2010 Rochefort 10

Way back in 2010 I started setting aside some of the stronger beers I bought, thereby beginning my long journey into the world of cellaring beer.  Yes, some beers can truly age like wine.  My friends and regular readers know I occasionally pull old bottles out of a basement cabinet to see how they are doing.  Over the last two months I've opened up a few of the bottles I have held onto the longest, including three I've held onto since that first year: North Coast Old Stock Ale, Ommegang Three Philosophers, and Rochefort 10. 

The best-before code (28-04-15) means this was bottled April 28, 2010.

Rochefort 10 is a rather strong Belgian quad, clocking in at just over 11% alcohol.  Like its more famous brethren Chimay Blue and Westvleteren 12, the hefty Rochefort 10 hails from a Trappist monastery where the monks themselves brew the beer.  Though I've had Rochefort 10 numerous times fresh, this is only my second try at an older bottle.  My last tasting was from this same 2010 batch, but I had it in April 2012.  I noted flavors of bread, dates, peppery phenols, brown sugar and a surprising alcohol warmth for a beer already two years old.  I concluded "yummy" but added that it probably "could age even longer."

Yes, I still have my review notebook from 2012.

By shear coincidence, I drank this bottle on April 28, 2015---exactly five years from its 2010 bottling date.

Though it's a bit blurry, you can see in the below photo that this beer still has a surprising amount of foam and carbonation five years out.  The fizz almost gushed out of the bottle.  The liquid itself retains the same ruddy brown hue as it had five years ago.

The aroma is just as rife with dates as it was when it was fresh.  New this time: subtle hints of plums, milk chocolate, and licorice.  The licorice is especially faint.  Gone now are the spicy, peppery scents of phenols this beer is known for.  Overall it smells appetizing but not as sweet as it did three years ago. 

Rochefort 10 may smell great five years out but it tastes even better.  The phenolic flavors are truly absent now, probably the biggest difference between fresh and aged.  Rich flavors of date, fig, sugar, and more fig stand out the strongest, joined by additional hints of cinnamon, cherries, and plums.  There is a very faint suggestion of licorice.  As the beer warms I begin to appreciate pie crust, raisins, and the faintest sensation of alcohol heat, with a touch of milk chocolate as well.  All of these flavors are held aloft by a surprisingly strong carbonation.  The overall texture is medium in feel, erring a bit towards sweet.

I have aged beers to find them hold up well but not change much.  Others have changed for the better or the worse, while some are changed for neither; they're just different.  Rochefort 10 at five years feels to me like a success by any measure.  The parts I didn't care for when fresh---raw ethanol and spicy yeast phenols---have mellowed or faded away entirely, while most of the best flavors have stayed or become stronger.  The new flavors---plum, pie crust, chocolate, raisin---are welcome additions. 

This is a classic when fresh that gets even better with a bit of time and patience.  A real treat.

Boulevard Imperial Stout X --- Aztec Chocolate

Last year, around this same time, I reviewed the rather excellent Boulevard Imperial Stout, a delicately balanced blend of fresh Dark Truth imperial stout and Dark Truth aged in whiskey (mostly bourbon) barrels.  The regular Dark Truth is already stellar; so stellar, it seems, that Boulevard has determined it can be used for pretty much anything.  This year they're releasing four different beers with Dark Truth as the base: a coffee version and a chocolate-chile version that are already out, plus tart cherry and coconut versions for later this year.

Now, regular readers of my blog will know that I have a thing for spicy stouts, despite not being very keen on other spicy foods.  One of the first beers I ever reviewed on here was a smoked porter by Stone made with chipotle peppers, and last year I raved about Stone's take on the recent fad of "Mexican hot chocolate stouts."  As this is Boulevard's take on the spicy-chocolate stout trend, I was more than happy to give it a try.  According to the brewery, it's actually a blend of two beers: one is Dark Truth made with coco beans and two types of chile peppers (ancho and pasilla), the other is spiced with cinnamon. 

