dark Chocolate Stout is about as full a taste as you get- bedazzling the pallette with it's fat-ass megabitter taste with the edge being cut by the chocolate overtones. It also hides 8.5% alcohol- which we didn't know until we read the beloved DVDVRMB the next day. The quote that I remember after drinking two in twenty minutes was , "Goddamn. What the fuck?" We got paisted and then everybody showed up.
The rest is a blur. I want a keg of this YESTERDAY! It's a stone motherfucker.
Yours in booze....
The wife sent me out on
an errand and- since tomorrow is a 104 hour paycheck- I figured I`d go
to Kramer`s Market on Cleveland and Stuart and get some sweet delicious
booze as a celebration of me just being the big daddy knocking out da rent.
I got the Cherry Garcia for my lovely lass and was skulking over the beer
selection. I was looking for something preposterously alcohol-drenched
or something superstout. I opted against the Grecian lager and saw the
slick looking bottles of the Guinness Pub Draught- as I had heard of the
bottle Pub Draught and had the canned version- so I ponied up the $8.49
and got a six. I`m drinking it now and it does taste worlds better than
the canned version- as would seem to be the case with any can to bottle
comparison. It still has that watery bottom taste that makes it the easiest
stout to drink quickly- as the stout section is all front loaded so the
first taste is fat ass stout, but it dissipates into a neutral taste quickly
to get this super LIVE taste to it. THUS the Pub Draught concept. It`s
a good taste and it`s pretty jumpy and fun for a lethargic stout. I wouldn`t
recommend it over a Mackessons or anything that is a real stout because
it really lacks the dull thud of a good regular stout. The Guinness Pub
Draught is kinda like a self-contained Black and Tan. There ya go. Would
I recommend it in general. Fuck, I`ma drink the rest of this. (The 11.2
oz bottles is for Mackessons or Skullsplitter. This ain`t that. Plus the
pub widget takes up booze room so I also question the bang for the buck.)
I had a six of Pete`s Wicked Ale Red Rage American Red Ale laying around the house. My wife bought it because it was only $5.49 a six and looked a step above Miller. And it was. Actually, the first time I had one was Tuesday (?) when she made steak and the Wicked Ale Red offering tasted like really shitty Red Hook and I was hating it like a motherfucker. After the other five sat in the fridge for a while and they got super cold, it improved the taste immensely. It definately got it into the Best Michelob Dark Ever category of mediocre beer by a shitty brewery- though not to the pinnacle of what a Pete`s brew could hope to achieve: the Sam Adams Winter Lager designation of ``Sell Out Brewery Actually Regains A Moment Of Indie Goodness`` designation. Pete`s is reviled by the Society of Richmond Beer Snobs because it used to be the only micro available along with Sierra Nevada and Samuel Adams. Adams and Pete`s sold out to big breweries and now Sierra Nevada absolutely skullfucks both of them in every category. Speaking o which, isn`t it time for more BIGFOOT? As for the Pete`s Wicked Ale Red Rush, get somebody to loan you a dollar and get a six of Molson Canadian for $6.49. It`s not bad for $5.49. Yep. There you go.
RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER + IRON MAN by BLACK SABBATH.
Klondike Cornelius and Rudolph were in the middle of the wasteland. Rudolph felt good to be out and alone again, since he hadn`t actually spawned with Clarisse and had broken from her in a clean way, thus he didn`t have anything tying him to her other than a broken love. He revelled in the arms of many a wild flightless reindeer doe, but his happy-go-lucky sexual escapades were less mirthful now. Rudolph was becoming sullen and despondent, but the drinking and wandering and fucking, along with the companionship of Klondike, helped him get through it.
``So anyway, Rudolph. There we were, reeling drunk on the outskirts of Juneau, when through the saloon window flies Big Bone Belle- as naked as the day she was born! CRASH! She had stinky Jim Monongahela in a HAMMER LOCK and was bashing him over the head with a beer mug. She was screaming `I`ll teach you, ya needle dicked bastard! I`ll teach ya, you rat eating bastard!` So- after taking in the crazy sight for a few minutes and getting a good bellyfull of laughing- me and the boys decide to try to restrain Belle- who was 260 if she was a pound. Anyways, she goes COMPLETELY APESHIT- flailing and swinging and biting kicking. I thought I had the drop on her but she rared back and knocked my molar clean out of my mouth! I said straight to hell with all that- this ain`t worth it, friend (because who could stand Jim Monongahela anyways and he was prolly getting what he deserved.) So anyway, Monongahela is knocked cold and getting frostbite face down in a pool of his own blood which was turning into red Juneau ice. Belle is calming down as she pulls a polar bear rug off the saloon floor to cover up her vitals. (Not that we were looking or anything. Well, I looked a little bit. We had been snowbound in the Gilvie Mountains for a few months, ya see- so Christ forgive me, but I was a bit wound up, if you get my meaning.) Seems that stinky Jim had sweet talked Belle into making a little love, but couldn`t contain his hideous manspunk upon seeing Belle as she entered the boudoir naked. Belle was obviously enraged and I`m assuming Jim Monongahela never showed his face in Alaska again.``
``Cornelius, the life you`ve lived...``
``You want some more whiskey, boy?``
``Thanks. I`ll buy the next bottle if you tell me another story.``
``Oh, you better than to get me started...``
Up ahead, a small box crawled above the snow- it`s rusting springs creaking in the cold sun.
