Displaying 1 - 50 of 163
ain't nuthin' better after a turkey shoot or a rabbit hunt than a quaffable brew, some tall tales, a few rollicking aggrandizements, and a half-dozen uproarious limericks
Does a beverage with 3.2 ABV really qualify as a beer, or is it a slap in the metaphorical face to Sanctimonious Ales everywhere?
a terrifying, petrifying, even hair-raising can o' India PA - not the beverage, mind you, it's the Sabbatic goat on the front of the can. I'll get you Baphomet
a terrifying, petrifying, even hair-raising can o' India PA - not the beverage, mind you, it's the Sabbatic goat on the front of the can. I'll get you Baphomet
smoke 'em if you got 'em Viggoramenstein - rides a wire between smoky and bittersweet. Cloaked in saddle polish and olde English 800
if I spelled school S - K - O - O - L, I was liable to get slapped by a headstrong nun - never happened though. Enjoy this piney preparation while cramming for your next spelling bee
live, and in concert, it's Citra Hopped!! Cranked to 11 when you need that extra push over the hop-heavy cliff, it's a feisty, cocksure pale ale
you're as far from northwestern Morocco as you can be drinking Southern Tier's rough and ready Tangier - spicy, arguably bitter, leaving slightly snobbish memories in the afterglow
while some say, "It smells of old, stale hops and scorched malts," I am nearly 10% certain it smells of scorched hops and old, stale malts
picture a monkey sporting a prehensile tail about to get a pasteurized stout face wash - hey, you've pre-qualified yourself to join the 1930's Guinness marketing department
birds in flight balancing two pints, face to face with the rich heritage we all share - drink this liquid black velvet and ponder the deeper meanings of this commemorative can
to paraphrase Eleanor Roosevelt, "The purpose of stout is to drink it, to taste barley to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for a coffee and malty nose"
one more pint of black, my good man - my regular barkeep, the amenable Mr. McGaffiganihan knows this lovely stout proves we have lived - and lived well
break free of a repressive background or Puritanical shackles with west coast attitude in a can (not hindered by 7% ABV, to be sure) - elope with a six-pack this weekend
knowing 'mezzanotte' is Italian for 'midnight' literally explains everything about this veiled, spunky coffee porter, brimming with elan and raw enthusiasm
develop a rapport with the style of beer that nearly made Cologne, Germany famous and forget about your ungrateful brood of ne'er-do-wells, layabouts, wannabes and never-wills, and do it with a pretty pink can
eagle-eyed grease monkeys, gravy lappers, wing-nuts and other auto freaks will love this glossy, trouble-free ale inspired by the MG factory's paint-splattered run around car
the beer you love and the beer that loves you are never, ever the same brew. That goes double for blondes (ales, that is)
just try to say "Hallertau Mittelfrueh" three times fast after a couple of Bohemian Pilsners - ain't easy. A great, gusty beer from the hop gardens of Bavaria
still capable of enhancing Mama Rosa's iconic linguine and clams, envision a tsumani of shrewd discrimination, aroma, and absurd clarity
drinking a Fruitjitsu Imperial Stout at 13 ABV is a bit like running full steam into Carlton Fisk for a tough play at the plate - expect wooziness and diminished motor functions for a spell
pay tribute to your slothful, work-shy neighbor who 'saves time' by keeping his Xmas decorations up 365 days a year - winch up a cold Spoetzl product such as this dunkelweizen and shout "Cheers!" at your most high-spirited and lubricated volume
I know that they know that I know they want a drinker's perspective. So with that knowing about knowing pale ale knowing, I sip, I think, and I say, "Hoppy." Mmm
optimal aromatics in a can - finally! An honest day's work for an honest day's IPA - Founders will not allow the righteous to thirst
after cracking, pouring and loving, my day was gone - truth in advertising. A Gordian knot of grains, malts and sassy hops await when you've got a day to kill
trombones are fun; Saaz hops provide mirth; Pilsner malt can be amusing; German lager yeast stimulates merrymaking (caught in a landslide, no escape from reality) - you get it all with Moravian Rhapsody
punch-drunk shakiness in a pint can - expect muzzy images of befogged occasions and come-what-may happenings - so break on through
blend a freewheelin' ale with an industrial-strength vegetable and you'll deliver a titillating, rugged brew perfect for Double Dare night
like Marilyn herself, this Blonde Ale can be selfish, impatient and a little insecure. But this little number can pack a passionfruity peach punch - you're human, you feel, you suffer
a coffee-infused ale bypassing bothersome pieties, with an ABV giving the illusion of virtual sobriety, the Golden Girl plays fast and loose, while remaining respectable
at ease Sergeant, you won't be taking orders from this lieutenant, rather, blessing the eternal dankness and delighting in liquefied wickedness
how does a snake end it all? Not by drinking a hazy American IPA, it just puts its tail in its mouth and starts chomping, until
when you are sorrowful look again in your cooler, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that Weeping Willow Wit which has been your delight
hey, Sky Blue, today you are Blue, that is truer than true. There is no ale brewed who is Bluer than You. So... don't go changin' to try and please me
to butcher the famous Mae West quote, "You only drink Kolsch once, but if you do it right, once is enough." With that in mind, make yours a Bull Durham Kolsch, ya lollygagger
you put de barley in de coconut, she drank 'em bot' up - call me in the morning, woo-oo-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh
leave your spare and unsentimental times behind and take a virtual trip to the French countryside, where Abrielle and Ines regale you with tales of mutts and rummies
I don't know, I tend to like my roastiness gaudy and cheeky rather than subtle; nevertheless, black ales rock hard, so count me under this one's spell
"don't cry for me, IPA," croons this Weeping Radish offering; bursting bucolic fruitiness aided by bumptious imported grains result in a party-in-your-mouthfeel
a malty sleight-of-hand and frothy recreation in a glass - even use the can as a slide when playing your favorite Duane Allman licks
deftly supplements a blackberry 'anything' since after 24 ounces of 8.0 , you'll be crooning like ole Huckleberry Hound, who, like the beer, was relaxed, sweet, and well-intentioned
Vai and Van Halen both played guitar behind David Lee Roth - neither has ties to Pilgrim skeletons bearing hops, but perhaps a collaboration is in the works
I've forgotten whether it was Shakespeare, Picoult or Victor Rask who first whispered, "You don't love a Marzen because it's perfect, you love a Marzen in spite of the fact that it's not"
in 1973, Mr. Pantano tried to teach a pack of 8th graders with a whole lot of game to do a smoove Fox Trot - we could have used this hob bomb in a can for courage and SEAL-like intestinal fortitude
check out this Czech pils' indistinct tortilla chip aroma and fruity, yet ritzy mouthfeel - paddled-down and fine-drawn for a devious finish
there's my flip phone, I'd been looking all over for it - Orwell said, "Four legs good, two legs bad," but he might've said, "Double chocolate good, single chocolate bad," in theory
featuring all-inclusive, twenty-first-century boldness, with underrated wit and juicy aplomb, this'll save you a trip out west as you bask in its fruity integrity
Freedom American Indian Pale Ale was free when freedom wasn't cool - natively hopped and rumourless, it's ready to top your totem
laugh uproariously at your next triathlon with an ice beer blending humor and high-energy excitement - on second thought, better save the quaff for the pre-race and post-race festivities
a free bit of unsought and unwanted advice: don't tell your Dad you drank his last River Rat eight-oh-three - he'll have your guts for garters, and we all know how that feels