Imperial Stout X Aztec Chocolate looks pretty much like any other imperial stout.  The liquid is dark as night, crowned with foam a few shades darker than 90% of other beers.  As is the case with Dark Truth and Imperial Stout, the carbonation on this variation appears to be quite excellent.  Hundreds of tiny bubbles can be seen floating around, and when I popped open the bottle there was visible champagne smoke.

The aroma here is markedly milder than most other chile stouts I have tried.  As with the regular Dark Truth, the aroma is mostly smoke, plums and roasted barley.  I can't smell any cinnamon and the chocolate scent is consistent with that found in roasted barley (rather than actual chocolate), but I can smell some chile pepper underneath everything.  The chiles serve as a slight accent here, not the main attraction.

The spices assert themselves more on the taste buds than in the nose.  Nevertheless, Aztec Chocolate remains one of the milder takes on the trend.  The tamest component (not counting cinnamon, which I can't taste at all) is the chile.  Normally known for intense heat, the peppers here actually contribute more flavor than burning; I would describe the flavor as earthy.  The plum and smokey flavors of the base beer are obviously apparent, blending quite well with dark chocolate.  Here I can now discern actual coco flavor, not just roasted barley. 

To the extent that any kind of imperial stout can be considered "entry-level," Imperial Stout X Aztec Chocolate would serve as an excellent introduction to spicy imperial stouts for those who have never had one.  Indeed, when I shared with my family (who don't normally drink beer) one of them remarked they couldn't taste the peppers at all.  As with all things spicy, the hypothetical Scoville assault is the primary obstacle for a beer novice to overcome in a spicy stout.  Boulevard does a marvelous balancing act here.  I highly recommend this.

Alewerks Jubilee VIII

One of the more well-regarded breweries local to the broader DMV area is a Virginia brewery by the name of Alewerks.  Despite living in the area for over two years I had never tried one of their beers, so I decided to change that.  I went all out: I bought a bottle of Jubilee VIII, a strong dark Belgian beer that some drinkers might call a quad.  Previous releases of Jubilee were aged in bourbon barrels; for this release they opted to use rum barrels.

Whether they are called strong dark ales or quads, Belgian beers of this sort generally fall somewhere between dark red and light brown hues with an aggressive carbonation.  Jubilee VIII is one of the darkest reds I have seen in a Belgian beer, almost brown.  The bubbles are quite fine and the head is quick to form, giving evidence to a robust carbonation.  However, the foam recedes quickly.

Jubilee exudes a candied aroma heavy on rum, Belgian invert sugar, dates, and grapes.  There is a light touch of apples buried underneath.  The overall picture is somewhat reminiscent of Cuvée Van De Keizer Blue, but with rum barrel.

A similar (and delicious) flavor profile awaits.  Sugar and grapes start off the show, with a second act of dates and apples.  Jubilee finishes with plenty of rum and some fig-like yeast esters.  As the beer warms up I detect a hint of plums.  The texture of the beer reenforces the sweetness but it is neither cloying nor thick.  The brewers manage not to fall into the syrupy trap many other American brewers do.  Only downside here is a slightly overly boozy finish, but it's easy to overlook.


There's a lot going on here and Alewerks does a commendable job keeping all the elements in check.  Jubilee is an impressive ale and I look forward to trying more from this brewery.

Stillwater Surround (oak-smoked stout)

 One of the more recent releases from America's chief gypsy brewery is an imperial stout brewed with oak-smoked wheat malt named Surround.  I've previously had several beers from Stillwater (and reviewed one of them), but Surround is fairly unusual for them.  Normally Stillwater focuses on Belgian-style beers, particularly farmhouse ales.  To my knowledge this is their first attempt at a stout.  Let's see how it fares.

Stillwater Surround looks like many other stouts.  Dark tan foam forms a head about two fingers high, and retains quite well.  Body is pitch black, as expected.

