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Archive for the ‘Brewer: Jacob Leinenkugel’ Category

Leinenkugel’s 1888 Bock

June 17th, 2009 by Aaron Goldfarb | 12 Comments | Filed in Brewer: Jacob Leinenkugel, Country: America, Grade: D plus, Style: Bock

5.1% ABV bottled

“Why don’t you just go drink some more of your…sugary poison!”

She slung a throw pillow at my head, perhaps taking the name a little too literally, and stormed into her bedroom.

Sugary poison?  How dare she besmirch my precious beer like that?  What a low blow.

She wasn’t mad at my love of beer because I was an alcoholic or anything, no, she’d have had no problem if I was just a passive and aloof macro-swilling drunkard; she was pissed at me  simply because I had a passion for beer.

Why does it seem that so many women hate it when a man has passions?  I’ve had fights started with me for being a foodie, a sports superfan, a cinephile, a cigar enthusiast, a golf nut, a book worm, a TV devotee, and, of course, a beer geek.  Why is it that hobbies, passions, arouse so much anger in women?

I’ll tell you why–and this won’t be that popular of sentiment, and might even be considered misogynistic:

Because women have none themselves.

I’m not saying that’s a good or a bad thing, I’m just making an observation.  Sporting events, nerdy collecting conventions, beer tastings, vintage record shops, golf courses, tiny art cinemas…they are always jam packed with men, and the sparse women in attendance were usually dragged there by their freak of a boyfriend or husband.

It seems women want to have passions like us men do–why else would they get so angry at ours?–but they just can’t manufacture any interest in the frivolous.  Nick Hornby brilliantly understood this in his great paean to sports fandom “Fever Pitch” and his even better paean to music love “High Fidelity.”  Women are just seemingly more interested in the important stuff in life:  careers, family, relationships, “John & Kate Plus Eight.”  And that’s fine, but that’s also kinda boring.

So drink my sugar poison…why yes, yes I will.  In fact, “sugary poison” has now been co-opted as my preferred thing to call beer.  I love when some girl I won’t ever deal with for the rest of time presents me with a catch phrase that I can now use for the rest of time.  Even if it is a bit of a misnomer, being that Googleable study after Googleable study has found that the nectar of the Gods can reduce risk of stroke, heart and vascular disease, dementia, and that it even hydrates better than water.  No wonder some monks literally live off the stuff.

Health benefits or not, I prefer my sugary poison to be incredibly tasty so at least I can wreck myself gloriously.  Having said that, with all the great beers I’ve been drinking and A pluses I’ve been awarding lately, you begin to lose sight of what differentiates the great from the good from the bad.

No problem.  Every few months I need to reset my perceptions, and I do that by drinking a new beer from my least favorite brewery, the brewery I fully expect to sue me one day, the brewery whose negative Vice Blog reviews always manages to drum a bunch of Great Lakes area people out of the woodwork to flood my comments area calling me such poetic names as “douche nozzle”:  yes, I’m talking about the  Jacob Leinenkugel Brewing Company.

I use dreadful Leinies to calibrate my drinking.  How else would I know what’s great if not knowing what’s meager?

Not unexpectedly, and thankfully for this experiment, the 1888 Bock is just plain gross and unpleasant.  No malt character, no taste, very watery, bordering on undrinkable.  Tastes absolutely nothing like a bock.  A waste of twelve ounces of sugary poison.  At least now I know that what I have been drinking recently is truly great.  Thank you, yet again Jake Leinenkugel!

Now I just need to find a girl who will passionately drink my sugary poison alongside me.  Until then, I’ll just be wondering why women aren’t as frivolous as us men.  Thoughts?


Leinenkugel’s Red Lager

February 18th, 2009 by Aaron Goldfarb | 31 Comments | Filed in Brewer: Jacob Leinenkugel, Country: America, Grade: C plus, Style: Lager

4.9% ABV

“Leave!  LEAVE!!!  Get the fuck outta here!  Yo, get the fuck out of here, motherfuckers!”

Guess who said the above:

A five-star restaurant’s maitre-d yelling at a bum for entering the fine dining establishment to panhandle?  A beleaguered female exploding at her ex-boyfriend who she has a restraining order on but who nevertheless keeps coming into her office?  Perhaps a furious shotgun wielding homeowner barking at a cat burglary he caught rifling through the family valuables?

Nope, not even close.  I’m talking about bouncers kicking people out of the bar at night’s end.

