permanent

A double IPA brewed in collaboration between Three Floyds, a brewer, and Pig Destroyer, a metal band. I’ve always wondered how these types of collaborations work. The dudes from Pig Destroyer meet up with the Floyds, nodding intently as the brewers describe yeast and hops and whatfor. Eventually there’s a lull in the music or a ray of clarity cracks through the bleariness and someone from the brewery asks someone in the band for their beermaking input. “We would prefer it to rock,” says the bassist. “Naw,” interjects the singer, “we want it to be brutal.”

Then, god-willing, there would be a 1970’s Certs commercial-style back and forth: Rocking! Brutality! Rocking! Brutality! Before one of the guys from Three Floyds—preferably either the fat bearded one or the bartender who has a goatee tattooed on his face—he jumps in and is like “now settle down fellas, it can be both!”

That wonderful image aside, I’m afraid I’m not equipped to comment on how brutal or metal this beer is. I like metal and all, but I’m not an expert. So I asked my cousin Zach what he thought. Zach’s way metal. He plays in a band named after a skin disease and has given himself tattoos. His response? “Brutal as fuck.”

This confuses me. My expertise is that of an amateur beersman, a prestigious title afforded only to those of us who are willing to drink a lot and then have a cat walk strategically over our internet-connected keyboards while we sob about how much we miss Janice, how she’s the reason our pants don’t fit anymore, how dear god I wish this beer was flammable. A beersman like me is amazed by how goddamn smooth and quaffable this beer is. Gone are the high-alpha cat pee nodes of Dreadnaught. Likewise, the usual pleasant fieriness of the Floyds’ bigger beers is replaced with dark fruit nodes.

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