``Who... wants a.... Charlie In The Box...``
``Charlie, what the fuck happened?``
``Santa double crossed us. He gave away the dolly, but the rest of us were dumped off in the wasteland that night. You couldn`t see it because of the fog...``
``Charlie, let me carry and get you warm. You look like hell..``
``To hell with me Rudolph. I`m dead. I crawled all this way to get help. now I can finally die. Save the rest......``
Rudolph helplessly watched his fellow misfit and friend draw his last mortal breath. Rudolph thought about how he returned to the North Pole because of love- a love that had foresaken him. He thought about how he had stood up for his former tormentors out of sense of duty- a sense of duty that had now been betrayed. Rudolph thought about saving the rest of the Misfit toys. He then thought about.... his horrible bloody revenge...
TO BE CONTINUED.
With my impending decrepitude, the birthday checks are rolling in. I got 50 bucks from Grandparents-in-law so I told the wife, "Hey, I'm going to Ellwood-Thompson and catch up on all the boozes I've missed out on" in our attempt to scale everything back to gear up for the impending linebacker that is arriving in June. The Elder Statesman and True Knowledge Motherfucka of the Richmond Booze Society has been taunting me about the skullfuckingly GREAT booze that is Victory Storm King Imperial Stout that just arrived at Ellwood Thompson. That was first on my list. A few weeks ago, he was saying, "Why Dean, you know that the Legend Brewery has released it's Best of BOTH your worlds= the Chocolate Porter. I'm thinking you would enjoy that quite a bit...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" his evil laugh I didn't understand at the time, but today I found out why. It's only out for a few weeks and all of it is gone. Gone. GONE! motherfucking GONE~! So I was there, amidst all the crunchy overfed but overly thin pseudohippies and annoying freaks of Richmond upscale leftyism. I looked at the fabulous other beer to choose. They had the GIANT bottle of La Fin Du Monde but I didn't want to get teatotallingly paisted on a week night. I contemplated the Legend Porter but it wouldn't be the same. Frank was saying how they brew the Chocolate Porter with real cocoa and everything. I dunno. I saw the Sammy Smith section and saw the Taddy Porter and my curiosity was piqued. I then bought batches of Ben N Jerry's for the youngsters and myself (the wife was going to hold up a Baskins Robins later and heist all the German Chocolate ice cream. I handed her a handgun and ,"Godspeed, my love.") ANYHOOOOOS...
The Victory Storm King Imperial Stout is motherfucking NINE POINT ONE PERCENT AL-KEE-HAWL. I thought Frank said it was 5 or 6 percent, I thought. I pour one and taste it and GEEEEEZUS FUCKIN FUCK is it fucking mansized in it's armour-coated, bone-crushing malty body. The alcohol isn't hidden underneath and you would need 36% alcohol to overpower the taste so it stands side-by-side, ready to make you a new person. A far far drunker person. I give it my highest rating.
The Sammy Smith Tadcaster Taddy Porter was busted out immediately after the first Storm King because I figured everything was gonna wilt in the blazing glow of more than one Victory Stout. The Sammy Smith is fucking motherfucking great too for the absolute opposite reasons. It's got a pair like you wouldn't believe but it is smooth as a Negro Navarro counter back ride. It has a real pronounced malty taste that is pleasing and it brings me pleasure. Its smooth at 5% alcohool and the mellow loving loveliness makes me want to get really drunk and drive to Canada and buy coffee mugs at the Perth Ontario Salvation Army and then keep driving North until I reach the North Pole and then take a really long nap and drive back. Yeah, they should fucking outlaw both of these boozes.
My highest rating for both.
So's anyways, I go to the fancy-shmancy Booze Market in the back of the Ellwood Thompson grogery store on Thompsonn St in Richmond- in the Carytown district- and I was pondering which was to go- happy old guy fruity, hoppy and delightful or bitter old guy stout, thick and chocolaty. WELL ANYWAYS- Ellwood Thompson has this neeew thing- possibly the most gutpacking thing in the history marriage-destroying special offers... yes, I'm talking about- MAKE YOUR OWN SIX-PACK. I MOTHERFUCKING LOST MY MOTHERFUCKING MIND. So anyway, this Booze Review will be in 6 parts. I gotta drive so I'm saving the three MEGA FATBOYS (Victory Imperial sweet motherfucking GOD Stout, Boddicker's English Pub Swill, and O'Hara's Celtic Stout) for when I get home. I'm having the Victory Weizen Bock because it is the most pansy-assed of the divine six I picked up. I'm taking the MobJack Olde Coot Stout and the Hobgoblin English Ale over to Shartan Pro's house- where we will watch the Professional Wrestling that the kids seem to be so fond of. I'll check in after each one. It'll be fun. Plus it will keep me from becoming paisted before I can drive home. And the first soldier to die for the cause is...
