10% ABV bottled (LIMITED BOTTLING — WINTER 08-09)

You might not expect it–actually you probably might considering what else I love–but I’m a huge Food Network fan.  I consider chefs to be artists on par with filmmakers, novelists, and strippers.  The Food Network’s most brilliant display of gastronomic artistry is “Iron Chef.”  So you can imagine I was absolutely stoked on last weekend’s “Iron Chef America” when The Chairman announced that the day’s secret ingredient was to be BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!!!!!!!!!!

The competition actually ended up being rather lackluster and disappointing considering the secret ingredient and the presence of Bobby Flay but some good did come from it.  Brooklyn Brewery’s brewmaster Garrett Oliver was on hand to judge and one of his beers was used in the face-off, the Black Chocolate Stout.  I’ve obviously heard of this beer what with the solid acclaim it gets, but surprisingly enough, especially considering my love of the brewery, I had never had it before.  In fact, I’m not sure I’d ever seen it in stores before.

With great kismet, one day later I did see it in the local Jubilee and I predictably became giddy as a schoolgirl.  I wasn’t in a huge drinking mood and limited edition stouts often run pricey, so I only grabbed a single bottle.  Of course, I get to the register and the bottle doesn’t ring up.  Now unlike most other foods, beer has an incredibly wide price variance.  Not as wide as, say, wine or Scotch, but still quite varying.  From $1.50 macro forties to $20 trappist twelve-ouncers.  But most register folks don’t know about the latter, unable to conceive that any liquid could cost so much.  Most register folks assume a single bottle of beer runs in the $2 range.  And, you know, that supposition would typically be right 95% of the time.  So, I’ll often find that when a single bottle of beer doesn’t ring up–and this happens nearly 50% of the time with me–the lazy register person will just punch in something in the $1.50 to $3 range.  And quite often with the beer I buy, that ends up being a steal.  Well this register person punched in $2 for my Black Chocolate Stout and I was thrilled.  Thrilled but left with angst.  Any time a register person undercharges me with their made-up price I always wonder if I should be like, “Wait, you’re seriously going to only charge me two bucks?!  OK, gimme a second to sprint back there and clear you guys out.”  Alas, I didn’t do that this time.

For my money, Black Chocolate Stout has one of the best labels in the business. Minimalist. Dark.  Black.  Or maybe I just like it cause the bottle “dresses” like me.  Seriously.  I too am usually found completely clad in simple all-black attire.  Like Cash.  Gervais.  Dieter.

Pours black as Indian Ink.  An intoxicating smell of chocolate malts, leaning toward the sweeter side.  A nose like a wine actually.  Very unbeer like.  I actually drank this one completely warm.  Didn’t even refrigerate it.  Straight from the store shelf to my glass to my tongue and down my throat and into my liver and to my central nervous system which allows me to be so witty and write these great things.  And soon enough, the beer had even metaphorically found its way into my heart (Awwwww).

Mindblowingly flavorful from beginning to end.  Six varieties of chocolate, black, and roasted malts, complex and perfectly balanced.  When I set out in to find my libations for the evening, I was actually in a wine mood.  And this could be a wine.  No, it doesn’t taste like grapes or anything, but it has the consistancy and texture of wine, a Burgundy perhaps.  It tingles your tongue and throat as it goes down as if it’s spiked with a pleasant little dose of cocaine.  So smooth and soooo drinkable.  No alcoholic bite whatsoever.  I think even amateurs would enjoy this one, even those that completely eschew beer, but I’ve been wrong before.

What else is there to say?  I’m not sure that this is the best imperial stout I’ve ever had, but it may be my new favorite.  It’s the beginning of stout season and I’ve refreshed my memory on quite a few noted ones in the past few weeks.  And honestly, I think Black Chocolate Stout kinda puts even such brilliant ones as Old Rasputin and Stone IRP to shame.   This one is not to be missed.