The aroma is a bit tamer than I would expect from a smoked beer, let alone a smoked imperial beer.  There is a blend of chocolate, something akin to plum (very faint), and a light smokey character.  I wonder what percentage of the grist contains smoked malt.  Based on the rather mild character of the smoke, I would venture a guess it was rather small.  Most smoked beers reek of smoke and ash.

The smoked malt was definitely used as an accent here rather than the main attraction, which is fine by me.  It also makes this one of the more accessible smoked beers.  The dominant flavors here are bitter dark chocolate, espresso, and a wee bit of smokey campfire, more or less in that order.  A hint of hop oil comes through as well.  This beer is definitely on the bitter-acrid side of the brewing spectrum.  The texture is full without being terribly sweet.  Truthfully I would have preferred a bit more sweetness to balance out the hop oil and char character, but it's nothing worth fretting about.

All in all, a pleasantly smokey beer that doesn't overdo anything. 

La Trappe Oak-Aged Quad (Batch 14)

In one of the my more recent posts, I politely harangued American craft drinkers for sticking to a rigid (and greatly fictitious) style mythology when describing European beers.  Specifically, I pointed out that the "Belgian" quadruple ales are a recent (not traditional) description first used by Dutch (not Belgian) monks.  That beer was La Trappe Quadrupel by the Koningshoeven monastery in the Netherlands.  Starting in 2010, the monks have brewed a special version of this quad aged in wooden barrels.  Here's the fun part: the type of barrels changes wildly from batch to batch, as you can see here.  Fresh unused wooden barrels, white and red wine barrels, cognac, Scotch whisky---it's all there.  Sometimes they use barrels made from woods other than oak, which is quite rare.

I recently managed to try a bottle of Batch 14, which (per the website) was 7% aged in acacia wood barrels, 11% aged in new oak barrels, and the remaining 82% cognac limousine oak barrels.

La Trappe Oak-aged Quad pours out a muddy and slightly cloudy red hue.  The beer does not appear to be very carbonated; upon prying off the cork (which took a good ten minutes to do) not more than a quiet hiss of egressing CO2 greeted my ears.  Barrel-aged beers are often fairly flat, so I can't fault the brewers here.

It's been years since I have tried the original La Trappe Quad, so I can't say if they altered the base beer much for this version.  What I can say is that this is one of the best-smelling quads I have ever tried.  The traditional aromas of a quad---namely figs, Belgian dark sugar, and some nebulous dark fruits---wonderfully meld with the brighter flavors imparted by the barrels.  There is plenty of bright, sharp fruit a la fine brandy or cognac, with an appetizing suggestion of golden raisins to boot.  A faint hint of oaky vanilla sneaks through after a few minutes.

The aroma faithfully translates to the taste buds.  I taste golden raisins, figs, vanilla, Belgian sugar and fiery brandy or cognac.  Additional flavors of apples, plums, and grapes round out a sensory profile that definitely leans toward the brighter side of the quad spectrum, with cognac layered over everything.

The actual percentage of cognac barrel is 82%, per their website.

The texture is pitch perfect for the style.  Based on what I wrote above one would likely guess this is a sweet beer.  It is sweet, but the character of the sweetness puts virtually American quads to shame.  It is juicy in feel, not syrupy.

Profoundly fruity and complicated in profile, Batch 14 is something of a beer delicacy.  This is too expensive to warrant frequent purchases but I will definitely look for another batch in the future to compare.

Allagash Nancy

Allagash Nancy is one of the latest sour beer outings by the Maine brewery.   Per their website, Nancy is a sour Belgian-Flemish red ale brewed with two types of cherries and fermented with brettanomyces.   Been months since I've had a sour beer, and it feels nice to get back to one, but my palate has since lost the vocabulary to interpret them properly.  I'll give it a shot.

I'm not really sure how they get away with calling Nancy a red ale, as this is at best crimson-rimmed gold. Clear as water, with a good deal of carbonation, as befits a Belgian beer..  However, head formation is almost non-existent.