And I’m fucking sick of it.

I live in New York City so you got to drink really motherfucking late to get actually kicked out of a bar at closing time.  Something that I can recall happening to me less than a handful of times.  I’m sure Manhattan has “last call” laws but in a town full of scofflaws they certainly aren’t followed.  And the rare times they are heeded at least the bar’s employees have the decency to casually infer you should leave, to kindly back pat and “See ya’ later, bud” out of the bar.  At like 5:00 AM.

But this doesn’t happen in podunk towns.  Like Syracuse, where I was last weekend to see my beloved alma mater whip up on the most despicable university in America.  In a place like Syracuse or Kansas City or Tulsa here’s how things go:

First of all, you’re not drunk because you’ve only been in the bar for an hour or two and they, of course, don’t have high ABV beer and pour really watered down whiskeys.  At 1:15 or so, some bartender will shout out, “Last call coming!” before slowly filling those orders.  1:30 will mark the “official” last call.  At 1:40 the harsh overhead lights will come on, blinding you before your dilated eyes adjust enough to see that the girl you’re talking to is pockmarked worse than Edward James Olmos.  At 1:41 some cheesy closing time song like…uh, fucking “Closing Time” by that shitty one-hit wonder band will start playing, the drunken local rubes swaying and singing it.

Then, at 1:45 or so, a mere fifteen minutes after you got your last call cocktail, some pituitary case bouncer will shove you in the back, herding you to the door like cattle while rudely shouting the lines that opened this post.

Let me get this straight.  My friends and I just spent several hundred dollars on drinks at your place and you treat us like this?  We chose your crummy bar over all others in town and you treat us like this?!  Even in a small town like Syracuse we didn’t have to choose your bar, it offers nothing sui generis, but we still chose it.  It has the same subpar tap selections, the same shitty iPod mixes, surly bartenders, mediocre women and annoying men, overpriced drinks, filthy bathrooms.  I’m fine with that all, it’s a party of the nightlife lifestyle.  But treat me with some fucking respect around the time the Semisonic starts playing.  (In fact, I would say playing Semisonic is enough of a push to get me out the door.  Good lord that song sucks.)

Can you imagine another industry where you’d be treated this poorly?

You’ve just enjoyed a nice meal with some friends and just as you put the last bite of dessert in your mouth, several waiters lift you from your chairs and start strong-arming you to the door.  “Finish up the chocolate mousse and get the fuck out of my restaurant!”

You’ve just enjoyed a nice movie when seconds before the credits roll the lights go up and the ushers sprint into the dark room.  “Get the fuck out of this theater you shitheads!”

You’ve just enjoyed a nice, sensual massage and are still quivering when the masseuse upturns the table, spilling you onto the floor, and “Get the fuck out of my illegal massage parlour, you asshole!!!!!!”

Look, I know all the excuses, most of which are quite phony.  Shit like your bar will get fined if you don’t have everyone out of it and the place locked up by 1:59:59 EST.  Like you got to get the place cleaned and closed post-haste.  You just want to get home to your girlfriend.  Fine, I sympathize with you.  I’m sure bouncing can be a shitty job some nights.  But many jobs, both blue and white collar, suck.  And if you don’t like dealing with people, especially drunk people, maybe you shouldn’t work in the service industry.

Why would I ever want to go to your bar again if you are going to treat me like a huge fucking asshole come closing time?  The answer is, I wouldn’t.  And I won’t.

So go fuck yourselves Mulrooney’s (”Mully’s”) on West Fayette Street*.  You’re lucky I didn’t throw my fucking pint glass through your bar mirror like I was playing a carnival game to win a giant plush toy for my favorite steady girl.

I think, from now on, I need to restrict my drinking to New York City.  Where we may all be fucking assholes, but at least us assholes treat people with respect.

Likewise, why do I continue to let the Jacob Leinenkugel Co. rape my taste buds?  You might first recall their Sunset Wheat which nearly gave me fluoride poisoning. Then there was their Honey Weisse that caused a sleepless week as I waited for my STD test to come back**. Oh, and who can forget their Summer Shandy which tastes like an Arnold Palmer that’s been used as a colostomy bag.  Finally, there was their Craptoberfest which tasted like that of a public swimming pool on a hot, late-August day.

