Mikkeller?
I don’t know what all the fuss is about.
I mean, honestly, this is OK you know, but it ain’t all that.
A bunch of malt and hops in water is all it is.
I’m joking of course.
This is a supercharged, monstrous, scary, sexy, dangerous, rock’n'roll beer.
The bottle opened with a sigh, a sexual gasp almost, and the beer slunk into my glass as though it was already pretty drunk.
Oh, and you don’t get a head.
This beer froths at the mouth.
And it STINKS of hops.
Simply reeks of it.
The malting here is wearing an uncomfortably tight cap-sleeved t-shirt and doesn’t so much shove its way in as mooch about before sneaking in around your peripheral vision, hiding behind the hops.
There’s a lovely wash of thick, sherbet drenched caramel wrapped around a green wood two-by-four, and those big bad hops are slapping it against their palm as they threaten to break your teeth with it.
But, fortunately for your face, they don’t need to as they are so powerful they can take you out with just an arm across your throat and your tongue in their grip.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is an abso-f*ckin’-lutely enormous, beastly beer and I am in love with it.