I’m heading back to Jubilee to clear them out.  Black Chocolate Stout is going to see a lot of playing time in the next four months.

A+

9% ABV from a squat bottle

Grigori Rasputin was one of the coolest guys in the history of the world.  If I was living in the early-1900’s I’d probably have a poster of him hanging in my room.  For those three people that don’t know about Rasputin, he was a mystic, a healer, a debaucherer (he’d have a much better Vice Blog than me!), and the controversial counsel to Tsar Nicholas II and his wife Alexandra.  But what continues to remain the most interesting thing about Rasputin is the way he died.

A lot of people hated Rasputin, many fearing the man’s powers, both real and imagined, and thus many wanted him dead.  But he was nearly impossible to kill.  An attacker in 1914 stabbed Rasputin so viciously that his entrails fell out, but he was able to put them back in and get sewn up in time to survive.  On December 16, 1916, a group of noblemen, tired of Rasputin’s influence over the tsars, conspired to murder him.  Prince Felix lured Rasputin to his palace for a feast where the mad monk was served cake and red wine laced with toxic levels of cyanide.  Can you imagine the scene as a half dozen or so noblemen sat around the dining table, anxiously waiting with baited breath for their hated Rasputin to keel over, and though he’d consumed enough poison to kill five men, he remained lucid and alive, completely unfazed by the poisoning.  Was he truly magical?!

Felix began to get concerned about the failing plot and decided to speed up the process, pulling a revolver and shooting Rasputin in the back.  The noblemen left for a bit but returned to find Rasputin still alive in the living room.  They unloaded bullet fire on him some more, even hitting him square in the forehead, surely enough to kill him, then wrapped the man in a sheet and dropped him in the icy Neva River.

When Rasputin was recovered from the water three days later, he was found wrapped in the sheet with his arms in an upright position and his fingernails worn to the nub.  He had survived the poisoning and the gunshots and was trying to claw his way from the sheet and the frozen river when he finally succumbed to drowning as his lungs filled with water.

Further rumors claim that when Rasputin’s body was taken from the river people, were so scared that they decided to obliterate his remains through cremation.  As his body burned, though, Rasputin sat up in the fire, still alive, still fighting for his life.  I hope I die in such a cool way.  But I’m convinced–convinced!–that my death will come one day as I jaywalk in Manhattan, listening to my ipod, not paying attention to the traffic one iota as I ogle one of the countless beauties on the street passing me by.  Boom!  Hit by a DHL truck.

Back circa 2001-2 when I first got into craft beer, I was not the coolest guy in the world.  Hard to believe, but true.  In fact, I was a meticulous nerd in all my worldly pursuits.  Even beer study.  Thus, I printed out Beer Advocate’s top 100 brews in the world list, tucked it into my wallet, and would carry it around with me when I went beer shopping.  I didn’t find many of the top 100 beers, but one day I was elated to locate Old Rasputin.  It had to be the first Russian imperial stout I’d ever had.  And I enjoyed it quite a bit.  Yet, I probably haven’t had a Old Rasputin since.  I recalled my early craft beer days while at the store over the weekend and decided to see what I thought of Old Rasputin in the present.

It pours dark like prune juice. Maybe the best smelling beer I’ve ever encountered.  A somewhat sweet smell for a stout.  Pretty interesting.  So many stouts smell so roasted and burnt with unpleasing aromas of bad coffee and cheap dark chocolate.  But this beer is so sweet and fragrant.  Just to let you know how powerful it is, I went to wash the glass I used some 36 hours or so after drinking the Old Rasputin, and the laced remnants were still mindblowingly fragrant!  Wow.

Taste isn’t quite as good as the smell but it’s still damn fine.  Most notably smooth chocolate and espresso.  Very malty.  Finishes with a tingly alcoholicness that I love.  And it’s stunningly drinkable too for such a big boy.

