This is one of the last from Hilgar's poarchbomb last year. It is the Double Bastard Bigger, Longer, and Uncut from Stone Brewing out of San Diego California. I have written on Stone before, so refer to previous posts about the brewery's history. The Double Bastard is an American Strong Ale, which has characteristics much like my beloved Barleywine and Old Ale, and is aged in whiskey barrels. It came out in October of 2016, so I wanted to give it a little bit of ageing time. There is a reason I am reviewing the beers he sent me in a certain order, stronger beers are better with age. I kind of wish I was able to have several bottles of this and then review them every year for five to seven years to see how they develop. Strong beers tend to reach their peak at about five years (up to seven for some), but can still be "drinkable" after almost 20 if they are kept in proper conditions. Generally I would want to age this for at least two years, but I don't have that much time here and I need to make room for others considering the cap on alcohol I'm allowed to have in the barracks.
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| It's as sideways as I am after having had it. |
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I received this beer in a 1pt 6oz. bottle with a crimpcap, bulbed neck, and broad but sloping shoulders. according to the date electro-etched on the front, this was bottled on October 14th of 2016. The bottle art features the Stone gargoyle in red and white mirror images on the body and it's head on the neck and crimpcap. I love the Gothic artwork and lettering. It says on the front "2016 Double Bastard Bigger, Longer, Uncut. A peaty as hell double bastard aged in scotch whisky barrels". On the rear is one of the longest epitaphs I have ever seen on a bottle. This is going to be a long post no matter what, so I'm writing it. "Weakness is worn on the sleeves. Boldness is within the heart. This intensified blend of barrel-aged Double Bastard Ale is all hear baby. The weak will find it to be a telltale heart. It knows of your fallibility. It smells your fear. The heart of the beer disdains you, as it disdains all thins homogenized, wimpy and uncultured. You do know the truth of yourself, no? If you hesitated to answer that, if even for a split second, that in and of itself is telling. If you aren't capable of knowing the reality of yourself, this beer can and will take the responsibility of informing you of what you should already know. (and if you've lost your way in this text already and are no longer clear about what I am saying, your reading pace has exceeded your comprehension pace. Go back, slow down and start over, bright eyes.) Take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Evenly. Give yourself some positive affirmations. Breathe deep again. There. Feel better? If you followed those instructions, then set this bottle down and back away immediately, you new age poseur. Fight or flight, and I'd recommend the latter of you, tiger. Wet paper bags are more your speed.". It's aged in Islay Scotch whiskey barrels and is 13% abv. I will be using one of my coupious tulip glasses. I'm going to eat something so this doesn't completely lay me out, then we pop the top and see that head.
Nose from the bottle is smokey with oak and hickory as well as a little bit of maltyness. Color is a deep oak brown (ruby in the light) with a dissipating beige head. Nose from the glass is much the same as the bottle, it smells overwhelmingly like a smoked brisket but with a little bit of fruitiness on the back end. On first sip, peaty as hell is right! It is so bitter and peaty and smokey! This is not for the faint of heart, it is a savage beer. First it smacks you in the face with the peat. For those of you who don't know, peat tastes like when you get a truck bed full of black mulch and you dig your hand into the middle where it's really wet and then smell it. condense that smell, mix it with topsoil, and then age it for 25 years and that's peat. Then it moves to an intense smoked oak chip flavor, finishes with a touch of fruitiness, and then has a smoke aftertaste but more of a hickory than an oak. There is an alcohol essence all of the way through, it kind of sets the tone for everything. I think I can best describe this beer as such: it is the experience of eating a smoked brisket while smoking a deep, deep maduro cigar in your backyard after you got done with a hard days work of re-mulching all of the plant beds around your property, condensed and liquefied. If you don't know that feeling of accomplishment, you cannot possibly understand this beer.
I need a house. I don't mean that I need some place to live, that's not a problem for me. I mean I need a property that I own, live on, and take care of myself. Not just any property though, it needs to be at least 1/3 woods with a year long running creek going through it, big enough for me to put a barn or a large shop on it. A place where I am not shackled by close quarters living. Where I can build and collect anything I want with impunity. Where if I up and decide I want livestock, I can do that. And if I decide I want meat, I can walk into the backyard with an AK-47 and make that happen too (an inadvisable tool for euthanizing livestock, but you get the idea). I hope I can make that happen if South Carolina, someplace where I'm not so far out that there is no place to go to and I can own some rental property's in town. I want a place where I can bring all of the troubled souls I befriend that the rest of the world can't stand, and just hang out and talk about Gods truth. I want a place where I can brew beer made from barley I grew and fermented with yeast I cultivated in lab in an underground bunker I built. Damn if I haven't always wanted to build an underground bunker. I would use it mostly as a beer cellar (or disguise it as that). but I'm sure I would use it for so much more. I figure I could store emergency equipment and rations to service the local community, government be damned. I'm not some doomsday preper or anything, I'm just fascinated by underground bunkers. I saw an Imperial Japanese one In Okinawa. It was almost completely built with Okinawan slave labor. You could still see the tool marks on the bare rock parts of the walls. The commanders of the Japanese defense, Mitsuru Ushijima and Isamu Cho, committed traditional Suppuku in those deep, musty tunnels. The other officers held grenades to their chests, they actually have a mock up of the holes in the walls in there. They got it kind of wrong, but it's kind of a tourist trap anyway (not to say it's not cool or that that you should not go if you go to Okinawa, you absolutely should). This certainly took a morbid turn, but such is my profession. I could not see dying by my own hand, that is unfathomable to me. What have you really accomplished by killing yourself? There is so much more you could do. Whatever message you have sent will soon be forgotten, and if you believe in a hereafter (as I do) you face damnation. I suppose for them they believed they would inhabit a star island granted to them by the decedent of the Sun Goddess Amaterasu, Emperor Hirohito, the marine biologist and mickey mouse fan (not to discredit him, he was a cool dude). By the way, He was an essential figure in ending the war in Asia, but whether or not he was involved with starting the war is subject to debate.
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| Emperor Showa |
To sum up, this beer is not for everyone. It is certainly for those who love to go off on inebriated tangents about past conflicts and hopes for the future, but not for those of soft tastes. You have to suffer through the dirt to enjoy the glory of this beer. It is oh so terrible in the beginning and oh so sweet in the end. I suppose I love it's consistency. It's a harsh and dirty old bastard, but isn't that the manner of anyone worth hanging out with? There is no Heaven Without a Hell, you don't know something good without knowing something bad. This thing treads the edge, and can only be known by those who know the difference. I give this beer my seal of approval.
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