Purple Haze
Abita Brewing Co.

 

 

A can into a Nonic.
Haven’t had this one in years, I recall it used to be a trendy beer back in the day.
A thin head and little lacing.
Toasted malt fruited with raspberries dominates the flavor profile. Lighter on the nose than it is on the pallet.
Light bodied mouthfeel, pleasant hops bitterness with a slight raspberry aftertaste.

 

 

Copenhagen 8/4 2019. 35,5 cl bottle from Meny, Østerfælled Torv, Kbh Ø. Drawing of some guy dressed up like the bad guy in the Frog Princess on the label. The Brewery calls it a “Raspberry Lager”. Unnerving.

Pours murky orange with a small white head with pink tint. Bubbly. Settles as lonely patch of foam. No Lacing.

Aroma is very fruity in the tart and sourish understanding of the word. Raspberry sweetness with strong tart and acerbic notes.

Medium strong carbonation. Thin, watery and lively texture. Flavor is bit thin. Lightly sweet followed by a somewhat stronger sourness. Almost No Aftertaste.

Nice tart aroma but a very thin cup of beer when it comes to Flavor and texture.

From the smell of the beer, I thought I would really like this one. The taste was okay but kind of a let down. It feels like it could've been a lot more if it had built in some rich flavor and strong carbonation. But they decided to keep it on the light and airy/fluffy side. Nothing awful - but definitely wouldn't drink again. When it comes to fruit beers, there are many better options out there. As far as raspberry goes, Rubaeus has pretty much set the standard IMO.

I can see what they’re trying to do. The after taste and smell is definitely raspberry, but the initial taste is very sharp and kind of reminiscent of metal, I don’t know how else to describe it. As I continue to drink it I don’t taste that metal, maybe my mouth was bleeding lol. Other than that it’s definitely better than the mass produced American lagers I’ve had but it’s not standing out to
Me.

 

 

 

Cloudy, golden color. Medium-sized, white head. The aroma of strawberries and malt. Sweet, malty taste with light bitterness at the end. Drinkable.

 

 

 

 

 

 

So I’m (etch-a-)sketching my next inner thigh tattoo, a bottomless Kathy Bates coiled around one of those Ginsu knives you buy off the TV at 3am when you definitely haven’t been watching scrambled porn on your mom’s Prism cable—been working on it for weeks—when my best mate Gordon Blevins informs me she’s still alive. Unstinkable Molly Brown indeed. Do I go through with it? Seems like a matter that can only be settled by sucking down the Purple Haze I’d decanted into a spent Capri Sun pouch to sneak it into my god-grandniece’s custody hearing. Gordon argues that the antemortem homage is probably my best shot at ever winning the romantic favor of Mama Boucher. He has my attention with a comprehensive social media campaign, an Omaha Steaks homepage takeover, and a 30-second nationwide radio spot. Gordon’s presentation is riveting. Like a recently-dismissed TGI Friday’s dishwasher moonlighting as Don Draper. He gets himself entirely too worked up and vomits all over his laptop, which is ruined, taking with it the meticulous plan he’d only thought to save on the desktop. I shrug, instantly rededicated to a life of idle cranking. Hogwise. Resigned, I sip.

I’m flesh made milk. I’m 7 years old again, again. I smell sound. I’m Filipino and my name’s Cevin (with a hard C). Guess I didn’t rinse the acid out of my Capri carry-all adequately. There’s a hint of actual berries gently lapping at the edges of my perception, which is itself a mirage — thanks again, hallucinogens. Maybe a Vanguard hop slipping a finger somewhere untoward? The mouthfeel is math and the smell is Roanoke, Virginia.

Quick update on my way to get the old stomach pumped (turns out it was actually bleach residue in my Capri) — my god-grandniece decided to get her own place, seeing as she’s 37 and all. She deserves it.