Russian imperial stouts were initially created in the 1800s to win over the tsars, most notably at the time Catherine II.  Maybe Rasputin wouldn’t have been so reviled if he had won Nicholas and Alexandra’s favor by simply giving them an awesome beer like his namesake.  Cause it is surely one of the best stouts around.  You need to definitely treat yourself to this one on occasion.

VB recommended reading:  “The Rasputin File” by Edvard Radzinsky (2000)

6% ABV bottled

An only-drinks-macros-except-for-Guinness-(which-is-actually-kind-of-a-macro-too) friend picked up several sixers of Guinness’s Extra Stout for some afternoon football watching. After sip one of bottle number one from six-pack number one, he had a look of “What the fuck is this shit?!” come across his face. Clearly he expected the creamy, fluffy, uncarbonated, highly-drinkable, biteless quasi-stout he had been drinking for years on draught.

Little did he realize–just like most people don’t–that there’s actually a second version of Guinness, their Extra Stout. He was disgusted, the Extra Stout was far too potent and full-bodied for him. Fine with me, Extra Stout is superior to the “real” Guinness as he called it. Funny thing is, Extra Stout is actually the “real” Guinness*, the Guinness that’s been around since the days of Joyce and the other drunk Irish writers that no one reads any more but everyone has posters of in their bars. That nitrogen-infused milkshake shit was only invented in the 1960’s. I’m being a little harsh though. I don’t actually mind Guinness Draught and still have it from time to time, but it’s nowhere near as good as the Extra Stout.

Extra stout has no nitro-carbonation like the Draught does (both on draught and in it’s annoying widget-can forms) and that makes all the difference. Likewise, it’s 1.8% in ABV higher. That can’t be dismissed either. Nice, smoky, roasted barley, and hints of coffee. Still very drinkable–well, sippable at least–and no chance of getting a foam mustache.

However, I say the best thing about Extra Stout as opposed to the Draught is that your friends that visited Ireland once for a few days during college won’t be able to pontificate ad nauseum about how the Guinness in Dublin is so much better than the one you are currently drinking in America. And how the bartender–oh, shit! did you see what that IDIOT just did?!–doesn’t know how to do a “correct” pour. Guinness Extra Stout leaves no room for those annoying complaints and I love it for that.

Finally, not to get too profane–cuz that ain’t what we’re about here at The Vice Blog–but if you drink a ton of these like I did over the course of a Saturday, you will spend most of the next day on the toilet with a little Irishman’s revenge, a charcoal black enema constantly oozing out of you.

Turns out Guinness Extra Stout is indeed “good for you.” That is if you’re trying to clean out your entire insides and can’t afford a trip to the colonic spa.

A-

*Some might even say the Extra Stout’s not “real” either, the original recipe of Guinness said to be closer to 7% ABV.

5% from a bomber

FROM THE READERS’ MAILBAG:
(in response to the pictures in yesterday’s Brooklyner Weisse review)

Question: When you go out in public are you undercover? Like Bruce Wayne or Clark Kent? Or do people know you are the World Famous Vice Blogger? I ask because you are always taking pics of the beers you drink. I am sure people see you and inquire WTF are you doing? What is your answer to them? Do you tell the truth? Or make up a story? And do they think you are weird for taking the pics? Do bartenders think you are taking pics of them? And did the people at the party think? If I saw some kid I didnt know at my party taking pics of beers in my fridge I would punt his ass out the window. Why? Because I wouldnt understand what he was doing, and when you dont understand others or they are different from you, then you are supposed to turn violent toward them. Intolerance is in the Bible so you know it is the right thing to do.

Anyway maybe this question is better answered in a beer review.

First of all, I have taken pics of the inside of your fridge before, Sal. And soon enough I will be posting on this very blog all those images I snuck of the Ziploc-ed severed body parts you are hiding in there. But I do agree with your theories on intolerance, good looking out.

