Thu. Dec 7th, 2023

“‘Rub JUST the bottle,’ the genie in a bottle said, ‘JUST THE BOTTLE.'”

She lit her cigarette and said, “That all ya got baby?” Scribe smiled and said, “Yeah, I think you were inadequate too.”

Her name: Glissade. Sierra Nevada calls it a “golden Bock.” There ain’t no such category. Maybe a Helles Bock?

Scribe had anticipated her arrival with baited breath. He just couldn’t decide whether to try to swallow a fishing plug or worms to get that “baited breath” sense. Sierra has a sexy name in the craft brew world. But when Scribe curled up with the bottle she was everything she was supposed to be but nothing more, and not enough of that “everything” to be all that interesting.

Golden it was. Foam? Copious, nutso and ever lasting. Crystal clear and a light urine color. (KINKY!!!) Bock nose: melanioidins: light. Slight lager sense. Coats the glass. Fills the mouth with white, creamy carbonation. (Even more KINKY!!!) Taste: no hops: somewhat expected for the style, but should have just a bit more than this: a bit more of everything. Malt: probably pale or pilsener. A “cling to roof of mouth” kind of malt; but by no means “gag,” sense.

In short, enjoyable but not worth all the hype, or as good as other Sierra brew-based sexpots. Kind of bland, blase’. Wouldn’t kick her out of bed, but might fall asleep on her. Actually: Scribe did.

You can do better than this, Ms. Nevada.

By Ye Olde Scribe

Elderly curmudgeon who likes to make others laugh while giving the Reich Wing a rhetorical enema.

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