Wild Blue, Thy Name is Assandcatfood

This puts it lightly:


This, however, is a much more apt reaction to this beer:

I had the recent displeasure of sampling a bottle of Anheuser-Busch's Wild Blue Blueberry Lager. If someone asks you to try this beer, you can no longer consider them a friend.

This beer could be used to end the war in Iraq.

No...the Geneva Convention won't allow the use of this beer in combat against humans.

Now, before I am criticized by the masses for simpoly being biased against a "microbrewed" beer that's actually from AB, I am always willing to try something a brewery wants to market, even the big ones. Including AB. Their "cask-aged" ale is actually a decent specimen and at least drinkable. This beer, however, was undrinkable.

You may ask aloud: how undrinkable was it? Well, let me tell you. My wife, 7 months pregnant with twins, has done noting but crave...sometimes tearfully crave...the beers I carelessly and callously flaunt in front of her. She sipped this beer, and literally recoiled in horror. So desperate for beer is she that she caught a whiff of someone's Michelob Ultra and nearly went into fits of drooling desire, and she recoiled in horror at a mere sip of this...this...monstrosity.

Served in a 12-oz brown bottle with a twist-off cap (should have been my first warning) with a pic of an ugly blue dog kicking a blueberry. Ha! Looks funny. I bet the beer has real moxie, just like that crazy, messy dog kickin' that blueberry. Marketing genius, I tell you.

The beer pured into my glass...purple. Not dark brown with purple or blue hues. Purple. With a lavender head, thin, which dissipated quickly. I fouled a perfectly good beer glass with this foul purple liquid. How purple? Kool-Aid purple. Mrs. Smitty said "Wow. That's purple. You sure you want to drink it?"

With great trepidation, I lifted the glass towards my nose with a shaking hand. I smelled with the kind of a smelling reflex used for when one of your friends says "Oh Jesus dude...oh God...you gotta smell this." All I got was a noseful of artificial blueberry flavoring. Not real blueberry flavoring. The kind reserved for Jolly ranchers and bubblegum. I sniffed and sniffed, trying to find a speck, a mere hint, of a standard lager aroma; caramel malt, graininess. I got nothin. No hops. Alllllll artificial blueberry.

For reasons unbeknownst to me, Mrs. Smitty, my therpaist and the ER doc, I decided to hoist the glass to my lips and take a sip with wild abandon. Had this not been labeled as a "lager" I would have mistaken this for a blueberry martini. There was no discernable beer taste at all. Sip after gut-wrenching, tear-inducing sip produced no noble hops, no grain, no malt. I anticipated each sip in the same fashion that one might use to anticipate tasting month-old milk in their fridge. All I got as my reward for each painful quaff was a mouthful of fake blueberry and a slight alcohol bite. If I wanted to drink something like this in a bar, I'd order a martini. But seeing as how I like beer, I felt cheated.

At the end of the day, this is a malt liquor with blueberry concentrate added. Save yourself the trouble and go buy a 40 of King Cobra, a can of blueberry concentrate, find a pitcher, pour and mix. I'd have felt better about myself, after trying this atrocity, if I'd have bought Boon's Farm.

I even felt bad about pouring thios beer down the drain not because I was dumping a beer (as this is clearly a misrepresentation....this is not beer), but because I didn't want my drain and garbage disposal to suffer the same fate as my mouth.

I am a more bitter person because I tried this beer.