VICTORY WEIZEN BOCK: I sorta remember Richmond Booze Society Elder Statesman and Man Among Men- Frank- saying that he was very delighted by this bock. Me n Frank don't always see eye to eye on the booze subjects because his pallette is kinda Beatles while my palette is more like the Stones. He likes a beer to have life and zest and spunkiness. I like a beer to be filled with hate and pain and gooiness. I can see why Frank would love this beer as it is very lilting in it's fruit-like tanginess and is sorta like $1.66-a-bottle Liquid Pop Rocks. I liked it eventhough it isn't really my speed. It's a fine opening match. I await the Kawada like power of the other Victory offering- the mighty mighty Victory Imperial Stout, but this is perfectly fine brewing slung into a bottle. The fact that it has such qualities to acknowledge makes it worth trying. I couldn't see buying a six of it, but one is fine if I know I got something with a little more ass behind it coming up.
O'HARA'S CELTIC STOUT
I drive over to the Casa De Shartan but a strange mishap involving a train and a crate forces me to head back home. I get home and call young Satan Pro to make sure he is okay and not trapped under his miniatures display case or anything and he was alive and well and wondering where I was. I tell him the story and we agree to try to get together tomorrow after I attend to ---FAMILY BUSINESS---. This change in evening plans changes my booze guzzling order- as I can now drink the manly with the otherly manly, heavy with pale, malty with the hoppy! I have found the Salvaging Of The Evening! So I call fellow Richmond Booze Society Member- young John- and ask him about the O'Hara's Celtic Stout. We go way back- shit! SEVENTEEN YEARS- and he is more of hoppy guy- so I was looking for his opinion on it because it would be a different view than mine. Well actually, John gave me an Urbock once because he knew that I would be the only other person that he knew that could actually drink one whole one, so don't think that he is some pseudo wine-sipping type. He's a man through and through and he has deep-seated opinions on beer that I always find fascinating. The conversation went like this:
D: "Hey, you know you can Creat Your Own Six-Pack
at Ellwood Thompson!"
J: "Oh yeah, the last time I did that it cost SIXTEEN DOLLARS."
D: "Ha-HA! I got outta there for Eleven-Sixty-five. Of course, the Boddicker's was $1.66- so I'm guessing that Boddeker's is England's version of 'Urine'. But we'll have to actually try it first, I guess."
D: "So John, you had this O'Hara's Celtic Stout?"
Then we talked about how cute our children were and what have you. Before I hang up, I tell him how disappointed I was that he didn't have the DECENCY to try EVERY beer I might one day want to ask his opinion on. He disgusts me...
Anyway, O'Hara's won't make you swear off Skullsplitter or anything. It's actually kinda pedestrian for a Stout and is tastes like a micro-brew in Delaware taking a shot at a Stout- as opposed to something that is actually brewed in frickin' Ireland. It has a smokey aftertaste that is nice, and it has a good dull thud of a stout taste but lacks the zeal of your superior Stouts. Plus, if you are gonna be a pussy of a stout at least be drenched in alcohol. 4.3% would require something HALF as balls out as Mackeson. Which it ain't.
PART THREE - MOBJACK
OLD COOT STOUT
God, I didn't realize that this was brewed in Richmond. I thought it was a Northern Virginia thing. It's brewed on Dabney Road in the shitty industrial park wastelands at the edge of the city/Henrico county line. Either way, this thing is completely mysterious. NOBODY knows exactly how much alcohol is in it- and I checked every link in the Google search. The taste is really odd. It's kinda like an Urbock in it's smokiness, but it was this licorice taste in the middle to BAFFLE you as it delivers the stout taste of sheer bitterness flying over the top. Yeah, the smokiness is compelling. You know that nobody in their right mind would drink this and only someone who has imbibed the entire contents of a fleet of beer trucks in their lifetime would have a pallette fucked up enough to actually enjoy drinking this. Welcome to the pathetic results of my life and get me a fucking case of this stuff. ACTUALLY, THIS IS THE GREATEST BEER IN THE WORLD TO GET ADDICTED TO. When I was in High School and an athlete on the football team, I tried to bulk up but cut down on refined sugar or some 80s bullshit so I switched to diet drinks. I developed a tolerace and then I developed a preference for diet drinks. When I went to college and had fellow poor bohemian roomates, I would buy 12 packs of diet coke because none of roomates would touch it- but I could drink both so I DOUBLED MY DRINK INTAKE! IT'S AN ADAPTIVE TRIUMPH OF THE WILL! Sorta like when I got into copious amounts of malt liquor.
God, this is a weird tasting beer. Get me a keg of it. OLD COOT= ODD.
Downpoints because there is this outside chance that it is non-alcoholic or something. They have to warn you about that, don't they?