You’re probably thinking, these beers surely aren’t that bad, you’re just being a funny man.  I can assure you I am not.  If I was truly overstating Leinenkugel’s awfulness, accusing them of poisoning me and giving me venereal disease, do you not think Jacob would sue me for libel?  Or slander?!***  But they never have, which is ipso facto proof that they know the horrificness of their own product.  (Though it doesn’t prevent a Minnesota message board from getting all up in a tizzy about the Vice Blogger.)

Since we all know I’m such a self sadomasochist that I make the Marquis de Sade seem like Mother Teresa, I have an odd desire to keep trying all the Leinenkugels I have yet to.  Luckily, my friend Derek keeps finding ones for me.  Like their Red Lager which I expected to be utterly horrific.  So much so that I drank it in the bathroom.****  I especially expected it to be garbage being that I tippled it, perhaps unfairly, after having just shared three asskicking stouts which I scored an A+, an A+, and an A-.

Sadly friends, I am disappointed to report that this beer ain’t bad.  In fact, it’s a fairly competent macro beer, better than most lagers available.  I can even say I kinda enjoyed it, drinking the whole thing down fairly easily and even kinda wanting another.

Oh well, there will be more Leinenkugels in my future that will surely lead to my ultimate demise.


*Two further things, Mully’s:

1.  Your website is comically terrible.

2.  And, you, the grey-haired guy that owns the bar, girls are only hitting on you–correction, letting you creepily flirt with them and touch their backs–because you were comping them all night.  Did you happen to notice at the end of the night that none of those women even kissed you on the cheek goodbye?

**Fun fact: apparently you can’t get chlamydia–or gonorrhea! or any other STDs!!–from a beer, no matter how heinous it tastes. They didn’t teach me that in public school sex ed, we only looked at a carousel of slides of inflamed genitalia. And I don’t mean the genitalia was inflamed as in hopping mad at someone or something. The genitalia was, like, inflamed as in burning and shit.

***Can never recall which one is for the written word as opposed to speaking.  I went to public school, son.

****I’ve been doing far too much beer tasting in bathrooms lately.  I have a problem.

Leinenkugel’s Oktoberfest

October 14th, 2008 by Aaron Goldfarb | 4 Comments | Filed in Brewer: Jacob Leinenkugel, Country: America, Grade: D regular, Style: Oktoberfest

5.1% ABV bottled

At 5:38 the Vice Phone rang. I paused Tony and Mike yelling at each other on the Worldwide Leader and answered. It was Derek. He skipped the pre-crux “how ya’ doin’” formalities which are a major reason why I abhor talking on the phone, rarely do so, and probably caused my last SO to dump me. He immediately jumped right into the focus of his call, only needing to utter a single simple sentence:

Did you know Leinenkugel has an Oktoberfest?

I dropped the phone I was so shocked, it fluttered to the ground in slow-motion, doing several tucked somersaults and twists before making a splashy entry onto the hardwood and exploding.

I was so stunned because in the Vice Blogger’s world of beer buzz, it was as if Derek had just informed me that the good monks at Westmalle were now bottling a quadruple.

“Thanks for the tip, Derek. I gotta go.”

I hung up, told my secretary to cancel the rest of the evening’s plans, put on some clothes, and immediately set off to find this beer.

Why was I so excited to find and try this brew you may ask? Isn’t Leinenkugel nothing more than a marginal brewery you say? Naw, it’s even worse than marginal. Marginal would be a compliment. You see, I have a long-standing rivalry* against Leinenkugel in which I enjoy nothing more than in locating their beers, drinking as much of the twelve ounces as I can handle, taking the correct inoculations to survive the vile Wisconsin-borne fluidic pathogens, and then bashing the beers on my blog. You might first recall their Sunset Wheat which nearly gave me fluoride poisoning. Then there was their Honey Weisse that caused a sleepless week as I waited for my STD test to come back**. Oh, and who can forget their Summer Shandy which tastes like an Arnold Palmer that’s been used as a colostomy bag.

I left the house and hit all my beer haunts, moving in ever increasing concentric circles around midtown. I was having no luck. I ventured as far as the high-80s on the West side. As low as Chelsea. It became a scavenger hunt but without nerds carrying around checklists, asking complete strangers if they have any Canadian coins on them. Mine was a one-man search for a potentially vile brew, the antithesis of de Leon’s explorations to find the Fountain of Youth. Unfortunately, I never found the beer that night and went to bed a failure.

