Samuel Adams Triple Bock (1997 Vintage)

I'm not going to lie to you - I like shiny things. I am more likely to buy something if it's in a cool package. Case in point: Samuel Adams Triple Bock. It is neither a tripel or a bock, but what the hell, it sounds cool. Even more important, the packaging of this beer is second to none - cool black (I'll come back to this later) bottle, fancy script, and a neat little cork all promise to provide a great drinking experience. Hey, I can't argue with that logic. Hell, those 3 reasons are why I once found Sinbad funny. However, let's cut to chase: this is not beer. Some may classify this bad boy as a barleywine, but that isn't accurate because barleywine doesn't taste like a concoction of soy sauce, 20 year old raisins, and Wild Turkey. Samuel Adams Triple Bock, my friends, is nothing short of a fanciful five act play that takes the consumer all the way from excitement to agony, from beauty to Rocky Dennis-like horror, from Rob Deer's batting average to a routine fly ball made miraculous by a loafing Jim Edmonds, etc.

ACT I: The Bottle

As you can see by the photo, Samuel Adams pulled out all the stops for this one. Not much to say other than "wow".

ACT II: The Pour

I'm not sure what the automotive background is for the typical YLHY reader, but this stuff pours EXACTLY like used motor oil. Zero carbonation with a few noticeable floaters.
Note: It was not until now that I realized the true color of the bottle: blue. Yeah....I too was surprised.

ACT III: The Taste

Notice the wide, powerful stance and forward lean. Also notice the clenched fist. While you're at it, notice my dog, Maggie, calling for help. Eat your heart out, Lassie.

ACT IV: The Pour (part II)

This was actually the best part of the entire experience. To be fair, I took more than one drink. However, there was no way in hell I could finish all 8.4 ounces of this clearly carcenagenic substance.

ACT V: The Aftermath

The carnage that this brew left behind was nothing short of pure devastation. My sink claims to be "stainless", but I'm thinking I just found its cryptonite and it's name is Triple Bock. And let us not forget to take a gander at that once beautiful piece of glassware. Damn, I'd drink out of my grandma's bed pan before using that glass again.

In closing, this is not a good beer. In fact, this is not beer -- it is gross.