The bottle merely states the use of cherries in an ale, it gives no other indication what kind of beer this is. I eventually looked on their website to see exactly what Allagash was going for, but it wasn't hard to figure out once I smelled it: Nancy is unmistakeably a sour beer.  Lactic and tangy aromas stride forth, with just a touch of cherry.  There is an odd but appetizing suggestion of bread crust that was also present in Allagash Merveilleux, which I previously reviewed; I don't know what type of malt they use in their sours but Allagash really manages to bring out interesting malt aromas in a realm of beers known for possessing dry and uninteresting grain profiles.

The flavor starts out aggressively sour in both the lactic and acetic sense before abruptly switching gears to cherries.  The cherry flavors are not remotely sweet like most kinds sold in a grocery store.  Very tart.  Mid-palate is dominated by a combination of brettanomyces tang, lemons, and various indeterminate spices.  The finish is a glorious mix of bread crust, cinnamon, brett tang, and very subtle cherry.


This was a pleasant little treat.

Been months since I've had a sour beer, feels nice to get back to one, but my palate has since lost the vocabularly to interpret

Been months since I've had a sour beer, feels nice to get back to one, but my palate has since lost the vocabularly to interpret

Avery 5 Monks (and what Americans get wrong about beer)

Last summer the Avery brewery released a real whopper of a beer, named 5 Monks.  Clocking in at almost 19.5% alcohol, 5 Monks is currently the strongest beer I have tried to date, and I don't expect to break that record anytime soon.  To put this in perspective, most light beers are around 3.5%-4.5%, most "normal" beers are around 5% and most craft beer is between 5% and 7%.  Though I readily admit there is something alluring about trying a beer stronger than some liqueurs, the port-like strength was not what initially drew me to this beer.  Avery's description of the beer, a "Belgian-style quintupel" aged in bourbon barrels, was my first intrigue.

There remains much confusion and myth-making among Americans when it comes to beer categorization.  American drinkers prefer to apply neat, concise, perfectly-defined categories to brewing cultures that historically didn't overly concern themselves with simplistic definitions; we invariably categorize imported beers in ways considered nonsensical in their country of origin (the ways Americans describe German beer are especially egregious).  U.S. drinkers have imagined a rigid system of rules for Belgian beers, particularly Trappist-inspired beers: enkel ("single") beers are blonde and regular strength, dubbel ("double") beers are brown-red and somewhere between 7%-8.5% alcohol; tripel ("triple") beers are essentially "double enkel" beers, blonde beers over 8%; and quadruple beers are "double dubbel" beers, brown-red beers over 9% alcohol.  We Americans believe Trappist monks have been making these beers for centuries, so the styles are therefore set in stone.

This is completely wrong.  There were no Belgian beers designated tripel or dubbel before 1930.  The first brewery to use the "quadruple" terminology wasn't even Belgian, it was Dutch, and it wasn't made until 1991.  Beer "styles" in general are not rigid, they exist along a spectrum, and while Belgian monks have indeed made beer for centuries, the particular spectrum of beers they make now is less than 90 years old.  Belgians don't really care what you call their beer (other than "delicious") and don't stick to a rigid terminology; just look at how lazily they label one of their best beers.

Needless to say, I was curious what exactly Avery imagines a "Belgian-style quintupel ale" tastes like, since no such thing exists.  I expected a sugary bourbon barrel bomb.

Avery 5 Monks pours the darkest brown I have ever seen in a beer.  It would look black in all but the best-lit environments.  Though the bubbles look finely small, the carbonation is pretty light.  There's not really any head or foam to speak of.  Barrel-aged beers are often a bit undercarbonated, and I would hardly expect one that's 400% stronger than most beer to be anything else.

Since I didn't really expect this to taste like a Belgian beer, I wasn't disappointed to find it didn't smell like one.  The aroma's Belgian character is limited to some faint smell of plums and Belgian invert sugar.  The majority of the aroma consists of things you would find in any barrel-aged barleywine or stout, just amped up to 11.  Heaps of molasses and brown sugar meet burnt sugar, whiskey, and some vanilla. 

