Tag Archives: pirates

Haiku Beer Review #3: Winter Beer Summit 2012


Trinity Brewing Company Flo IPA
There’s not too much “I”
But a whole lot of “PA.”
A crisp, simple brew.


Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale (8.4% ABV)
Pale, light body, with
all the taste of a bourbon…
but without the burn?

Crispin Cho-Tokkyu Cider (6.5% ABV)
Made with sake yeast
and rice syrup; so Bud Lite
mixed with apple juice.

Lagunitas Our Own Bavarian-Styled Dopple Weizen (9% ABV)
Rich, full-bodied wheat
beer. Slight clove/banana notes;
not cloying like most.


Paper City Brewing Blonde Hop Monster (8.5% ABV)
Light, crisp malt flavor
with a strong presence of dry,
bitter hops. Not bad!

Pretty Things Beer and Ale Project Our Finest Regards Barleywine (13.5% ABV)
Is it *their* finest
regards, or *mine*, now that I’m
drinking it? Syntax!


Cody Brewing Company Honey Ginger Ale
It’s like…ginger ale
(the soft drink), but a beer (but
not like Ginger Beer) .

Cody Brewing Company SOS Belgian IPA (5.7% ABV)
I didn’t really
pay attention to this one;
but I enjoyed it!


Ommegang Adoration Winter Ale (10% ABV)
Too tart, too funky,
too malty, way too spicy;
it’s all just too much.

Brooklyn Brewery Black Chocolate Stout (10% ABV)
Chocolate taste up front
that swiftly fades to tart, malty
notes. I’ve had better.

Staropramen Lager
My German friend says
it doesn’t taste this sweet back
in the Vaterland.

Bay State Beer Company Time Traveller Maibock (7.5% ABV)
A big, golden malt
taste, but still temporally
linear; ah well.


Sam Adams Whitewater IPA (5.8% ABV)
Crisp, fresh citrus hops
up front, with a lingering
bitterness. Awesome!


Paper City Brewing Imperial Coffee Stout
Tastes artificial,
but without that sweetness; too
much roasty coffee.


Kennebec River Brewery IPA (5.9% ABV)
Much more bitter than
the body or aroma
let on; grapefruit-y.

B. Nektar Zombie Killer Cherry Ciser (5.5% ABV)
Dude! It’s called fucking
ZOMBIE KILLER! That’s awesome!
Light, sweet, and deadly!


Old Burnside Brewery Ten Penny Ale Reserve (9.6% ABV)
Big-bodied Scotch Ale;
caramel/toffee flavors
with a smooth finish.

Southern Tier Old Man Winter Ale (7.7% ABV)
Both full-bodied and
full-flavored. A perfect brew
to warm your winter.

Heavy Seas Loose Cannon Hop3 Ale (7.5% ABV)
Fantastic blend of
rich, aromatic hops and
tasty malt. Pirates!

Heavy Seas Peg Leg Imperial Stout (8% ABV)
A strong, savory
stout that goes down smooth. Also,
Pirates Oh Em Gee!


Jack’s Abbey Hoponius Union India Pale Lager (6.7% ABV)
Crisp, easy lager
balanced by grapefruit hops notes;
now I have to pee.


Woodchuck Crisp Hard Cider
Well. Okay then. That is
most certainly crisp. Pretty
much just apple juice!

Baxter Brewing Stowaway IPA (6.9% ABV)
Almost all bitter
hops; very assertive, but
still enjoyable.

Haiku Beer Review


Southern Tier IPA (7.3% ABV)
Citrus, floral hop
aroma. Not too bitter,
“but it’s good enough.”

Souther Tier Choklat Stout (11% ABV)
Smells like hot cocoa,
with a strong dark chocolate taste.
Goes great with ice cream!

Weihenstephan Korbinian (7.4% ABV)
Clove flavor comes through
a bitter, malty base. How
do you pronounce this?

Shipyard Old Thumper Double Ale (11.2% ABV)
Two Boar head gargolyes
decorate the tap handle;
I think that’s awesome.


Shipyard Blue Fin Stout (4.7% ABV)
A special new batch;
roasted, with a strong wood-like
taste. Does that make sense?


Ithaca Cold Front Belgian IPA (7.2% ABV)
Clove aroma up
front, with a soft hops balance;
could be more bitter.


B-Nektar Meadery Orange Blossom Meade (13% ABV)
Delicate floral
and citrus notes with honey,
sweet and acidic.

Cisco Grey Lady (4.5% ABV)
Light in color, easy
to drink, with an aftertaste
full of fruit and cloves.


Blackthorne Cider (6% ABV)
Dry, but much too tart.
Poorly carbonated, and
overall just “eh.”


Kennebec River Brewery IPA (??% ABV)
Chewy and pungent;
why does their artwork feature
whitewater rafting?


Dogfish Head Sah’Tea (9% ABV)
“Hoegaarden with a
punch in the face” made up of
chai tea spices. Great!