Luckily a week later, I was elated to locate the brew on the menu at the typically well-bred House of Brews.

The smell of the beer is that of a public swimming pool on a hot, late-August day. This is not a beer to be poured into a pint glass. I cannot stress it enough that you please not “open” the nose of this beer at all. Drink it from a tiny swizzle stick straw if possible, you do not want to smell it as it nears your face.

Taste is equally crummy. I’m not even sure why this is considered an Oktoberfest/Marzenbier, it’s nothing but an overcarbonated fizzy little macro lager with orange food coloring stirred in. Maybe a tad extra cheap malt added as well as something metallic. A real pathetic attempt at a seasonal. Heck, a real pathetic attempt at potable beer.

The joke has to be made “Mad Libs” style:

This is no Oktoberfest, it’s more like a _______fest***.

Maybe one day you’ll make a great beer, Leinenkugel–I see a few intriguing ones listed on BA that you should overnight me to get the powerful Vice Blogger back in your good graces–but until then, go fuck yourselves and quit exporting your shitbier to New York state lest I report you to Andrew Cuomo.


*This is obviously still a one-sided rivalry as Leinenkugel has yet to take action against me. I pray one day they sue me for slander and libel, but I think even they realize that I am right in my product pans.

**Fun fact: apparently you can’t get chlamydia–or gonorrhea! or any other STDs!!–from a beer, no matter how heinous it tastes. They didn’t teach me that in public school sex ed, we only looked at a carousel of slides of inflamed genitalia. And I don’t mean the genitalia was inflamed as in hopping mad at someone or something. The genitalia was, like, inflamed as in burning and shit.

***Submit your guess to win fabulous prizes! Shitfest? Craptoberfest? Vomitfest? There’s so many possible choices!

Leinenkugel’s Summer Shandy

June 30th, 2008 by Aaron Goldfarb | 1 Comment | Filed in Brewer: Jacob Leinenkugel, Country: America, Grade: D plus, Style: Wheat (Hefeweizen)

4.2% ABV

Some people push their bodies to the limit with extreme sports, climbing the highest mountains, swimming the longest bodies of water, running fucking marathons and competing in all sorts of things that end in -athon and -thlon. I push my body to the limit by spending my weekend with some out-of-town friends.

Went down to the DC area to hang with buddies Derek, Batch, and Whitey, drink a lot of highfalutin beers, and pretty much just act like a profligate.

Ignoring pure cash purchases, here’s what my online debit card statement looks like after the weekend.

06/27 WASHINGTON NATIONALS C WA… Debit -$14.00

06/27 PARADISE TOO, LLC WASHING… Debit -$34.10

06/28 BOURBON WASHINGTON DC Debit -$18.80

06/28 OLDVIRGINIA TOBACCO C … Debit -$13.97

06/28 TAQUERIA POBLANO 2400 MT … Debit -$20.86

06/29 THE LIBERTY TAVERN LLC … Debit -$14.72

06/29 THE LIBERTY TAVERN LLC … Debit -$22.89

06/29 BAR LOUIE DC WASHIN… Debit -$22.54

06/29 THE LIBERTY TAVERN LLC … Debit -$22.89

More concisely put, we engaged in lots of vices: smoking the kinds of things that will get you leered at in public, eating the kinds of food that will make you need angioplasty at a young age, and drinking some glorious beers. I think my friends and I are the only people around that have weekend long benders using expensive and rare beers, scotches, and bourbons. Let the serfs get cocked on Budweiser and Captain Morgan’s, I’m drinking Allagash or Stone! In the last three days I drank countless “A” beers that I can’t wait to review in the upcoming week. But, today, I’m going to start my recap by reviewing the shittiest beer I had all weekend: Leinenkugel’s Summer Shandy.

You may recall I have quite a hated history with the brewery. True, I do enjoy their Berry Weisse, but every other Leinenkugel I’ve drank in my life has made me determined never to drink another one. And, I thought I would never, until I went to a Washington Nationals game Friday night at their beautiful new stadium. The beer selection there was abhorrent. Batch and I checked out the “micro” porch bar. There, the only beers available were decidedly not micros. Mike’s Hard Lemonade, your standard Buds and Millers, and many beers from the Leinenkugel line. Why has this brewery seemingly exploded so much in the past year? My friends know my hatred of Leinenkugel yet taunted me to try the sissy Summer Shandy. It actually sounded appealing and inspired. Lemonade mixed with beer? It’s like an alcoholic Arnold Palmer. And, of course it had a nice-looking label, which I’ve come to find out is often the best part of a Leinenkugel bottling.

