Surrender to the Void
Vanilla Boysenberry Cheesecake Milk Stout
Garage Project
“What’s it going to be then, eh?” There was me, that is Scottie, and my droog Martha keeping me from being on me oddy-knocky. Martha is a molodoy sharp koshka, and she sits primly on the table, her lapas all daintily crosswised as we made up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening. We were sitting, me in my neezhnies, drinking Surrender to the Void – the Surrender to the Void was a milk-stout-plus and you may, O my brothers, have forgotten what a milk stout was like, things changing so skorry these days and everybody very quick to innovate, obscure self-indulgent blogs not being much read neither. Well, the Surrender to the Void was a milk-stout plus something else. There was no law against prodding some of the new vesches which can be used to put into the old moloko stout, so you can peet this one with vanilla and boysenberry and cheesecake, and one or two other vesches which would give you a nice quiet horroshow thirty minutes govoreeting with the koshka.
It pours inky black, running to dark brown with a hint of krovvy in the light. The glass is fair nuking with Cherry-Ripe, with a von of red fruit and dark chocolate, and sladky grapes or port. Tastes like all that too once it hits the yahzick, and more besides. Vanilla and boysenberries, obviously, the latter falling somewhere between a raspberry and a gooseberry. It’s nice to have something for the first time that isn’t front and centre citric, though there is a very malenky bit of lemon in there too. It’s almost lamingtonesque, for those of you into those bloody poofy woolly biscuits.
It’s a bolshy bratchny, 11.5% and creamy. The booze heat just failing to overpower the bugatty brew. It has a characteristic of sparkling krazny wine – shiraz? Pinot? Doesn’t matter. One chasha goes straight to the gulliver, and it feels like it’ll have you talking to Bog soon enough, through the dusty cocoa haze on the back palate. There’s a subtle, almost yoghurt-y sourness among all the sladkyness. Is it the berries? All I can really tell is that its relatively well contained – for such a brooko warming drop that makes no appy polly loggies about its ridiculous bolshiness, it isn’t too jarring or imbalanced, so every mouthful is round and full, without messy bits poking out everywhere.
It’s a dobby drop, but you wouldn’t want to have more than odin, coz if you have dva or tri running around your guttiwuts, you old pyahnitsa, you’re going to end up gloopy in a horrowshow drat, or spatting nagoy on the floor. Martha suggests, if you’re not too fagged, to get it down your shiyah, put on some platties and gooly out into the nochy with the droogs. See if you can find some little cheenas or malchicks to have a guff with, maybe some of the old in-out-in-out. Wouldn’t hurt to make sure you’ve got a decent wad of cutter in your carman, though. All in all – horrowshow brew, this.
Exit Pursued by a Beer 