This is mental.
This is scary.
This is completely over the top.
This is a pint of seventeen percent hopped to hell balistic missile of a beer.
Pouring a thick and soupy amber, the smell makes your nostrils sting.
It’s Peach Melba and mango, sweaty sock drawers and rum, and it’s terrifying.
And then you take a swig and two things happen.
Firstly, it tastes fabulous.
Secondly, you realise that you have a pint of it to get through and your knees go weak.
You see, this beer is frighteningly effortlessly drinkable, packed as it is with toffee and raisins, pancakes, honey and cherry brandy from the malts, and mango, orange marmalade, tobacco, sherbet lemons and freshly varnished walnut tables from the hops.
And then there’s this monstrous boozy bang, an alcohol heat that’s so big and so powerful that you can feel your insides wither away, cowering up against your spine as you head towards the ridiculously sticky bitter finish.
This beer is magnificent.
And stupid.
It’s fabulous and terrifying.
And it reminds me of a drinking song by Marc Riley and The Creepers.

Source: Cotteridge Wines