Some hillbilly at the bar with a mouth sans teeth and Nats t-shirt sans sleeves commended me on my selection. At that stadium, just like at any others, they don’t give you the bottle because they think you’ll get drunk and heave-ho it over the railing at underperforming players. Thus, I had to embarrass myself by asking the cashier if she could please bring me the bottle back so that I could take a picture of it. She not only obliged, but was duly impressed that I had a craft beer blog. Overhearing us, and seeing me take my pictures, the hillbilly was likewise in awe, further commending me on my awesomeness.

“I only drink microbrews, y’all,” he whistled through his open jaw, toasting me with his Leinenkugel’s Sunset Wheat, the beer with hints of toothpaste.

“No, my good sir, you only drink shit.” If Leinenkugel, the 7th oldest American brewery, now owned by Miller, America’s 2nd biggest brewery, is considered “micro,” I can’t imagine what he considers the size of his dick.

As for the beer, it’s fucking heinous. I would have rather just had a legit Arnold Palmer. It tastes like weak light beer mixed with a cheap lemonade powdered mixture you might get from a giant tub. Again, I will say that a bottled beer/lemonade mixture is a fairly inspired idea, but the execution here is terrible. I wouldn’t mind if a decent beer-maker gave this a go, not that they would. Summer Shandy is simple shanty.


Leinenkugel’s Honey Weiss

June 12th, 2008 by Aaron Goldfarb | No Comments | Filed in Brewer: Jacob Leinenkugel, Country: America, Grade: D-, Style: Wheat (Hefeweizen)

4.9% ABV

You pressed your luck, Leinenkugel. Or, rather, maybe I pressed my luck with the brewery. Just ten minutes ago I’m raving about their Berry Weiss and I should have just called it a beer-drinkin’ night. But, nope, had to go roll the multisided die and press my luck. Oh, and what should my roll get me but another terrible beer. Firstly, let me state that I can’t get the goddamn taste of the Berry Weiss out of my mouth. It’s not a bad taste or anything–in fact, I kinda enjoy it–but it feels like I licked on a few Blow Pops in the last hour and now I have a purple tongue and will have a sweet taste in my mouth for the rest of the evening. And, no, I haven’t checked the mirror to actually see if the Berry Weiss gave me the first purple tongue in beer-guzzling history, but it amuses me to think that I currently have one. Any how, I tried my best to get the berry taste out of my mouth so as to not taint my tasting and appreciation of the Honey Weiss, but it didn’t matter, it’s terribleness penetrated through the sweetness film over top my taste buds, hitting them like a battering ram breaking down a crack den’s door.

This is a real crummy beer. I don’t taste honey at all. It’s bitter and goes down harshly. I make a highly histrionic face every single time I take a sip of this beer. If I was actually with someone while drinking it, they would see my repulsed reaction to each sip and be like, “Come on! It can’t taste that bad! Stop overacting.” “Oh yeah, motherfucker, then you give it a sip.” And then they would and immediately sprint to the bathroom like they’d just accidentally drank some curdled milk. It’s sour, it’s over-carbonated but not drinkable at all, and it singes my tongue. This beer taste like the first time your “wacky” friend tries to brew his own beer and this is the shit he gives you. All proud of his first beer, oh, and he’s even printed out labels for the brew on his HP laser printer. Even though the beer sucks you want to be kind to your bud so you finish the whole bottle. Well, I have no one to be kind to but I want to be drunk so I likewise finish this whole disaster of a drink. Having said that, I think this is the first beer to give me a hangover while I’m in the midst of drinking it.

The label says this is “brewed with real Wisconsin honey.” Remind me never to celebrate Rosh Hashanah in Milwaukee.


Leinenkugel’s Berry Weiss

June 12th, 2008 by Aaron Goldfarb | No Comments | Filed in Brewer: Jacob Leinenkugel, Country: America, Grade: B regular, Style: Fruit Beer

4.7% ABV

Aaron, you are so weak. You probably take back girls that treat you like shit and walk all over you with their Nancy Sinatra boots. You probably return to restaurants that forget your reservations and serve you undercooked food. And you probably keep rooting hard for your shitty college sports programs that let you down every goddamn year (”This is OUR year!!!).

