Wednesday, 7 September 2016

Sixpoint Resin

There is hype, and then there's anticipation. There's the machinations of a slick hype machine, a "GABBO IS COMING" sign on every corner, and then there is the internal clamouring for a beer that seems just out of reach, just a short hop over the Bastard Atlantic.

For two years this reporter has tormented himself with hopes of Sixpoint Brewery's Resin Double IPA crossing that damned ocean and arriving in his sticky and noisy Wetherspoon's, to the extent that any hype there might have been from the brewery has slipped by him.

The slender can with the all-caps word that promises dank and cannibinoid scents, the alcoholic volume that threatened sweet obliteration and the Beeradvocate scores that promised I would either be extremely let down or very much in agreement, all of this has crossed the sea. 

Two cans of Resin are on the table in front of me, in John the Clerk of Cramlington, along with a smiling-faced rubber beanbag toy abandoned at the table by its prior occupants. Resin is here and I'm opening the can up right now. 

The scent from the can, struggling against the broad lexicon of smells in a crowded summer 'Spoons, is scathing lemon and grapefruit, From the Hulk-coloured can misty copper wiring, with 4mm of foamy white insulation, pours into the glass. From the glass a slow storm of fruit-stank ascends, and cutting through this flurry of citricity reveals a scent that isn't the baggy-of-green skunk-whack of the weedier IPAs and IIPAs, more a resiny taste that gels well with the name. From my youth the smell of my friends "burning in", fashioning skinny joints of cheap hash, returns. 

The explosion of alcohol on the tongue snaps the head back like an airliner's acceleration. The warming is instantaneous, the taste is the sappy blood of an ancient and alcoholic tree-man. There is fruit there, drowned in the liquid forest, bobbing breathless to the surface as mouthful piles upon mouthful. A beer of 9.1% abv that takes the tongue by the hand and leads the brain on a meander into forests of slow insanity, Resin both feels like a strong beer and doesn't. The warming and heat is there, the pyroclasm that consumes the senses at the first kiss, but the taste is smooth and subtle and quickly buries the presence of alcohol on further glugs.

The final finger of Resin is done away with, crashing down towards the stomach and the nervous system. Sticky heat remains and spreads through the body. Resin is here and it costs £2.99 a can. 

Surely there must be a catch?

So far, on examination, my take on this beer seems to gel with the reports I've seen on Beeradvocate. The cans on my table have a best before end of June 2017. To me, this looks like freshness. They also say the beer was imported, and since I've heard that the Resin we were to get in the UK was to be contract brewed here this is something I'm going to look into.

For now, the spectre of Ruari The Tabloid Journalist, a red top hovering above his head, wants to hit "publish" and get the Day One review. Keep it locked for further writing on Resin, if there's any story behind it. At £2.99 a can there's got to be something, right?


No comments:

Post a Comment