When I began this blog, I used to be nervous about taking pictures of my beers while in public and would try to do it quickly, surreptitiously, and inconspicuously. Being that I am not a skilled photographer, I’m often drinking in dark places, oh, and drunk too, it sometimes was tough to quickly pull off an acceptable, publishable photo. Not to mention, I refuse to lug a camera around to the bars so I have to use my phone’s camera, which, if you’ve noticed, is not the most high-definition. Especially in dark places where I’m forced to put on the “night” switch and then hold the camera completely still for literally like 10 seconds to get a clear photograph. I feel like I’m using a Daguerreotype camera it’s so goddamn slow.

Occasionally, bartenders or other customers, party goers, or even my dates would catch me and brusquely wonder in confusion, “What are you doing?”

Initially, I tried to blow it off with a chuckle and a mumbled “Oh, nothing, don’t worry. I just have a stupid website where I write about beers…”

I wouldn’t even have a chance to finish my blow-off explanation before I’d hear “Cooooool!!!” Everyone loved it! The first bartender to “catch” me was so impressed he immediately started bringing me free glasses of Scotch, bourbon, and “secret” bottles of beer his bar had stored that I just had to try and then write about. Fellow customers with boring lives of their own immediately had something interesting to discuss with me. As did my dates. In fact, the only place that has ever reacted negatively to me taking a picture of a beer was once when I tried to do it while in Whole Foods, which inexplicably has a no-photography policy (”But how ‘r’ ma’ friends back home in Tupelo, gonna’ believe I actually went to one a’ dem fancy ore-gan-ick supermarkets?!”)

So now when I need to take a snap of my beer in public, I pretty much just proudly announce to any one in ear shot, “Excuse me, I need to take a picture of my beer for my blog.” And, usually, those around me stop everything, wanting to assist in the composition, lighting, and set-up for my beer shots.

Such was the case at the infamous party where the Brooklyner pic was taken as a fellow guest thought an in-the-fridge photo would be a unique composition. He was right.

Nevertheless, a good majority of pics, such as the one that kicks of this review, are taken in my home where no one can make fun of me except for the ghost that lives under my bed.

Of my first two career Schell beers, one was a solid success and one was a marginal success. This would be my third to try and the one I was most leery about. You see, stouts are always a risky proposition to me. When it comes to IPAs or pale ales or even barley wines, I still feel like I can enjoy a lackluster one. Of course I want a masterpiece every time, but I have no probably quaffing mediocre to bad ones and even finding a thing or two nice to say about them. That is not true with stouts. For whatever reason with stouts, if I don’t get a masterpiece or a near-masterpiece, I all but hate the beer. Thus, I always drinks stouts with tons of trepidation.

The 5% ABV worried me immediately. The stouts I’ve grown to love are American-style “imperial” asskickers, often so potent they make bourbons blush. This English stout was one of the least alcoholic stouts I can ever recall having, aside from, you know, Guinness.

Nevertheless, the pour was promising. Black and milky with the ever so smallest hint of a head. Smells of dark coffee, roastedness, and burntness. Everything seemed to be in order so far.

I’d like to claim that I tasted even the faintest hints of coffee, but I didn’t. It simply tasted smoky and borderline meaty to me, and, I must admit, a bit like inhaling some flatulence. Not much flavor, complexity, or kick to it. No carbonation or hops feel either, as to be expected. A slight creamy finish redeems the beer somewhat and it is indeed very drinkable. When I have them, I usually make stouts my last brew of the evening and only drink them on a somewhat empty stomach, but this one could be handled any time.

There’s not much else to say. I didn’t particularly love this one. However, admittedly, the more I drank it the more palatable it became and the more I like it. But I never loved it and wouldn’t have it again.

10.8% ABV from a bomber (“limited spring 2008 release”)

An open letter to Stone Brewery* AKA “Send Me Free Shit”:

Dear Stone,

A supermarket near me, of which I will not reveal the name, just got in a shipment of Stone Old Guardian and Imperial Russian Stout bombers which they incorrectly marked at $1.39 per, less than the Bud Light 40s comically enough. Being a responsible and moral man I immediately alerted the manager, letting him know that these semi-rare and highly-regarded beers should be more in the $6 range.