PART FOUR - BODDINGTON'S
My wife hips me to the fact to that the Victory Weizen Bock I had before I left is fucking 8.7% alcohol. I'm now assuming that the Victory Brewing Company is owned the sons and daughters of Gregor Rasputin and John Wayne who intermarried and created this weird family of psychobrewers that drench even their most assless and pussified concoctions with giant fistfulls of alcohol. Anyway, the Boddingtons Pub Ale is all Butterscotchy and watery. My first swig and I almost laughed out loud, "This tastes like apricot Kool Aid! Like if the wanted to get kids to drink 4.7% Kool-Aid!" This is the most pussy-assed crap... hey, wait. I think I understand this. This is like the world's most fabulous Budweiser. If you are going to have a beer as thin and unburley as Budweiser- custom built for macho latently homosexual guys who really don't like the taste of beer- at least give it a funny taste. This one is butterscotchy!
Ah who the fuck knows- you might like it. Not me. And it's from the same part of England that gave the world fucking Joy Division. This beer makes no sense.
PART FIVE - HOBGOBLIN
Wychwood Brewery's HOBGOBLIN ENGLISH ALEL:
This is a fun little beer- kinda has that burning birch taste that makes you think of big fat guys with beards sipping a beer while smoking a pipe- all the while listening to some charming Mozart sonata as he fiddles with his Civil War coin collection. This would taste good with something you killed with your own two hands. Not like a stag or a wild boar because it's not like a ponderously heavy sledge hammer of a beer- but if you stomped a pheasant to death and ate it, this would be a perfect accompaniment to a lighter circle of blood completed. The taste is all compact. It has a lot of body to it with a wonderful wonderment of tastes and feelings and love and booze and kissing and the pornography and the... wait. The taste is all compact. it has a lot of body and you get a couple of cool taste sensations hittinh you, but it isn't like you are drinking one of those Moby Dick like beers where you have the first taste as it hits and the weird tastes in the middle and then the aftertaste. This is more like a Shonen Knife song with one frontal dynamic that is fun and jumpy all through the shot.
Anyway, the other main key to why this is good while many beers very similar to this make me wanna puke on my fine ruffled shirt is that it has this dry thing going for it. You know how Redhook beer sucks because it dry taste that goes to far and goes into the realm of kinda sour. Well, the Hobgoblin stays on this side of that taste and it's a little taste addition that makes the wood-esque qualities of how it tastes even deeper and richer. I dunno, it's just a damn good beer. Very unassuming yet confident in it's own big ass of booze.
You should also drink some of this.
My only beer left is the divine Victory Storm King Imperial Stout and you already know how I love it so.
UNITED THROUGH BOOZE~!
It's been a while since I wrote one of these- as new youngsters mean less money to piss away on overpriced booze. BUT my wife is out of the No-Drinking Zone with the youngun and actually has been advised to have a couple beers a week to clear up things in her system so we are back into the grasp of the sweet delicious booze. She went out and bought a six because I kept buying all these twelves of Josef Hoffbauer Lager that are on sale at every Kroger in the Greater Richmond Area. I like it because it's only $4.99 a six and is INFINITELY better than other swill available, swill that would actually cost more- I point a disdainful finger to Miller and Pabst Blue Ribbon. I like it, but the wife- who can outdrink any of you motherfuckers if she ever had to and who useta drink twelves of Goebles waiting for the keg to arrive at her Oregon Hill house after the shows at Shafer Court on Fridays back in her collegiate black belt drunk days- thinks it tastes like I spent 5 bux for some kind of chilled Milwaukee bathhouse urine in cans. She bought her fave, which is Newcastle Brown Ale. I never get pitchers or pints of Newcastle when I'm out howling at the moon with my fellow drunken codgers, because if a bar has Newcastle, they would also more than likely have Guinness. And Guinness always wins. Guinness ALWAYS wins. Guinness. It always wins. Guinness. But I do actually like Newcastle Brown Ale when it is cold and in my house. I've drank three in the last 24 hours and the bottle shape itself is as accomodating as the smooth and hefty taste. The bottle is super-cylindrical and feels good in my hand- like if a beer bottle were shaped like my personal dream penis...wait. The taste is caramelly and dense, but is all lucid and lively as it dances in your mouth- kinda like every thing I like in a Lager or Pilsner combined with a couple of things I like in a stout or a porter. I recommend drinking it if your wife, husband or boyfriend or girlfriend buys it and leaves it in he fridge. You would buy the Guinness though.
So anyway, we hit the end of the Newcastle and it was like 8:45 or so and the second episode of COPS was on and we were out of beer. I said, "Y'know. Y'know, I could go the store and get some more booze."
She says, "Yeah, and get some M&Ms. And dont get any of that crap you've been buying."
I said, "The Hoffbauer? I was gonna go to Ellwood Thompson. What time does it close"
"Make your own six pack."
