Curmudgeon 9.8% ABV / 50 IBU
Founders Brewing Company
This beer is quite smooth. While not as good as I had hoped, it is still very enjoyable. I would love to try it on draft sometime, if ever afforded the opportunity. Subtle spices notes come through in the finish. The beer though is all about the malt profile. I must say the alcohol is hidden quite well. One is enough in a sitting, unless you are looking for trouble.
“Think classic seafaring ports, local pubs and weathered old fishermen. This old ale is brewed with molasses and an insane focus on the malt bill, then oak-aged. The result is a rich, malty delight that’s deceptively smooth and drinkable.” -Founders
Out at sea all weekend long for what? Nothing. Nothing at all. The damn fish just weren’t biting. I tried everything, all my good luck spots, all my best rods and lines. Sitting out in the boat, no shade, in this brutal summer sun. All for nothing, nothing at all. Hand me a pint Johnny. It better be something strong. I don’t need a mild ale like you normal sling around here. I need it strong, and old as my whiskers. Give me one of those bottles you’ve been storing, just to jack up the price.
The man continues to grumble, telling his woes to everyone and no one. Most fisherman tell tall tales of their greatest catch. Bruce here lives to gripe about the fish he can’t ever seem to catch.
The old judge in the corner has had enough. He is a staple at this pub. He is know as The Curmudgeon. No one dares cross this surliest of the surly. God forbid you end up in court before him. For he knows not the meaning of mercy. He sits in his chair at the pub, drinks his Old Ale and reads. His chair is never occupied unless he is there.
The Curmudgeon has had enough of Bruce’s gripping. He lowers his book, making sure to keep his page, and stares daggers at the bartender. No word needs be spoken. The bartender tells Bruce immediately, he needs to shut up or get out. No matter what Bruce is willing to spend on Old Ales, it is not worth the fury that will rage within the pub if The Curmudgeon is forced to speak.
Bruce a curmudgeon in his own right knows he is not The Curmudgeon. He wants his ale, and though it takes great willpower he lowers his head and shuts his mouth. He knows well enough that to even disturb The Curmudgeon is beyond the pale.
The Curmudgeon resumes reading his book and the low level noise of the pub slowly comes back to an acceptable pitch. Bruce though remains silent, drinking his pint in shame.