No, of course I didn’t do that! I backed a shopping cart up like I was robbing a bank vault and shoveled the entire stock in, needing a bum’s assistance to get all my glass bottles home. And why did I do this? Because I fucking love your beers! You’re my favorite brewery in the world (that isn’t operated by men of the cloth!)

Look at my rankings of your beers on my site so far:

Old Guardian Barley Wine……………………A+

Arrogant Bastard……………………………….A

Oaked Arrogant Bastard……………………..A

Ruination DIPA………………………………….A

India Pale Ale……………………………………A-

Pale Ale……………………………………………A-

My point? You should be sending me free shit.

There are countless beer blogs which I monitor on a daily basis–some great, many good, most shitty–and it boggles my mind and infuriates me how these bloggers get free beers, samplers, and other brewery swag seemingly heaped upon them!

Why don’t I get anything sent my way?!

Why doesn’t my favorite brewery send me some stuff? I’d love a few bottles of your 12th Anniversary Bitter Chocolate Oatmeal Stout which I’ve been struggling so much to find in NYC over the past month. You know I’ll give it an A or A+ because it is undoubtedly awesome. Heck, even if sucks, tell you what, I still guarantee an A. That’s just the kind of whore I am. And that’s a message to all breweries, send me free stuff–shhh…it’ll be our little secret–and I’ll totally overrate your beers**. I don’t mind being a sell-out! If not the 12th Anniversary, Stone, then howzabout some of your coolass glassware for me to befittingly drink your delicious beers from? Or some hip clothing so I don’t have to do laundry as often can proudly walk through Manhattan freely advertising my favorite American beermaker as if wearing a sandwich board. I’d do it! Swear.

Why are these other blogs getting so many free beers and I am not? I have huge readership numbers and my google rank is better than almost all of them. That’s a fact. Is it cause those guys have “safe” and boring websites while mine is actually interesting? Is it cause I talk about nearly throwing up from a certain beer (you would have too), or of living with an alkie in an apartment building full of lunatics? Is it cause I compare drinking a certain beer to fucking a fat chick while I note that I love another beer so much that I’d give it a blowjob?! That’s not even possible you remark! How can one suck off to orgasm a fermented liquid?!

Are you telling me that I am not the kind of person you want to associate with? Is that it? I’m a big boy, I can take the truth. Be frank with me.

You’re a company known for being extreme. For creating big bold beers that kick the ass of “wussies” that typically drink pisswater. I’d think you’d want to be associated with such an awesome guy like me. I’ll be the MJ to your Gatorade. Don’t be like Mike, Be like The Vice Blogger! (OK, we’ll have to have marketing punch up that slogan a bit.)

But apparently you don’t want this to be.

If that’s the case, I would just say: uh, you know your products are ultimately for getting people drunk? How dare you stand on such high moral ground? How dare you be so haughty and supercilious toward me?

Whatever. You–and all the other breweries–can ignore me all they want, I’ll still drink your beers. Probably. And I’ll still love your beers, Stone.

Your delicious Imperial Russian Stout pours jet black with a foamy head that looks like Nestle’s Quik. Incredible lacing. It’s chocolately with a roasted bitter coffee taste. Hints of currant with a nice, alcohol-laden finish. One of the most palatable stouts I’ve ever had, making my tongue tingle with each sip of its potent flavor. Goes down smoothly like dessert. By the time I’m done with a bomber of this, I am always on my ass. Feel free to put that on your bottle like a movie critic blurb. First one is gratis.

“By the time I’m done…I am always on my ass.” –The Vice Blog

Stone, you already make my favorite barley wine which is also probably my favorite overall beer. You make one of my favorite DIPAs, strong ales, doubly strong ales, and smoked porters, so it’s no fucking surprise that you make arguably my favorite stout too.