"No....no, fuck that, I can't afford that. I'll go to Kroger and get something." So I remembered that Kroger had also gotten some kind of Josef Hoffbauer-esque close-out deal on some other Northern off-brand and I became excited again. I remember that next to the ceiling high stacks of Hoffbauer 12 packs, there were these $4.59 six-packs of some kind of faux Micro looking stuff called Lawson Creek. I usually go to the Kroger next to my work on my way home, but I was going to a foreign Kroger this time- the one in Carytown that useta be the most malt-liquor-drenched Safeway in the history of the great city of Richmond, Virginia. Luckily, the Lawson Creek was in the refrigerated section here as opposed to on the warm floor display like in the other Kroger and I notice they have three flavors of Lawson Creek- a Lager, a something and a Vanilla Cream Stout. Figuring the Vanilla Cream Stout would be either a] as repulsive as it sounds or b] as weird as Mobjack Old Coot Stout, I bought it because if something isn't going to be good at least be awful in an interesting way. The thing is, it's not repulsive at all. It's not GOOD or anything, but it's like if Sam Adams made a thrid rate creme ale, so it is better in it's genre of beverage than Vanilla Coke is at its genre. The vanilla is very prominent but it isn't a sweet vanilla taste. It's- I SWEAR- like Cool Colt malt liquor. It's the essence of vanilla like Cool colt was the ESSENCE of mint flavored Malt Liquor- a candy taste with the sugar taken out. It's fucking weird. But therein is its downfall as being anything worthy of being a high calibre BREW in that it's supposedly a stout but all you get is aslightly heavy beer with a overriding vanilla taste. C'mon a stout is supposed have some ass behind it and this is COMPLETELY assless. And it's only 3.2. If you can't have balls, at least have alcohol. This has neither, but for an on-sale knock-off of a Microbrew, ity's perfectly fine at $4.59.
And- since the time that the last Booze Review was concocted a few months- my Men-TOR and the most knowledgable elder statesman in the Richmond Booze Society got a promotion and is now my boss. Does it get any fucking better than that? I SAY THE NAY!
We were going to have a live Booze Review on me n Steve's public access show- but all the World Class Drunks I wanted to line up for the camera tasting all had a myriad of plausible reasons for bowing out and I had already gotten the Make Your Own Six pack from Ellwood Thompson. So I invited Steve so we could drink it all anyway. WE ALL WIN!
The Dogfish Head Raison D'Etre has a whole lot going on- as the lil brewery from Delaware will bring the boozy goodness. Venerable Richmond Booze Society brew-MENtor, Frank, recommended this- as he was trying different beers at the Taphouse if I remember correctly and he taken aback at the taste. He found out that it is brewed with raisins and Belgian beet sugars and recommended as a beer to try. It's REALLY REALLY good in a Box Of Raisins mixed with a bottle of maple syrup poured in to a bucket of grain alcohol sort of way- which I'm all over. It clocks in at a MANLY 8% and has the multifaceted taste that could support... like 16%. Steve comes over and says, "Hoppy" and finishes it off.
The Victory Hopdevil is pretty much the same hoptastic bonanza but is more direct- less busy. Victory is more mysterious with their alcohol content but I am assuming this is 7 or 8%. I like the bitter aftertaste- like this beer was like a relationship with an old girlfriend that ended badly- but the good times and the bad times meld into one batch of REALITY! WOW! Maybe it's 48% alcohol and laced with peyote. The front end of hopdevil is pretty bitter too. But the sex was super hot, so it's a good memory.
Steve grabs the second offering from Richmond's own Mobjack- this time their weird assed Red Ale. It's just as weird as their Old Coot Stout. The Mobjack Red Ale is really lite and tastes like it's gone FLAT. It kinda spins out at the end with a hint of smokiness. It's so strange that some of the weirdest beers I've had in years is brewed ten miles from my house. Me and Steve have trouble figuring out if and why we like this beer, respectively. Mobjack challenges my ideas of what is good in beer. Maybe it is the greatest brewery ever. Steve suddenly comes to a EPIPHANY- "I don't like this beer." Steve is a man and I respect his hatred. And offer to drink the rest. Meanwhile, the more I drink of it, the more I like. Steve on Southside, this is brewed on Northside so I'm used to the water. Steve argues positively for the worth of other Mobjack beers he has had.
I give Steve a Victory Storm King Imperial Stout because hehas been to Ireland and drank Guinness from the brewery and he enjoys a burly stout. He says, "surprisingly smooth" in response to my build up. I say, "Guinness on steroids" and he agrees.
Next up, from Wilkes-Barre, New York in the beautiful Upstate New York drive to Watertown to get you into Ontario, is the Stoudt's Blonde Double Mai Bock and I'm wondering if it will completely wilt on my pallette- as I have had the Imperial Stout that Steve forced me to drink. I pour it in my lucky mug. It doesn't actually wilt but I don't actually like it too much. It tastes kinda like Coors lite. Maybe the Imperial Stout is HOLDING IT DOWN, MAN! Steve describes like it's one of his many laaaadies- "smooth and sweet". As it takes over my pallette I also see a slight light at the end of the tunnel. Fuck, I still don't like this. Too nondescript for me. Steve enjoys it. Steve says he thought the Mobjack was non-descript. He likes the smoothness. I can dig that. I like more of a fist of booze. He likes more of a velvet glove of booze. Steve is a sexy motherfucker....
The final beer before we greet the night is from Portsmouth, New Hampshire. We pour it and it looks pretty robust. It's definately a porter from the looks of things. GOOD GOD! This is has a big fat middle section. Super-smoky that fades quickly into a velvety love thing. This rules it. It's like the Jesus and Mary Chain's first record. A batch of beautiful melodies wrapped in a giant batch of noise. Mmmmm.... caramel smoke... WE HAVE A WINNER! A need a case of Smuttynose Robust Porter. HERE! HERE!
