Truly, this is my Ozymandias moment; when only lone and level sands stretch far away, this crude MSPaint of an elderly gentleman wearing lipstick and holding a bottle of beer that you can no longer get will remind all of the faded glory that was once Yet Another Damn Beer Blog: the Blog that says, "Look on my drinking habits, ye liver health specialists, and despair."
Anyway, after the immense response to my recent Girls Who Drink Beer Rule posting, I certainly wasn't about to let an event like the Smokin Cherry Bomb Saison cask at Clive's Classic slip past. The Missus and I bounded in there around 6ish.
Now, I know Ian will probably disagree with me on this, the cantankerous bastard, but I was a trifle let-down by this brew. Mrs. Damnbeerblogger didn't even finish hers, and she quite ruined it for the rest of the table by mentioning band-aids, which made every mouthful taste like Flinstone's sticking plasters. Of course, then it warmed up a little and you could navigate your way through the smoke to the more interesting flavours, but I warn you, smoked beers are not going to be everyone's bag.
Still, I'm firmly planted up to my withers in the "Any new beer is a good beer" camp, and recognizing that you should never take advice on Saisons from me, as I'm not a fan of the whole tulip-glassed fiddle-faddle, I think the consensus was, "Interesting, but not for everyone." Certainly I would be first in line to taste another collaborative brew from these fine ladies, assuming that I haven't been beaten to death by a pink wellie for saying something inappropriate.
Some more poutine, should say. Any time Dave is in the vicinity, poutine happens. And I'm fine with that. As a side note, he's the worst restaurant companion ever if you don't like poutine, as that will inevitably be the only thing he's had on the menu when you ask for recommendations.
I had a Hilde on tap, Mrs. Damnbeerblogger had this.
It's half-and-half White Bark and Nut Brown, and we alternately called it the Brown Bark or the Nut Tree. It actually wasn't half-bad, although the purists out there have probably self-combusted into the squeaky froth-mouthed rage of a pug savaging a tube of toothpaste.
I like that the Wifelet is always mixing beers and being experimental. Too often, the brewing community gets up their own lower-intestinal-tract a bit. Beer is fun! Beer is mixing things together and seeing what happens! Sometimes you get band-aids, sometimes you get Belle Royale.
