We are lucky to have our first guest post from a lady who knows a thing or two about a thing or two. Here is one example. Please check out her website-- it's leslietime
A Review Noir: Stone R&R Coconut IPA
“I’ve heard the flavors get more pronounced as it warms up!” chirped the golden retriever of a barmaid with the handfuls of hair cascading from her cap.
I nodded and gave her a half smile, wondering cruelly if she says that to every customer, about every beer. I would never get my answer.
I evaluated at the pint in front of me with gimlet eyes. The contents were the exact color of the hardened sap stuck scornfully to the trees of my youth, waiting to unleash its viscid revenge on my hair and skin. It was the color of a tiger’s eye. It would be a color I would come to disdain, and eventually, detest.
The first sip. Internal panic. Something’s wrong. The coconut was entirely missing; all that was left in its place was throat-searing hops and another, soapier taste, lingering all too long. A brief fantasy flickered behind my eyes, of heroically jumping behind the bar and ripping the tap handle off, thereby saving dozens of Glendale’s finest from certain death from drinking a spoiled brew. Lofty dreams for a small town girl.
I reflected further and had no choice but to conclude that the brewers intended all of it. Perhaps the soap was some kind of karmic punishment for too much cursing and carousing; as if Fortuna’s wheel had attempted to wash out my mouth.
I was faced with a hopeless choice. If the callow, flighty, flouncy barmaid was to be believed, the flavors were going to intensify over time. Should I choke down the hateful quaff as fast as my mouth would carry me, or I gamble on it improving? I was still chasing the dragon of the promised coconut; I wanted to feel a warm breeze on my cheeks and sand under my feet. Was it even possible?
I trudged onward, deeper into the heart of darkness. The residual foam left creeping spiderwebs along the inside of the glass, reaching towards me, taunting and mocking.
Time limped on. The hops became hoppier. The soap, soapier. I guiltily averted my eyes from approaching bar staff, not wanting to be asked what I thought of the glass in front of me. The ending, like most true endings, was uneventful. A brief feeling of relief and then nothingness. In a way, I’m still there, seeing the wretched amber liquid sway in front of me, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
1 out of 5 stars.