Ten Penny Ale Dirty Penny Ale (5.2% ABV)
I’m skeptical of
black-and-tan combo beers, but
this one is quite good.


Ithaca alpHalpHa Special Single Barrel (8.5% ABV)
Too much cascade hops,
and not enough honey;
way to let me down.


Heavy Seas Small Craft Warning Über Pils (7.25%)
Pirates make beer taste
like beer, only better; they
also have peg legs.


Haverhill Brewing Company Gest-Alt German-Style Brown Ale (5.3% ABV)
The name of this is
too long; they should just call it
“watered-down porter.”


High and Mighty Beer of the Gods (4.5% ABV)
I’m not sure God would
drink this, but it did inspire
me to start rapping.

High and Mighty XPA (5% ABV)
More “India” than
“Extra.” Why don’t they call it
“EPA” instead?


Clownshoes Clementine Wheat Beer (6% ABV)
Huge disappointment,
much too light and acidic.
Fucking clownshoes, man!


McNeil Brewery Dead Horse IPA (5.7% ABV)
Your brewmaster seemed
sad and lonely. I would, too,
if I made this beer.


Wormtown Brewery Seven Hills Pale Ale (4.5% ABV)
My notes consist of
incoherent ramblings
about dead babies.


Peak Organic “Noir” Black IPA (7.2% ABV)
Not sure what makes this
“noir”; it’s more black in color
than morally grey.


Gardner Ale House XPA
I had a roommate
once from Gardner; she wasn’t
really into beer.

The Flying Poet of the Seven Seas

Not everyone knows how I came to ride The Flying Dutchman — as I understand it, one tends to suffer an amnesic streak following the shock of death, you see — but it is well known that I eventually came into the company of Charles Bukowski, him also riding the ghost hsip. We quickly became drinking partners, often interrupting the work of the ship’s crew with our inebriated antics. For what were to care how we interfered with their work? Consequences become a thing of the past once you’ve died. There’s no, “Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry for vomiting on your freshly swabbed deck.” It’s more “I’m fucking dead, I’ll do as I like!”

(Not that the dead actually vomit, which makes postmortem binge drinking such a delightful past time, but I digress)

Things between Charles and I were not unlike a honeymoon — a very manly, nonsexual honeymoon that is, one in which we discussed poetry, and art, and life, and other such manly topics. On one particular day, we found ourselves discussing theatre over yet another pint. Charles and I loved to debate about the nature of art — we were both cynics, he and I, but I tried to maintain a more optimistic outlook on things regardless, and this often led to heated discussions between us,

At some point during this binge session, I had decided to argue that one’s artistic merits in a specific field did not necessarily justify or guarantee the quality of artistic endeavors in yet another. As an example, I cited the play The Tenant, composed by the late sculptress Linda Kang. Despite her undeniable skills as a sculptor, she was sadly a terrible writer, and an even worse dramatist, I said. I would have continued with my rant by clarifying that I did not think any less of her as a person for this artistic misstep, but by the time I opened my mouth to continue the statement, Charles had already grabbed a loose harpoon from nearby and drove it through my chest with all his might, accompanied by a mighty battle cry.

It’s not that the attack brought me any physical pain — such are the benefits of postmortem incorporeality mdash; but the mere shock of such an attack drove me into a fit of blind rage. I have always been a man of a calm, nonviolent disposition, even in death, but, well, when a good friend spears you through your ethereal heart, it tends to piss you the fuck off.

(Later, as Charles and I drifted flotsam and jetsam along the River Styx, forever lost to our phantom seafaring vessel home, he would explain, in no sweet terms, how my statement drove a spear through his own ethereal heart, thereby justifying his actions. How was I to know that Charles and Linda had a relationship and that he had actually performed The Tenant on stage at her side? I never read Women! Why, I had never read Bukowski at all until death, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.)

Instead, I smashed my mug into the side of his face. As the glass shattered, I drove the broken ends of the handle into his cheek. He recoiled and pulled at the handle as if opening a door to his old bloodied face, spun around, and cracked his wooden chair against my back. The wood splintered everywhere, but Charles kept his grip on the two broken legs, wielding them like medieval swords, or perhaps those sparring katana you see in Samurai films. I instinctively flipped the table towards him and snapped off a leg to use as my own weapon.

This clever defensive maneuver forced Charles to step backwards, a steady movement that he continued as I sauntered towards him with weapon in hand. I drove him back and back until finally his right foot missed the edge. Charles was able to regain his footing and balanced, but quickly realized that he stood at the end of The Flying Dutchman’s plank, and I was actively walking him off of it.

Petrified, he looked down at the blue-black depths below him, and back up at me. So I kicked him, right in the fucking gut, off the plank and down into the ocean far below. A brief wave of sobriety washed over me, and I offered my table-leg weapon as an olive branch to my once dear friend.

The old bastard pulled me into the water right along with him.