BOOM! Another A to add to the chart.

Stone Imperial Russian Stout……………………….A

That’s just the kind of guy I am.

Now, hold up your end of the bargain and send me some free shit:

theviceblog [at] gmail.com

A

*But other brewers feel free to pay attention.

**Nope, not you Corona, nice try.

8% ABV on cask

Being an internationally famous beer blogger, you can imagine the scene when I go to my sporting arena–the bar. Luckily enough, future NBA bust Roy Hibbert and his crew of dorky hangers-on happened to saunter into the same bar as me and my crew of Herculean beer and bourbon drinkers and thus most of the tavern’s clientele was focused on the 7′1″ freak of nature as opposed to me. Perfect. I like it that way. Signing autographs can be annoying when you’re trying to focus on your drink. And a nicely poured beer is far sexier to me than some Georgetown slut.

Derek had discovered a quasi-secret bar hidden at the back and downstairs of an unassuming wood-burning stone-oven pizzeria, Pizza Paradiso. The place was as tiny as a VFW bar and totally lacking in ambiance, but their beer list was indeed exquisite and their pizza was about as good as a bar snack can get.

First, I ordered a Clipper City Heavy Seas Peg Leg Imperial Stout on cask. Surely the longest beer name I’ve ever seen on a menu. I’m usually very leery about cask beer and in fact rarely order it.  Not that many American bars actually have it.  As with a lot of things I drink, I’m not actually sure what cask beer is but I typically associate it with brews that are dispatched slowly from odd, low-level hand pumps and that are usually warm and lacking carbonation.  Oh, and that I usually don’t dig that much, probably because I’m a dumb American say the Europeans.

Doing some heavy, heavy research though, I find that there’s no reason to avoid cask as it is essentially the freshest beer one can get.  It’s unfiltered which usually means it is still fermenting (I’ve discussed secondary fermentation before) and is served without additional N or CO2 pressure.  True, it tastes much different than ordinary beers but who wants ordinary?  I must admit, I really enjoyed this brew and I’m going to begin pursuing more cask beers.

Heavy Seas - Peg Leg is a fantastic stout.  Who knew they made such good beers in Maryland?  It’s visually one of the better looking beers I’ve ever seen.  Incredibly dark like a shiny black marble.  Smell and taste of roasted coffee and barley as well as dark, dark chocolate.  Very smooth and creamy and goes down easily with hardly any bite.  One of the more drinkable Russian Imperial Stouts I’ve ever had.  Any Tsar would be tickled by it.

A-

9.1% ABV bottle

Nothing worse than drinking a great beer at the wrong time. But much like golf in Scotland, sometimes imbibing has to occur under inclement conditions. If you only golfed when it was 65 degrees and calm and only drank while relaxing on your sofa then you would miss out on lots of good opportunities. Better to try a great beer under less than optimal circumstance than to just pour another Bud Light down your gullet. Thus, after an entire day of “sessioning” with Dogfish Head 60 Minutes and stuffing my belly with greasy food while I celebrated the eventual national champion Syracuse University lacrosse team’s victory, I found myself winding the night down in a classier establishment. And the best beer on that bar’s menu that I had never had before was Victory Storm King. True, I was in that state where you’re not wasted but you’ve been marathon drinking so long that sumpin’ ain’t right with ya’ and I was also so bloated from all the beer and food inside of me that I felt ready to explode, but I still needed to try this one. Victory has rarely let me down before.

So, with that in mind, my thoughts: I always claim I’m not a stout guy but maybe I need to change my tune because any time I drink a stout from a top-notch brewery I like if not love it. I always approach stouts carefully for some reason, and I always am leery of them, but then I always enjoy them. Maybe my fear lies in the fact that they are so heavy and potent that I can only drink one in a sitting, and often that is even a struggle. I never feel relaxed when drinking a stout, despite how good they are. It’s like, no matter how much you love lobster, all things being even, ceteris paribus, you rarely order it because you know that it’s gonna be a fucking workout to shell the thing and get just the tiniest bits of meat down your face. True, it’ll be outstanding, but 99% of the time I think we’d rather lay back and enjoy something more accessible. Like a cheeseburger or an IPA.

