Raistlin (82) - London, Ontario, CANADA - DEC 22, 2012
0.5 AROMA 1/10 APPEARANCE 1/5 TASTE 1/10 PALATE 1/5 OVERALL 1/20
Very disappointing. Beaus usually brews great beers. I cant even begin to describe how bad this one is because it brings back that disgusting taste.
C2H5OH (64) - Ontario, CANADA - DEC 28, 2011
3.7 AROMA 7/10 APPEARANCE 3/5 TASTE 7/10 PALATE 3/5 OVERALL 17/20
Pours a hazy amber with a small, tan head. Nose is very spicy and herbal. Dark fruit, red licorice, raspberry, yeast funk, brown sugar. Mouth feel is chewy with medium carbonation. Taste is cherry, raspberry, grass, herbal, green apple, stale gummy bears, and burnt toast. Finishes slightly bitter and dry; vinous, grassy and sour. Unique brew that gives off a holiday vibe without turning to cinnamon and ginger.
ncube (52) - - MAR 11, 2012
2.7 AROMA 5/10 APPEARANCE 2/5 TASTE 6/10 PALATE 2/5 OVERALL 12/20
Bottle from brewery store. Drank 3.5 months after bottling time (stored in fridge). Seems to have lost some carbonation. Small amount of tan head. Found yeast at the bottom of my glass, and it clouded up the beer. Not a big deal, but a surprise. Murky red brown colour. Smells of vegetables, lemon/lime citrus. Malt and myrtle are balanced till about halfway through, before giving way to sour myrtle flavour quickly. Medium lemony finish. Tastes sort of like an unbalanced summer beer. Feels like an odd choice for winter. I usually love Beauís, but this is the closest thing to a disappointment Iíve had with their beer. Still, I would enjoy it on a hot summer day, which is when this beer should be available.
ScottPurchase (13) - Ontario, CANADA - DEC 5, 2013
3.6 AROMA 7/10 APPEARANCE 4/5 TASTE 6/10 PALATE 4/5 OVERALL 15/20
My dog passed away on a quiet Sunday afternoon in the middle of December. I spent the next four hours digging a shallow grave through the cold frozen ground of my winter retreat in North Dakota. The rustic old cottage came to me through the good fortune of my late Uncle Gilesí will reading. I spent many winters away here, just me and my dog Jarred while I stoked the fire and he basked in the heat emanating from the late 18th century iron stove. By midnight, I had completed the grave, dumping the now cold and lifeless body of my best buddy and following were the many ungiven christmas presents I had bought at a nearby pet store. Enjoy those rawhides in heaven old pal.
Coming back in the cottage with a log in hand, I tended the fire but for whom Iím not sure as without my dog I was a cold hearted man and no one would enjoy the warmth I produced no more. I looked over at his vacant aluminum dish and in the shadows it appeared as if a large object was in the bowl.
Walking over, I grabbed a light dangling loosely from the ceiling and pointed it towards Jarredís feeding corner. A bottle, upright in his dish. íWhat kind of a sick joke is this?!" I yelled, letting the light swing from my hand as I lunged at the dish picking up the tall slender bottle for closer inspection. The label read í Bog Waterí. I muttered the name aloud to myself with a frown, bringing it over to the light to look through the brown glass. I heard something shuffle in the house and I turned to face the sound. Nothing. I walked over to the closet, and without warning ripped the door of itís hinges to see a cowering shell of a man with his hands covering his face as I raised the bottle, ready to strike his face. I did not. Instead I lowered the bottle back to my side, and softly asked, "Michael, what are you doing in my house." He lowered his trembling hands from his face and looked at me with tears in his eyes. "Well Mr.Purchase, I -- I saw you burying your dog and I thought you could use this" he could barely get the last few words out as he slumped to the floor. I let him weep, for he could weep for the both of us, and then I sat him down on my couch and looked at him curiously. I had placed the bottle beside michael by the window, and the snow coming down gave me an uncanny chill as the bottle was placed such that it aligned perfectly with the grave, slowly disappearing under the white fluffy snow.
I lost myself while I stared through the bottle, cloudy and enchanting. After some time, the bottle moved and I focused my welling eyes as I saw Michael crack the lid and begin to pour it into a glass. "No!" I bellowed out, simultaneously grabbing my knife from my belt, flicking my wrist to expose the sharp blade and sending itís sharp tip through Michaelís bicep. I was aiming for his heart but in hindsight Iím glad I missed. As he screamed in pain, I simply took the bottle, walked back to Jarredís empty dish, and began to tilt the bottle, canting the bowl to ensure a proper pour. The sweet smell tickled my nose as i whimpered, reminded of the loss of Jarred from this cruel world. Although the smell was sweet, it had a considerable complexity to it; one that I man such as myself cannot begin to describe. I screamed at Michael to bring me more, despite him bleeding profusely, he returned with his collection of 12 bottles, and proceeded to fill as I commenced my ingestion of this nectar. Nearly drowning in the mountain of tan tinted foam, I growled at Michael and drank alone for the next hour.
On my knees. crouched down, I thoughtfully lapped the cool brown liquid with my long, tongue, so frosted with advanced stage herpes that I could not help but wince with each time I connected with the bottom of the hard metallic bowl.
I tasted a fruitful bitterness with a earthy finish. Itís as if I were licking down the freshly dug grave and I were licking Jarred on the cheek, as the heavy alcoholic joy that followed made my head dance
Michael had stopped the bleeding on his own, and pulled a large hand knitted blanket from his pocket. It had pictures of avocados and nip slips woven into the thick grey wool, to my insolent delight. As I finished up the last licks of this wonderful beer, I faded off to sleep as Michael carefully covered my body with the blanket. And in my dream, I dreamt of my pal Jarred, running freely through warm golden plains, jumping over a fence as he lept onto the highway and was hit by a speeding truck. My name is Scott Purchase and I recommend this biere.
rjeschmi (2) - Ottawa, Ontario, CANADA - DEC 5, 2011 does not count
4.3 AROMA 8/10 APPEARANCE 4/5 TASTE 9/10 PALATE 4/5 OVERALL 18/20
Bog Water is a wonderful combination of a sweet malty, carmel, Belgian-style dubbel ale with the almost minty bitterness of the bog myrtle. The lasting aftertaste is a bit more astringent (reminds me of nettle). On some sips I get slight hints of licorice.
From the bottle I would give it some time to flatten. Found it a bit too bubbly on first sip. Also drinks better at warmer temperatures.
Will taste side-by-side with Rochefort 10 soon and maybe adjust score up.
Unforseen (2) - - JAN 30, 2013 does not count
4.1 AROMA 8/10 APPEARANCE 5/5 TASTE 8/10 PALATE 5/5 OVERALL 15/20
Huge difference drinking this fresh. Overall taste sours after a month. Fresh this is a wonderfully warning winter beer.
---Rated via Beer Buddy for iPhone