It's Ton Overmars's annual holiday. Two weeks when I wean myself from St. Bernardus, Abt and Prior. Time for cellar bingo.
I'm sure it's the same for you. Beer mysteriously piles up in your house. Ones you want to share. Or mature. Or are just too damn rare to drink. Or you fear are way past not only their best, but the managing to force down your neck because you've bloody paid for it state. Things you never quite bring yourself to drink. The Undrinkables. Until August kicks its boot through the front door.
My supplies of St Bernardus interrupted, I've no option but to work my way through the Undrinkables. This is the special occasion I'd been waiting for: nothing else to drink.
I like Stout. That's what my collection/remainders tell me. "You like Stout, Mr. Pattinson." They're surprisingly formal for bottled beers. There are - sorry were - literally quite a few of them. Some really nice strong Stouts, mostly from De Molen.
Tsarina Esra was chewy and leathery in a light-hearted sort of way. But three-year old Hell & Verdoemnis was best. Liquid black chocolate laced with rum. Scrantastic. Even Dolores liked it. She hates Imperial Stouts. I should know. I've made her taste enough of them.
Hang on. I swore I'd never do them again. Beer reviews. Erase that last paragraph from your minds.
This is the official version: I drank some dark beers that were over 8% ABV. These five cryptic runes adorned their containers:
S t O u T
What could they mean? A spell or curse perhaps. We may never know for sure.
Only a few days before Ton dispenses Abt once more. How many Undrinkables will be undrunk?
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