Victory King is a very stout, stout. Very smoky with potent tastes of coffee and some chocolate. It was tasty. Damn tasty. Took me forever to get this one down. What can I say, this beer kicked my ass. And like the straight-laced CPA that enjoys hitting the BDSM scene at night…I kinda liked it!

A-

4.2% ABV on draught

Needed a midday quaff to still (steel?) my nerves and an $8 (!) Guinness pint from an overpriced and empty corporate midtown NYC pub seemed like the perfect choice. I used to drink Guinness a lot when I was a younger lad but now not so much. Maybe it’s cause I don’t have as many Irish friends as I used to. Thick and milky but not as potent and heavy as I recall. I used to think myself a badass for polishing off five of these during a happy hour. Now I realize at 4.2% that wasn’t much of a feat. Quite frankly, I don’t find the beer that tasty or flavorable any more. No hops, no bite, and thus very drinkable. Probably why it was so beloved during my salad drinking days. Nowadays, I think I might enjoy drinking this more for the memories, the aesthetic, and the process than for anything else. I enjoy watching the bartender use the slow two-step process to pull it. I’m tickled when a cloverleaf is swirled into the top of the head to finish the pour off. But I don’t really love this beer any more. And, I’m certainly not one of those American douchebags who visited Dublin once during their junior year of college and now will spend the next 70 years of their drinking lives telling any one that will listen how much better Guinness is in Dublin. How us dumb Americans get a poorer quality product than they do across the pond. How we drink it too cold here. Or too hot. Or in the wrong, wrong, very wrong glass! How our stupid bartenders don’t even pour it correctly! FUCK, that one week in Dublin was awesome! You Yanks just don’t get it!!!

B-

8.3% ABV from a bomber

I’m pretty sure I’m not an alcoholic, or any sort of -oholic for that matter, but if I were, these would be my biggest addictions, from the greatest to least:

1. Coffee/caffeine (the only “addiction” that I have withdrawal symptoms from)

2. Alcohol

3. The internet and information consumption

4. Sex (or masturbation)

5. Television/movies

6. Greasy foods

7. Sports

I think those are my only borderline addictions. Though I suppose that is plenty. Seven borderline addictions surely equals being a full-time committed heroin addict who has no other extracurricular interests. Right?

My point with the above list was to show that my top two addictive pleasures are coffee and booze. Put them together in a wonderful concoction known as coffee beer and I should be like a scat addict in shit. Or so I thought. My first coffee beer was from the usually reliable (if not great) Southern Tier brewery with their Jahva Imperial Coffee Stout. I was psyched to try it, but must admit that I didn’t really love that highly-regarded beer.

A few months since then, I decided to give coffee beers one more shot with the Lagunitas Cappuccino Stout “limited release.”

Popping the top, I instantly noticed it’s amazing smell. A very rich flavor, this is an incredibly potent stout. Your sissy friends will definitely not like this one. They will retract in fear at you for drinking such a dark, thick beer. It has no bite, no hops (only 29.5 IBUs), and one of the most pleasant aftertastes I have every experienced. I was literally enjoying the burps from this one hours after I had consumed it. And, it did take nearly an hour to consume. Would be a perfect after-dinner dessert beer or as a nightcap. I drank it after dinner at a time most would consider within “nightcap range” but I only considered it like the 2nd quarter for my evening’s drinking exercises.

This beer is phenomenal. Exciting my whole mouth with it’s melted dark chocolate/coffee flavor. You could savor this beer for a long time. And, I say this as a man that doesn’t even particularly love stouts.

A-