Ryan Sullivan's Imperial Stout
A: deep dark brown to black hues with a nice head, chocolate milk colored foam and inky chocolate hues. Not the darkest like the Abyss or Mephistopheles S: smells of boozy warm notes, clear coffee and chocolate notes, some faint clove or black and mild smoke T: there is a huge first taste of chocolate notes, and a bitter smoky middle to it reminiscient of clove notes and extinguished cigars, there's electric sweet notes at the end that are fleeting and mostly accompanied by the bitter dark chocolate middle M: Very malty with intense coating that you would expect from any Imperial stout, the swirl of the glass isn't quite coffee robitussin, but well above most other stouts, imperials excepted. The taste lingers for a solid amount of time after each sip, making one hesitant to drink it too quickly or jump readily into the next drink. not exceptionally filling, but nothing you could quickly enjoy. D: This is far from a session beer for me. It seems nearly a chore to power through the modest 22oz serving, and I certainly wouldn't be able to tackle another. However, perhaps it is merely the style that needs to grow upon me, but I cannot find much utility in this within my drinking catalogue. This bruiser in the lineup would take the place of sessions around the hearth, telling ghost stories, or after a cold day of coal mining. Narrative: The bubbles danced menacingly in front of your face as you watched the others propel themselves effortlessly through the water. Your cephalopoda eyes glow red with rage at the sight of their white, thin streamlined bodies. you were born this way, to harbor the maddening palour of a quadruple sized ink pouch. It is your scarlet, jet black A in your inner bladder. The most irksome, blackest squid in the sea, reviled by your contemporaries you lazily chug through the molasses emitting from your pores. Your beak grits haughtily i ntheir wake, knowing their fortune, a grim death in indonesian nets. Your wring your tentacles, obsidian in pigment, thinking of their light flesh reflecting the rays of angled sunlight from above. You could follow them in their trivial, fleeting existence, but you weren't suited for that life. you were suited for the depths, the cold darkness, colder than your metabolic slowdown, colder than the oppressive atmospheric pressure. In a blast of thick enveloping ink you become one with the darkness and embrace your pure nature, a creature of the depths, all 8 legs propelling towards your destiny.