Texas Big Beer Brewery Queen's Limited Release Irish Cream Stout

It's Sunday, the rain has stopped, and the sun is out.  We have the windows open to let the breeze in.  And I know that my beer has reached a perfect chill in the back of the fridge.  

So, let's get to it.

Texas Big Beer Brewery of Buna, Texas brings us this Queen's Limited Release Irish Cream Stout.  1 pint, 6 oz bottle.  The label has little to say other than those few facts.  The QR code in the corner may offer some additional information, but I have better things to do with my day than scan a code with my phone.  For example, I have a glass of beer I've been waiting to drink.

Having now poured about half a glass of this beer into my handsome face, I can say one thing for certain, this is an Irish cream-stout, not an Irish-Cream stout.  I was curious which way they would go with it, and I'm glad they picked this one.  A beer that tastes like Irish Cream could be really gross.

This beer is not gross.  In fact, this beer is yummy (a technical term used in beer circles).  The creamy malty flavors play nice with the vanilla, yeast, and a mild tinge of copper.  I know I'm not really selling it, but this is a likable beer.  In small sips it is, like I said, yummy, but a big gulp of this beer, goes down even better.  It foams up on the tongue and in the cheeks, releasing stronger aromas, and adding to the chewiness and overall creaminess, which is nice.  

This certainly, however, isn't a great beer, or in any way amazing, but you'd do well to try it some time.  It isn't overpriced, like 7 bucks or something for a bottle.  So if you see it at the store, and the mood strikes you, go for it.

That was a shit review.  Sure, I hit all the important points, and gave my honest opinion, but Omar put on Band of Brothers, the Haguenau episode with Colin Hanks.  This show really gets to me.  Beer is great and all, but Band of Brothers is one of those things that demands your attention.

It's hard to want to talk about a good beer when BoB on because those events, those people, those places... What can you put next to that?  I know I'm glad I wasn't there.  I'm glad I'll likely never have to experience anything even remotely like that.  The show did an outstanding job of telling those stories in a way that feels personal and real to anyone watching.  Describing beer loses its luster next to that kind of drama.

Still, watching BoB does give me a little extra appreciation for the good things I have: a house with plumbing, good friends won't suddenly be dead or severely injured, a safe job, stupid cats, heck, even a beer reviewing blog where I can be a snarky little shit all I want.  I'm glad I have these things.  I'm glad I have to work for them instead of fight for them, and I'm sad that there are other people who don't have my luck.

So, go pour yourself a beer.  Pour one for a friend too, if you have one nearby.  Raise your glass of frosty frothy goodness and drink to good luck and good times, and hope that everyone else might one day be able to do the same.

Henry V, Act 4, Scene 3

What's he that wishes so? 
    My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin; 
    If we are mark'd to die, we are enow 
    To do our country loss; and if to live, 
    The fewer men, the greater share of honour. 
    God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. 
    By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, 
    Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; 
    It yearns me not if men my garments wear; 
    Such outward things dwell not in my desires. 
    But if it be a sin to covet honour, 
    I am the most offending soul alive. 
    No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England. 
    God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour 
    As one man more methinks would share from me 
    For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! 
    Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, 
    That he which hath no stomach to this fight, 
    Let him depart; his passport shall be made, 
    And crowns for convoy put into his purse; 
    We would not die in that man's company 
    That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
    This day is call'd the feast of Crispian. 
    He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, 
    Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, 
    And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 
    He that shall live this day, and see old age, 
    Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, 
    And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.' 
    Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, 
    And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.' 
    Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, 
    But he'll remember, with advantages, 
    What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, 
    Familiar in his mouth as household words- 
    Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, 
    Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester- 
    Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red. 
    This story shall the good man teach his son; 
    And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, 
    From this day to the ending of the world, 
    But we in it shall be remembered- 
    We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; 
    For he to-day that sheds his blood with me 
    Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, 
    This day shall gentle his condition; 
    And gentlemen in England now-a-bed 
    Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, 
    And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks 
    That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.