Just four days ago, after my debut sampling of a Leinenkugel brew–their Sunset Wheat–I called it one of the worst beers I’ve ever had, giving it a big fat D. Yet, here I was today at the store searching for a beer or two to wet my whistle while watching the NBA Finals and what beer started calling out my name? Fucking Leinenkugel and their Berry Weiss. I’m so weak. Fruit beers are my kryptonite. God, it sounds so refreshing. Not strawberry or blueberry or raspberry but simply fucking “Berry”–as in those aforementioned ones and many more exciting berries (boysenberry, blackberry, cranberry, mulberry, and even fucking loganberry)–all crammed into one single wheat beer. It sounded like the Fruity Pebbles of beer. Oh, and it had such a beautiful label, the metallic magenta of it reflecting in my eyes. I didn’t want to do it. I looked around amongst the selections for any other beer available to bail me out. But none called for me. So, I sucked it up and grabbed a beer from the brand I thought I might never touch again. And then, to add insult to injury, I grabbed the brewery’s Honey Weiss too!

Wow. This is a very nice beer. It pours a color rarely seen in nature or the beer world–almost like the kind of fluorescent neon pink you usually see advertising “Girls! Girls! Girls!” or “Nudes! Nudes! Nudes!” or, quite frankly, anything scandalous in triplicate. A very, very fruity smell like a lambic. Tastes great too. More on the fruity side than the wheaty side. A tad sour in a bad way and the finish and aftertaste isn’t stupendous, but those are minor quibbles. Very carbonated like a soda. I could drink tons of these. I regret that I only bought one.

Negatives are that it’s not particularly complex and doesn’t exactly taste like a beer. This would be a good brew to give to your fourteen year old daughter if you were trying to get her into drinking.

Here’s to second chances. You’ve won me back Leinenkugel. At least for the interim. Now excuse me, I need to go call all my ex-wives and see if they’ll take me back. And I may visit that restaurant that served me a steak covered in pubes last week. And then I’m gonna drink my Honey Weiss.


Leinenkugel’s Sunset Wheat

June 9th, 2008 by Aaron Goldfarb | No Comments | Filed in Brewer: Jacob Leinenkugel, Country: America, Grade: D regular, Style: Belgian White

4.9% ABV

When it’s the best of times, a beer aficionado likes nothing more than popping a nice expensive bottle of maybe an Allagash or a pricey Chimay. But when it’s the worst of times, that would be totally inappropriate, thus wasting and squandering a potentially pleasurable experience. It is on these sad occasions when I act like Despondent Man #1 in a trite movie and head to the store, buying the cheapest six pack possible with some loose change. In my opinion they should cut out the middle man and make CoinStar machines that dispense cheap beers as opposed to gift certificates to Linens ‘n Things or Borders. After buying my cheap beer I return home to my bedroom where I don’t even refrigerate the beer, instead setting the six pack right beside me in bed as I polish off bottle after bottle in a dark room. The six pack selected for this episode was Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin’s (hometown of both Annie Hall* AND Jack Dawson**) Leinenkugel’s Sunset Wheat.

Nice name, nicer label, I was surprised it was literally the cheapest beer in my supermarket. I had no right to be. It was terrible. After the first sip I began to reanalyze my sadness, wondering to myself, “Am I really in that bad of place where I need to drink six of these things?!” I don’t truly think I was, but alas I am nothing if not a completest. Once I start a task, by golly I finish it!

I really do not like this beer at all. I hated it as much by the sixth beer as I did with the first. It did not “grow on me.” I should have donated my sixer to the bum on the corner that sleeps on a warm subway grate. I will say one thing, though, Sunset Wheat is definitely unique. I taste wheat and blueberry and, yes, I believe that’s hints of toothpaste. Seriously, I taste fucking Colgate in this beer. I almost thought this beer was like one of those mouth rinses you do as a kid where you gargle it and then a few seconds later your teeth are bright red where there’s tartar build-up.

I wish I liked this beer, Leinenkugel is America’s 7th oldest brewery and I was gobsmacked to see this one gets great reviews on Beer Advocate. Maybe I got a bad batch. I truly hope I did. But as for now, I can only find one positive about my first Sunset Wheat experience. By the time i was done with the sixer i felt like I’d visited my dentist and had a full fluoride treatment. And my gums have never felt so healthy!


*The eponymous character of my all-time favorite movie.

**Really wish I didn’t know that!