For reasons I won't mention, we came into a slight bulge in our bank account so we figured we'd whizz it away on overpriced booze and strombolis. I went to Ellwood Thompson's and they were actually having a taste testing with the Virginia brewmeisters from Star Hill brewery. I'm assuming this was actually violating Virginia state law so I was deeply into this. I told the brewmeister that I had tried some of his wares at the Mid-Atlantic Beer Festival a year and a half ago and he tells me how this is the best brew in Virginia. I didn't have the heart to tell him how thoroughly the Legend Porter from Richmond smokes whatever he can conjure. It's still a fine little Pale Ale. I'll get to it in a few.
We first took another swig of the controversial and extremely odd Mobjack Red Ale which doesn't taste nearly as weird this go round. Kinda Redhook-esque actually in it's overly dry taste that I'm no fan of, but it was much better than the first time I drank of the BREW of the Henrico County, Virginia. On deck, I pour out the Legend Pale Ale that Frank The Elder Statesman of the Richmond Booze Society has fallen head over in heels in love with. It is a sassy brew- filled will a bizarre fruity sensation- like someone took a Sam Adams lager and soaked orange peels in it. Except not as repulsive as that. It's a happy little taste and I will wait at least three beers to destroy it's memory with the Oatmeal Stout. I don't taste a huge wad of alcohol, but I'm guessing it's prolly 6%-ish. Not bad for something brewed on the Southside of Richmond, but not as divine as their porter- but is a good approximation of one of those cask-conditioned ales that make the boozefiends go all drooly and adjectivey. I will drink the pint+6oz right now. Mmmm... that's mellow. And since this isn't a Ted Nugent concert from 1976, I won't get the fuck out of here. I will search for some of that Nashville pussy he dedicates "Cat Scratch Fever" to. God, the more you drink it, the more it attempts to develop multi-facets. If one of those facets isn't 11% alcohol, I can't get overly excited. Yes, don't try to catch up now, my little booze...
The Red Hill Pale Ale is better than the Legend Pale Ale because the Red Hill isn't as flamboyantly fruity and is a more stern disciplinarian to you taste buds- as the alcohol and burlier beer tastes take more of the forefront and you don't end up with that overly eager pale ale cottonmouth feeling when the swilling comes to an end.
My wife snakes 11 ounces of the 12 ounces of HEAVEN called the Sierra Nevada Porter. God, let me get the annulment papers in order because I can't believe I am not drinking 12 of these. It's a big taste- a manly lumberjack of a taste- with a syrupy smooth smokey axe over it's shoulder as it walks side by side with a blue ox of full-blown caramel malty taste that could hide far more than the 5.6% up it's ass. Bee-yoo-T-ful. Being a man who no longer wants to eat macaroni and cheese with tunafish mixed in every day, I let the wife drink the other 11 ounces and shut my big fat mouth. I glare quietly swallowing my rage en lieu of this fabulous brew.
I've dranken the Warsteiner before. I don't remember ever wanting it again, but it's been a while and it's one of those German beer law beers that follows the brewing laws that let the US microbrewers move past the Germans in innovation. I mean, the divine Urbock isn't a sanctioned beer under the brewing laws if I remember a drunken conversation with my friend Wolfgang (from Cologne) a year and a half ago at the same beer festioval where the Legend Porter was one that took the day over the Star Hill concoctions. Upon drinking the Warsteiner again, it's a very agreeable beer- no real aftertaste or fun-loving combo taste, just a good pilsner taste. I just went to the Warminster USA site and I pretty much channeled the ad copy in describing the taste. The lack of aftertaste is prominent in the advertising. This isn't a great beer or anything, but I could see drinking an entire keg of this without too much effort. Okay, that would mean that this is a great beer. For a beer that seems like it would be right at home rolling down a funnel into your mouth, it packs 4.8% which makes this the most dangerous beer on earth.
I haven't had a Young's Oatmeal Stout in forever and I've never had one from a can. It's in the Murphy's Irish/ Guinness Pub Draught be-widgeted can, so I'm gearing up for a pansy assed "smooth draught" version of the pretty balls out bottled version. Lemme pop it open. It's dark as motor oil and has the chocolaty pub draft thing that all these widget-bedecked canned draught beers have. It makes it easier for overly fast drinking, so I'm guessing the Raven Mack- Dean Rasmussen Redskins vs Cowboy summit will involve gallons of Young's Oatmeal Stout and gallons of Warminster. Beer dorks on the internet go on at length about how it retains it's head. These guys would be beaten to death in a alley off Grayland Avenue if they were out drinking with the stoic, sullen, somber drunks of the Richmond Booze Society and made a statement as unmanly as that. You drink the beer there, Fauntleroy, not the head. It's a got a nice taste, but it IS deeply a pussified version of the bottled Oatmeal Stout- but it's not quite the Bailey's Irish Creme Coffee Zambuie Tofu Surprise like it hints at, but it's not the hulking stout that would make me want to grow a moustache and wear a helmet with horns on it or anything.
