New Beer Weekend #172

Well, it's Saturday arvo here, so I'll kick in an NBW review too. Warning, though, I might have actually gone insane as I wrote this one. The beer is Mango Double Juice Train from Deeds Brewing here in Oz, and it was murder writing this review...

***

Time: 3pm, Saturday 4 November, 2023.
Location: Mango Town, Fruitville.

I attended the scene of the crime soon after receiving my despatch. I entered the property and found the victim, or what was left of it, alone, placed atop a brick wall beside bright purple flowers, truly an incongruous setting for such a crime. The breeze ruffled the branches of the pear tree a few paces from me, the swirling leaves silent witness to the deed that had gone before, offering no answers and uttering no truths. Beside the tree, the bananas stood, silent mourners, aghast at what had happened in their midst. I felt their eyes, felt the limes demanding answers, the angry apples demanding retribution. But I was not to be the arbiter of justice today. My job was merely to report the clues my careful observations would gather.

The victims (it was difficult to tell how many had met their end here) had been utterly pulped, shredded, and literally juiced to their constituent flesh, their very innards on display. Placed in a glass sarcophagus, it looked like a radioactive mango had imploded. The gleaming, bright remains sat with a thin rim of bright-white foam covering what lay in the glass. Clearly, the victims had been pulped. There was no way for light to penetrate the thick, juicy mass and no chance of seeing the gasses of life pulsing in the glass. All was still. This awful scene, though, held a strange compulsion. My gaze would not leave the glass. Though it sat unmoving, I swore it accused me of unconcealed voyeurism and ghoulish intensity as I probed the mystery before me. In the dark recesses of my mind, that quiet, insistent voice urged me to acknowledge the beauty of what I saw. L: 4.25

Clearly, mangoes had been sacrificed to construct the liquid edifice before me. But why? Who would do this? To what end would my kin be treated this abominably? Did someone draw pleasure from this atrocity? One thing was clear as the scent of my dead compatriots reached my nose: the mangoes that died here had injected the very essence of their aroma into the liquid that sat before me. I leaned forward, seeking better access to the scent, to accept what clues it proffered. The voice in my head snickered, the sky flickered, and all went black. In that dark, fleeting moment, it was like a presence had cut open a mango and plunged my nose physically into the flesh. I pulled back in horror, taking a large, panicked breath through my nose. There was mango. Sweet mango for days, dancing in my nose as mangoes beat a pounding rhythm in my head. Mango and more mango, plus the slightest whiff of vanilla, the unmistakable, spicy smell of hops and alcohol lying under everything... It was lovely... Wait, hops? Here, now? In 2023? I snapped back to reality, voices in my head quiescent. To my horror, I found I was crouched Golem-like over the glass, inhaling its heady aroma. I looked around. The bananas had their back to me, deep in discussion with the apples. The limes spoke quietly amongst themselves. All had missed my dip into insanity, all but me and the sweet, heady presence in the glass before me. S: 4.75

I looked back at the glass. My nose and eyes told me clearly what had happened here. Mango murder. Mango desecration. The criminal hand of hops had left their fingerprint across my nose and in the glass before me. But I needed to be sure. I needed more evidence. I stopped and stepped back. I knew there was one way to be certain of what sat before me. But it screamed heresy and darkest crimes. To sup the flesh of kin was the ultimate in betrayal, of carnal indulgence of the sense at the expense of the soul. But I needed to know. The seeds planted in my nose were the clearest evidence of what had happened here, but supposition would not hold in court. I checked that none monitored my actions, and I quickly drank. The liquid was mango, that much was already obvious, but it was not one-dimensional. There was a clear and present alcohol and hop burn with every mouthful. Those notes went against all decency; the ruling HazeBois would never accept the bitterness present here. But these hops were clever; they'd covered their tracks with a touch of creaminess, a balm to soothe the fluttering heart of the hazy soul not used to bitterness. A trail to throw the gullible and guileless off the real crime and its perpetrators: dastardly hops. T: 4.5