Unsurprisingly for a beer this strong, there is a quick flash of boozy heat at the start, and afterwards alcohol continues to play a large supporting role throughout the whole two hours it took me to finish this.  Surprisingly, it never goes beyond a supporting role.

The burning sensation at the start morphs into the burnt sugar flavor characterizing so many bourbons.  Once again, the Belgian character here is very limited; faint fig and plum flavors from yeast esters, and a slightly stronger hint of invert sugar.  These are overpowered by flavors of brown sugar, toffee, vanilla, and molasses.  There is an odd but pleasing note of chocolate, and the warmer 5 Monks gets the more I start to taste something akin to fudge.  This tastes a bit like a blend of a barrel-aged barleywine and an imperial stout.  On steroids.

The texture is thick, sweet, and warming, with a side dish of sweet.  I've long considered Goose Island Bourbon County Stout beer's equal to port; this one overtakes it on texture alone.

Avery 5 Monks is an oddity and most definitely an extremity, but it's a tasty extremity.  If you go into this expecting an imperial tripel  or an imperial quad, however, you will be disappointed.  This is only vaguely resembles the Belgian Trappist beers it claims lineage from, but then again Avery clearly just used that for marketing.  They did their own thing here, and it's pretty damn good.  Hopefully they make it again.  I'll be splitting my bottle two or three ways if they do.

Pipeworks Orange Truffle Abduction

About a year ago, I tried a rather delicious imperial stout from the Pipeworks brewery made with chocolate, raspberries, and vanilla.  Like Stone's smoked porter variation I reviewed recently, this imperial stout is brewed with oranges and coco.  Unfortunately, as with Stone's offering, the combination does not work as intended.

Like most stouts, Orange Truffle Abduction is inky black with nary a ray of light peeking through.  The crown of foam that sits atop the beer is somewhere between off-white and mocha in hue, quick to form but retaining for a decent while.  It doesn't show up very well in the video I took of it, so I won't upload it, but the bubbles were very fine in size and tightly formed.

Whatever semblance of stout character the appearance suggested evaporates with one sniff.  The orange zest contributes overwhelming scents of juice, flowers, perfume and shampoo.  Neither the base beer nor the coco contribute any discernible aroma.  The size of the orange additions must be unfathomable.

The base beer and coco manage to show up a bit in the flavor, but not much.  Bitter orange peel, sweet orange juice, perfume and a cornucopia of orchid flowers dominate the taste, with coco powder and black patent malted barley taking a backseat.  Thankfully the body has more of a juicy sweetness rather than a syrupy one.  The carbonation leads to a fairly lush texture.

I like orange and chocolate flavors, but it seems difficult to incorporate in beer without smelling like a cosmetic product.  Pass on this one if you find it, go for the raspberry one instead.

Stone Smoked Porter w/Chocolate and Orange Peel

Almost two and a half years ago, not long after I started this blog, I reviewed two variations of Stone's long-time classic Smoked Porter, a beer partially brewed with peat-smoked barley malt.  One was smoked porter with chipotle peppers added, and the other was smoked porter with vanilla beans added.  I ranked the chipotle one the better, to my surprise, though I preferred both to the original and still do.  This past fall Stone added another variant to the mix, brewed with orange peels and dark chocolate.

 

The beer appears much as its three cousins do, a blackish-brown hue that lets little light through.  The foam is offwhite and reaches a respectable height before receding a few minutes afterward.

The aroma is very much unlike any of Stone's other smoked porters, however.  Smells of flowery citrus, akin to those found in scented shampoo or hand soap, lazily waft out from my glass.  Blended in with the orange aromas is a hint of Scotch, courtesy of the peat-smoked malt used.  The combination is somewhat awkward but not obtrusive, largely because both sensations have a deft touch.  Despite this approach, the chocolate still manages to get completely buried.

