7pm

The lass and I head to Bailey’s tonight in an attempt to escape the restlessness that being in limbo for too long inevitably brings.

I’m old enough to know that some progressions in life happen rapidly, bam-bam-bam! This is not one of those times. I’m tired and I’m nearing the end of my patience tether. So much that will come that is reliant on the goodwill of strangers, so little that can be done by the sweat of your brow.

A rapid progression through the list and I quickly discard my alternatives for Walking Man‘s Ol’ Stumblefoot, ’09 Barleywine.

I hate to say it, but it seems to be a victim to the common casualty of PWN brews: overhopping. The nose is exceptional, with a ton of toffee notes and a little bit of orange in there, like a really warm dessert coming up. Between the name and the nose, I want to love this beer.

The body of the beer is thin, though, the alcoholic warmth giving me the most lasting impression but before that, a finish that is far too citriusy and bitter for what the nose of the beer offered. Even as the Ol’ Stumblefoot warms up, the improvements are slim, the malts making a little more of a stand but it’s an Alamo thing, where none of them make it to the finish.

I’m tired. This beer is not where I’m at. I wanted something luscious and dark and with a finger in the mouth of Evil. Something with enough weight to scare a toddler. Something that beats the hell out of a downtuned chord for five minutes with no remorse. Let’s go home and growl at our shit until it’s time to move.