But what I'd just done burned me, and the touch of hop creep left a warming sensation in the throat and gullet. Its throbbing intensity and retronasal bitterness settled on my tongue, forcing me to break bread with my actions. Though the body that lay in the glass before me was full and fluffy, the gasses of the life that had passed were present, and carbonic prickle was high. My suspicion was that the stabbing, carbonic note in my throat was stopping everything from becoming overly sweet and that the carbonation was striving to keep balance. But balance had eluded me, and the voices in my head sang the question in chorus: in the midst of my heinous actions, was I no better than those I sought to bring to justice? M: 4.25

I roused myself from my morbid thoughts. The bananas watched me. The apples stood, arms crossed, awaiting my summary. They'd missed what had happened here, both the initial crime and my secret, shameful actions. But I roused myself. What I had done was in the name of justice, no matter what the voices said. I sought redress for the poor mangoes that had perished here. The evil hops that infused this liquid had no place in 2023, and must be brought to justice, cleansed from this citrusy, pastry-infused world. Tropical sensibilities and hazy trends demanded it. My throat had constricted, swallowing had become a chore. There was no subtlety to what happened here. This crime was big on fruit, big on hops, big on flavour, big on alcohol, and big on me loving it. I nodded to my silent audience, turned and headed to my car, the voices mocking me loudly. Though this crime-solving mango had a report to make, it shamefully had a beer to dream of drinking again, and the voices would not let me forget. I was a broken being, but I broke in the name of mango justice, and mango justice I would have. O: 4.5

Cheers!

 

Good morning, Weekenders! Thanks for the excellent (albeit a touch early ) start, @AccipiterofBeer !

It's a wonderful Fall day here in New England, and for a change, it's not raining this weekend (yet). Still, I've been indoors almost all day, packing up some boxes to take to USPS. After my coffee, that naturally called for some beer:



This is Tree House Big Nugget (split with my partner), an 11.4% ABV barrel aged and blended imperial stout with chocolate, almond, coconut, and coffee ...

... and it's really good. Chocolate takes the lead; coffee provides an accent; coconut and almond are present but restrained. It's only semi-sweet, but super rich. It would definitely make for a nice dessert beer (if you've got room in your stomach!).

The only thing keeping this from being truly world class is the very weak bourbon barrel presence. You can notice it on the nose, but it's barely present on the palate. Still, an absolutely fantastic beer.

https://www.beeradvocate.com/beer/profile/28743/535150/?ba=Roguer#lists
4.29 / -3.4%

Be back after I ship some packages. Cheers!

 

The Spencer Brewery -- Russian Imperial Stout
Trappist Russian imperial stout
ABV: 8.7%; pouring temperature: 42 F; bottling info: BB 11/17/24
Source: @micada (BA Stout/Barleywine BIF#1)



4.12/5 rDev +3.5%
look: 4.25 | smell: 4 | taste: 4.25 | feel: 4 | overall: 4

Pours out dark brown and appears an opaque black in the glass; thick, frothy, light brown head, semi-creamy on top, very long lasting; nice rings of foam cascade down the inside of the glass. Fine dark malt grain aroma; cocoa and baker's chocolate. Outstanding taste; milk chocolate with a touch of grain char bitterness; a hint of raspberry. Medium-heavy body.

A very nice imperial stout delivering well-rounded taste with an easy drinking mouthfeel.

 

Good afternoon, Weekenders! I'm enjoying a lovely "pub ale" (classified on BA as an English Pale Mild Ale) sent my way by @The_Kriek_Freak .


Forest and Main Stone Flower

Stone Flower clocks in at an appropriately modest 4% ABV, and proudly advertises being brewed with 100% Munich malt (one of the rare exceptions where I will type, and say, Munich, instead of München). It shows, too, as the beer is somewhere perfectly in the middle between light and dark amber, an almost reddish-brownish-coppery color. Very, very lively, and slightly hazy but easily translucent.

Forest and Main packed a tremendous amount of aroma and flavor into such a small package. (Umm, don't read into that. She said this beer was a good size!) Wonderfully aromatic, with flavor that follows. Notes of toast, caramel, coffee, dark fruit, flowers, light leather, and honeycomb. Moderately bitter; super crisp and clean.

I would take this over a standard draught lager, including maltier options like Boston Lager, absolutely any day - and at 4%, all day, too.

https://www.beeradvocate.com/beer/profile/65170/635328/?ba=Roguer#lists
4.26 / +0.2% (3rd full review out of only 4 total ratings)

Cheers!