As with the aroma, smoke and oranges both dominate the flavor more so than chocolate.  The blend is still more awkward than harmonious but not overbearingly so.  Of all the variations, this one most strongly showcases the peat smoke.  It doesn't need to; this beer needs more chocolate.  The combination of Scotch and perfume-esque citrus just works less and less the more I drink it, more coco would make for a more interesting experience.  Hops are low, as expected.  The orange peel appears to have conferred an extra layer of bitterness.

The addition of orange peel also seems to have conferred higher acidity to Stone Smoked Porter, though nowhere near enough to warrant a sour description.  It did not add any additional sweetness, however, and this iteration more or less maintains the same sweet-dry balance as its cousins. 


Overall, a decent beer, but I vote this the worst of the four versions Stone has bottled so far.  In addition, after my recent experience with Pipeworks Orange Truffle Abduction I have decided that the combination of oranges and stout (or porter) just does nothing for me.  That beer was made with orange zest; this one, orange peel.  Yet both retain little of the essence of the fruit, instead coming across like a scented shampoo or candle.  Not for me.

Hardywood Gingerbread Stout

Name:                 Hardywood Gingerbread Stout

Style:                  Imperial cream stout

Twist:                 made with honey and ginger

Strength:             9.2%

Poured from a 750ml corked & caged bottle.  Served in a snifter.  This is my first beer from this company.

Looks more or less like every imperial stout around, impenetrable night black.  The foam is offwhite and not quite a finger high (maybe two-thirds of a finger), but it retains very well.  Carbonation appears ample with very fine bubbles.

The aroma is a dead ringer for gingerbread cookies; no surprises there.  Ginger, molasses, sugar, and bread dough.  The honey in this is more subdued, as is the lactose.  Some faint coco powder.

Hardywood enthusiastically tried to make the beer equivalent of the gingerbread man and they wildly succeeded.  The honey is a little bit more upfront on the palate, but I would still say most of it got fermented out.  The ginger, however, doesn’t even try to hide itself; it veritably coats the mouth in a warm glow of Christmas cheer.  Though Gingerbread Stout initially finishes surprisingly dry for a cream stout, as it warms more of the underlying lactose sweetness shows itself.  I still wish it was a touch more sugary, but not much more.

Rear label

As for the base stout flavors, they have trouble making their presence known amongst the onslaught of ginger.  There is a slight hint of chocolate from the barley but not much else.  The lactose primarily provides body rather than flavor.


If Southern Tier tried to make a gingerbread cookie stout, it would probably taste like a sweeter version of this.  While enjoyable in small quantities this really should be shared at the family dinner table, as the ginger starts to wear down the palate. 

Avery Rumpkin vs Avery PumpKYn

Last fall, Avery released two whopping strong barrel-aged pumpkin beers.  One of them, Rumpkin, they have made every year since 2010.  It's a pumpkin ale, presumably with an amber ale base, aged in rum barrels with pumpkin, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger.  The other, Pump[KY]n, was brand new to 2014 but looks to be an annual release every fall.  It's an imperial porter/stout aged in bourbon barrels with pumpkin, cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice and cloves (the "[KY]" in the name is for Kentucky).  Amber ale vs porter and rum barrel vs bourbon barrel should make for an interesting comparison every year.  Call it Pumpkin Combustion 2.0.

Here's the kicker: each one is over 16% alcohol.  Rumpkin has varied from batch to batch, but the 2014 I had was 16.73% alcohol.  Pump[KY]n, hereafter Pumpkyn, was 17.22% alcohol. 

Like most porters, Pumpkyn's appearance is easy to describe.  A thin collar of bourbon-colored foam sits astride a thick body as dark as night, with fine yet slow-moving bubbles rising to the surface.  Rumpkin's appearance is red and opaque; its head is as small as Pumpkyn's though quicker to form.  Rumpkin might have a little more carbonation.  Rumpkin's color does not show up very well in my photos unfortunately; Pumpkyn is hard to miss.