Lemme give some of this to the laaaady.... I'll drink the Black Radish Dark tomorrow...
YOURS IN BOOZE.
Rippa came by today and the tape sale is winding down and the wife ORDERED me to go get beer so IMAGINE MY BLISS. I told her that I was going for non-swill and she said, "Fine." I went to the Corner Market on Cleveland St and Franklin St here on the sacred soil of Richmond, VA. They have upgraded their overpriced panty-waiste frou-frou booze greatly and I was going to go for the Smuttynose Robust Porter that I CHANCED upon there last time I was there but they were out. I DID see the Anchor Porter which I have loved like a divine yet easy piece of BoozeAss for a while now- but I noticed I had never really reviewed it's funtasticalness before. I also noticed a Porter by a Micro that I had never heard so- being a two-fisted All American Motherfucking REBEL- I gave it a shot.
I'm drinking the Anchor now and I'll start in by saying it is a fucking FABULOUS booze to ply your fat, rambling boozehole with. It's all mellow and deep and it is as fine as summertime wine. I ask the wife what she thinks of the Anchor Porter and she points to the Rock Creek Black Raven Stout and says, " I like it better than this." And she makes the same adorable face that she makes whenever she notices that I'm watching IWA MidSouth King Of The Deathmatch or Cinemax After Dark- disgust mixed with revulsion mixed with disappointment. Anchor is all that though- all fruity and walnut-esque in the front frothing into a wave of mellow nutty aftertaste. It's all manly and it's all beautiful. They don't tell one the al-kee-haul content- the stuck up left coast pretentious fuckfaces, but they broo a superquality Porter and I commend them for 28 years of brooing excellence. I like Taddy Porter and gorgeous local ass-stomper Legend Porter probably a little more than this, but I can't be sure how much. Maybe more PORTER WARZ are in order. The only downside is that after three of these Anchor beauties you get a weird caramel coating on your tongue that gets a little bitter between sips, but it goes away when you cram the bottle into your mouth and fill your mealy drunkhole with the sweet booze again. What else do you want? WHAT?!
AND THEN WE REVIEW the Rock Creek Black Raven Porter. My wife fucking hates this. She says it's really metallic tasting and sucks goats sucking off dogs (or something). See, this is where I know I was the luckiest motherfucker on earth to marry her because this Porter tastes almost identical to the odd, questionable yet provocative taste of the Mobjack Old Coot Stout- which is also ultra regional and out of range of most of the DVDVR Boozehound/Pathetic Alcoholicz Contingent's reach. I reviewed that august stout a while back and I'm still not sure if I liked it and fuck if I'm gonna blow anymore money on booze that takes me more than two beers to fall in love with. Anyway, both have this weird taste. It's what I imagine a cassette tape would taste like if you melted it down and fermented it. It's this wide weird taste that sits in the middle of the first sip and your mind can't break it down. And this gets back to why I'm glad I married my wife: whereas a black belt idiot drunk like myself has a grotesquely developed subconscious pallette with such a vast knowledge of every swill, horsepiss, microbrew, stout, mint malt liquor, lager, wine, wine cooler, gin, bourbon, scotch, vodka, uzo, and Black Label taste a booze-soaked mind can imagine- I can THUS find this taste truly neato and thought-provoking! YEAH DADDY! Truly fun. Truly challenging. It's like drinking a smoke-brewed Urbock- no SANE person would drink something that tastes a pepperoni sub left in a hickory smoke house for three days, but your hardcore drunk is fucking FASCINATED by it. Black Raven Porter isn't CLOSE to being as good as that Urbock I had but it falls into the same pathetic category. While sane people like my wife say, "To hell with this shit, gimme another Anchor Porter," I am going to get another of the Rock Creek offering. Okay, the second Black Raven Porter...
GOD, the second one is even more fucked up than the first. On the second one (after having another Anchor Porter) the melted cassette tape taste starts to taste like you fermented it in some kind of Mad Dog 40/40 Plum wine- sort of like you cut your Kountry Kwencher with WD40. It's a grim taste that I think I could learn to love. Pity me, oh gentle reader...
Okay, I've been back two days and have been making tapes full bore for the financeers of the Visit to Canada- so rejoice (I knew we should have created another Scott Mailman character and pocketed all the profits....) I'm finally back to a normal schedule so I will try to recount my feelings... my gut instincts... my booze-addled ramblings... my idiotic half-taosted recollections of my trip to the True North and the loving embrace of Ollie, Christine, Rob, Fiona and the whole Canadian contingent. It starts when me -n- Pete -n- Ollie -n- the lovely Christine go to the LPCDCPD store and I think I remember Ollie saying, " HERE! The infinite wisdom of the BOOZE OF CANADA! Revel in it, fat American! Taste of the TRUE NORTH'S finest brooz!"
