Double the Pleasure, Double the Fun

In March of the year of our lord two thousand and eleven, the fine establishment called Firestone Walker washed upon the shores of Kansas City to sell our good citizens its liquid craft. By doing this, it invited our residents to convene under the tent and witness the boxing match that is Firestone Walker Double Jack. When you open back that tent flap and walk in you’ll smell the aroma of citrus, mango, and pine. Oh Double Jack, you are a temptress! The Double IPA’s appearance is not unlike a corseted yet well-groomed wench, with your colorful golden-amber tones and a head that causes an emphasized double take and a primal grunt under your breath.

Hike up your pantaloons as your anticipation of the boxing match begs you to try your first sip. While tasting the beverage, I suggested you duck. As two fine upstanding mustachioed gentlemen are about to swing a throbbing fist of bitterness on your left. On the right, a scoundrel’s ball of fingers veers towards your mouth to deliver a glancing jab of sweet maltiness. What’s the damage you ask? It’s nearly a flesh-wound kind sir—as Double Jack does a fine job of leaving a pleasant mark of just enough bitterness and with a lingering kiss of grapefruit in the aftertaste.

The verdict is that this beer is delicious, refreshing, and extremely well balanced without being overcome with alcohol. Thank you, Firestone Walker, my palate has been bested. My thumb is protruding in the air to communicate approval and endorsement!

By Captain Deez

Catholic Drinking Progression... Offered crummy but enticing ice cold Old Milwaukee at the age of 8 from the cooler at my father's softball game. The cooler was filled with an array of cheap and piss tasting yard beers. Hamms, Strohs, Old Milwaukee, and the Beast to name a few. I then progressed to the middle school age of sneaking malt beverage beers like Colt 45 and Mickey's from the local 7 eleven, maybe even stealing beers from my buddy's fridge. High School, was what ever I could get my hands on. It wasn't until college where I started to learn that shitty beer wasn't worth my hard earned money and that I'd rather have a couple of tasty Boulevard Tenpenny's than the golden whizz flowing from the kegs at various shindigs. As the golden age of microbrews and the local empire of Boulevard arose, my taste and crave for beer changed as I learned to love brewers like Newcastle, Bell's, Odell and Delerium Tremens. As I age into my 30's now, a simple glass of good IPA at the end of the day is reward for life's hard work. I now look forward to sharing a glass with my two sons, when they reach the age of..... (I'll let you guess, remember we're Catholic.)

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