Pumpkyn

Rumpkin

Many pumpkin beers are impossible to tell apart by smell alone; not in this case.  Unlike a certain pitiful pumpkin porter I reviewed recently, Pumpkyn clearly shows its porter base in the aroma.  Upfront smells are molasses and whiskey, not unlike Bourbon County Stout.  Scents of nutmeg, allspice, chocolate fudge and cinnamon follow in decreasing prominence.  I could not definitively tell it was aged in bourbon barrels, but it certainly has a whiskey aroma.  By contrast, Rumpkin easily gives away its rum barrel in the aroma.  Rum candy, butterscotch candy, caramel candy...yeah, lots of candy in the smell.  Additional suggestions of nutmeg, pumpkin, apples dipped in caramel and toffee waft out of the glass.  In both beers, the spices play second fiddle to some other element.  Overall, Rumpkin smells much brighter than Pumpkyn and also smells much more strongly of its barrel, while Pumpkyn smells more like an actual beer. 

If Goose Island was to release a Bourbon County variant that was brewed with pumpkins and pumpkin pie spices, it may very well taste like Avery Pumpkyn.  Pumpkyn lacks the more prominent vanilla flavors of Bourbon County and it's not as smooth as the best batches of that beer, but it's damn close.  A bright flash of booze starts things off like a shot across the bow, warning you this 17% beer means business.  Whiskey and chocolate barley peak through next, with the whiskey getting more prominent after a few swirls around the mouth.  Molasses also becomes stronger with a bit of swirling, and Pumpkyn finishes on a fiery note of booze, whiskey, and cinnamon.  Throughout all this, pumpkin and most of the other spices get lost in the barrel and the base beer.  I spent a good hour slowly sipping this beer, and the longer it warmed up the more it reminded me of Bourbon County; the molasses flavor in particular became stronger as it warmed, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Bourbon County.

As the aroma portended, Rumpkin tastes much more strongly of the rum barrel it was aged in than Pumpkyn tasted like bourbon.  Also like the aroma, it's candy sweet.  Rum candy starts off the show before segueing into apples, caramel, nutmeg and pumpkins galore.  By mid-palate the rum barrel and barley malt dominate, with a bit of pumpkin on top.  The malted barley takes on a caramel-dipped apple flavor here.  The finish offers a brief reprieve from the sugar high, in the form of a pleasant warming campfire of rum, ginger, and pure ethanol.

Though both beers are sweet, neither is syrupy-thick.  Rumpkin is the sweeter of the two but I think that's more from the rum than from having a sweeter base beer, as Pumpkyn is clearly the thicker of the two.  Neither is cloying but Rumpkin comes closest in its candied decadence, being balanced largely by alcohol warmth and an almost excessive amount of ginger in the finish.  I don't want to give the impression that these are easy to drink, but I must say they don't burn as much as I feared they would.  They have pleasing alcohol warmth, not a cheap liquor burn.


So, which is king?  For me it's definitely Pumpkyn, for a few reasons.  For one, the resemblance to Bourbon County was a pleasant surprise, as I greatly enjoy that beer.  That it managed to do so without being overpowered by the bourbon barrel like so many similar beers is a huge plus in my mind as well; here, both the barrel and the pumpkin pie spices play a secondary role to the beer.  It also helps that this completely blows away every other pumpkin stout or pumpkin porter I've tried, though in fairness that's a pretty small list. 

The only real complaint I have against Rumpkin is gets too sweet the warmer it gets, at least for me.  It is perfect to split with a friend, however.  I do enjoy the rum barrel, and I would love to see more beers aged in rum barrels after trying this.  Ultimately, this tastes more like other pumpkin beers, just sweeter, stronger, and with rum. 

All in all, two fine pumpkin beers that both greatly exceeded my expectations.  Years ago, when I first started getting into craft beer, Avery's stronger beers had a reputation for being overly boozy messes.  Either that was undeserved or they have stepped up their game since then.  These are both worth seeking out next fall.