Years ago I played poker. A lot. Paid for a good chunk of law school with it and nearly made it a career. This artwork appeals to the leather-ass grinder still in me. The beer itself, not so much.
STYLE: American IPA
LOOK: Not exactly Bobby’s Room, it’s as light as the judges’ game. Candied orange and red, the color is nice … but that’s about it. Usually with a brew this light you can expect a half-assed head or a wee pop of carbonation. Not here.
NOSE: Rubbery glue, dirty gutters, cat litter (clean at least). It was a struggle to dig deep in the misplaced hope there was something pleasant to be found.
MOUTH: It’s … tolerable. Even inoffensive. I get some globby maltiness but no hint of hops, no floral spring, no nothing really. The nose, it just clings and moves right in. Quick, someone cheer me up…
You know what cheers me up when I’m feelin’ shitty?
Rolled-up aces over kings.
Is that right?
Yeah … check-raising stupid tourists and taking huge pots off ’em. Stacks and towers of checks I can’t even see over. Playin’ all-night, high-limit hold’em at the Taj, “where the sand turns to gold.”
Fuck it, let’s go.
Don’t tease me.
Let’s play some fucking cards.
Beeradvocate Rating: 76
ratebeer Rating: 29
Hayward Abbey Rating: 62