Goats Are Pretty

*This is a review I posted at TheFullPint.Com*

I am here to write the first review of a homebrew. Now, you might be wondering, “How can you write about a beer that nobody but a select few has ever tried.” My answer to that? I have complete faith that one day, despite the brewer, it will be available for mass consumption. More to the point, I have complete… who am I kidding, I have complete faith that this is a Hail Mary thrown to get the brewer off of his ass, and back to the still.

A few months ago, my nephew came to visit me from Alaska. My nephew is a woodsy, hippie, with white-boy dreads put into whatever you call one of those caps. He’s tall, has facial hair, long, lanky limbs and wide eyes. When he walks, he reminds me of an Ent form Lord of the Rings. He had recently opened an Ethiopian restaurant in Fairbanks, (seriously) and used his first month’s profits to take a road trip. (He drove… A CAR… from FAIRBANKS… to SAN DIEGO… based upon his profits from… an ETHIOPIAN restaurant he OPENED …in Fairbanks, Alaska. Just want to make sure that nobody thinks that I am writing two different stories at once.)

So, he brings me this jumbo-sized bottle that holds about 36 ounces. There is a good amount of sediment in the bottom, which is tells me is good to use to cook steak. He pours me a pint of this, and I taste… and, I hold. I swallow. I blame my day for being so impressed, so I do it again. I taste… and I hold. This time, I look at him, because I have talking eyebrows that can say, “What the fuck…” while I am drinking.

You see, I had just had the best beer I had ever tasted. THEE best beer. No, no. Beyond the best “beer.” The best DRINK I had ever had. Even if someone hated beer, they would love this, and immediately upon tasting it, find six separate ways to express it. This beer is like drinking a filet mignon. You sip it, and you hold it, because like a woman with a strong and willing throat, you do not want to let go. Not ever.

Skipping ahead in time, I call both his brother and his mother. I ask them if they had ever tried his beer. Both of them had the same answer. “I’m afraid to.” Remember above, when I said “he’s always like this”? Well, I really REALLY meant that. He does wacky things, and always takes the wacky route to do them. Only recently, have they been paying off. His family had assumed that he would add wacky things to his beer, like mint, or diapers. (Not used. Don’t be sick!) Discretion being the better part of valor, as well as avoiding nausea, they had opted for, well… anything else.

Back to the beer at hand. As well as being the most incredible thing I had ever tasted, it was also incredibly strong. I have to tell you, I am over 300 pounds, but one pint of this beer made me loopy. More than buzzed, less than drunk. I am convinced that nobody needs more than 1 ½ of these beers.

After my second beer, I was officially drunk. Not sloppy, not messy, but sure as hell in the “wow zone.” I was chatty. I was happy to have family again. Two of these beers were more than enough for anybody. Nobody in their right mind would have a third.

Had I been in my right mind, I would have never poured that third and final pint. But, I wasn’t, and my nephew might as well been wearing a red hemp suit and sitting on my shoulder. BOTH of my shoulders. (Despite my state of mind, this drink was STILL the best damn drink I had ever had.) I was still chatty, but my voice sounded like two voices. I could see, but if I did not flex my ocular muscles, then I saw in two voices, too. (Don’t ask.) It was the last of that beer I have had to this date. I miss it like a phantom limb. It felt like so much a part of me, that sometimes I can feel it there. Then, I get in the car and drive just fine. I weep.

Back up again, to the phone call to my sister, his mother. I tell her, “This beer is so good, so DAMN good. There are not enough words to explain how good this beer is. Why did he open a restaurant when he could just open a bottle? Also, this is the strongest beer I have ever tasted. It’s strong, but unlike other strong beers, it doesn’t have that rough, whiskey kick. It’s so smooth, the alcohol sneaks right passed you. One moment, you are a normal person. Next, you’re thinking ‘Gee, goats are pretty.’ You drink this beer, you date a goat, and you even brag about it”

And THAT is where I got the name of this beer, “Goats Are Pretty.” It is so good, so smooth, so strong, it will make you think that goats are pretty.

I hope that he reads this, and hope that it inspires him to make more, and mass produce it. ZACH? YOU HEAR ME? YOU COME BACK HOME! DO WHAT YOU DO BEST. YOU QUIT MIXING RICE WITH STUFF, AND MAKE UNCLE SOME BEER. MY LOVE IS READY TO BE BOUGHT.

Wait, wait. I forgot to make this TheFullPint.Com friendly.

Appearance: Love at first sight.

Aroma: I forgot. My nose had a black out.

Taste: HAVEN’T YOU BEEN READING? FUCKING MAGIC, MAN.

Mouthfeel: WHAT? C’mon… this isn’t even a real question.

Drinkability: You could put this in a baby bottle.