I said, "HA! My fine friend of the Giant Frozen Wasteland Of Canadia! I come from the Land of COOL COLT! OF HAMMS! OF PIELZ! Of motherfucking CRAZY HORSE MALT LICKA! What maple syrup based monstrosity do you have that can compare to the glory of...." I reach into my Red, White and Blue Sawyer Brown commemorative duffel bag, "... THIS!" I pull out the 40 Oh ZEE of Magnum Malt Licka that I snuck across the border from Watertown while Pete was finishing a rest stop hook up with three Upstate NY beauties in a cargo van. Ollie slaps his giant Canadian viking belly and laughs his hideous, thunderous laugh. He spills the Magnum on his nordic beard while chugging half of it and laughing his booming Laugh of The Land Of Valhalla. I recoil in fear and reach in for the Legend Porter I smuggled across. "This is sterner stuff!" as he eyed the pint of richmond, VA's finest BROO. "This isn't bad." His derision and hatred of all things to the South melted away. I also felt a bond and my manic hatred for all things still under the British Commonwealth melted away. We ritualistically bashed each other in the head with Sacred Frozen Mooselegs and we were friends in Canada. We then did the ritualistic USA initiation of installing a 351 Cleveland into a Dodge K Car and we were frineds in an American context. We wept tears of intercontinental manly respect and there was much manly kissing of flags. He then pointed the ONTARIO'S MURDERER'S ROW OF AVAILABLE BEER. I wept at the intrinsic beauty of the giant load of booze we walk out with.
These are in no particular order and a couple of these were just things we had on tap or drank out of a Wiccan's enchanted boot when we got drunk with the Ottawa Pagan community last Saturday.
- WELLINGTON IMPERIAL STOUT (from GUELPH, Ontario): FUCKING ROCKS. I would put behind the Victory Storm King but it definately has some ass behind it. The thud of the booze combining with the fruity thickness is a little more dull than the active hatred for YOU that Storm king has. I await some snotty Gerthian comment about a 19% Bells Haddock-flavoured stout that he found in a gas station in Kalamazoo.
- ALEXANDER KEITH'S on TAP: This shit is all over the place in Ottawa. Ollie says that it is Corporate-Faking-A-Micro which always tends to lose. It was actually better than Budweiser- but- hell! I'VE PISSED BETTER TASTING THINGZ THAN BUDWEISER. Really. I still have it in a jar.
- LAKER STRONG (Southern Ontario. Ollie told me not to buy it so I had to buy.) This was GRIM- it is brewed on the battlefields of Cimmeria I'm thinking. The junior league hockey guys don't get paid much and they have to drink this and they spend all thier games just beating the living fuck out of each other out of frustration. The Sarnia vs the 67s game we saw was for a keg of Moosehead and the losers had to drink a six of THIS- thus it was the greatest hockey game I've ever seen live. Plus the 67s scored a tying goal after pulling their goalie. It was great. I am giddy to the fact that there will be a dust-covered Laker Strong still in Ollie's fridge when I return in 18 months. (It will be like me chugging the year old Midnight Dragon in Ray's fridge- a Homer-finds-Billy Beer moment COME TO LIFE!)
-RED CAP ALE (From Waterloo): This was really good in a light (not lite) "chug a gallon at a frat party" kind of way. Sorta like a Canadian version of Rolling Rock. Nothing pretentious but really good for drinkin'.
- ST AMBROISE OATMEAL STOUT (An early front-runner for beer of the trip. From Montreal.) The St Ambroise (pronounced Saint Ambwrowuh...zzz.) were the heavy hitters of the trip. This drank was my absolute fave. Like a Taddy Porter strained through Quakers Apple Cinnamon Oatmeal. So good, so good for you.....
- ST AMBROISE PALE ALE: This was also mighty smoove. I'm not sure how much booze it's packin, but it was a quality pale ale where they actually pull off the orange peel dryness at the end without ruining your day. I liked it better than the fine Sam Adams IPA.
- UPPER CANADA SELECTION (A mixed bag of booze. From GUELPH, Ontario.} - Rebellion lager was really beautiful. I'm not sure what else I'm a drink from the batch. I tried the Red Ale and it was good- this coming from a man who usually hates Red Ales.
- BEAMISH IRISH STOUT: You know my love for the Beamish, even in the pussy-assed widget form.
- CREEMORE SPRINGS LAGER (From Northern Ontario): This was good. This is the MacroMicro of Northern Ontario and isn't as good as the Upper Canada- according to Ollie- and I agree. It's still a good little lager. Not a lot of ass behind it, but it is hoppy enough and jumpy and full of loving life for all you none porter/stout/motor oil fans.
- GIANT- SIZE LA FIN DU MONDE: Head still hurt....
Then we all got drunk and talked about politics in the GREAT way Americans and Canadians talk about politics when they are self-conscious of their nationalities. The biggest political epiphany I have is when Rob said that Canada was no longer the US's closest ally, what with us being full frontally tongue-kissing Great Britain these days. I drunkenly explain how Great Britain makes us feel like Sir Lancelot- we broke with them and hated them and then rescued them in World War II as they stood balls to the wall against the Nazis and we all conquered evil and one upped the French and everything. It's our national identity now and we HAVE to be in love with the British. I would never have thought of that while sober. No, I wouldn't have.
I also had a Moosehead, a Molson X and an ARTROIS that were absolutley not anything of note in comparison to everything else.
YOURS IN BOOZE.