‘Tis almost the time of year when children of all ages shall belt out in their most joyous tones the tale-telling tune of three kings bringing forth gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh (looks like two of these regal sorts were slightly less generous than the golden one). But before the season of yule arrives, the attention of those with the power to discern what is truly excellent from what is only marketed to appear superior shall fall upon what is truly the most wonderful time of the year—Bastard Season. As if my birthday (November 7 for those looking to graduate from ignoramus to Worthy) and Arrogant Bastard Day (#BastardDay is November 1) weren’t reason enough to celebrate (it is), the proverbial ante is upped each November when I bring the lesser-seen members of my Liquid Arrogance lineage into the equation, sharing the spotlight just long enough to take the revelry to the utmost level before plunging my spawn back behind the curtain for another 11 months. Given the brief nature of their time at center-stage, I shall throw them—and you—a bone, allowing them to bask in your adoration as you take in their magnificence. Just remember who was first. These Bastards would literally be nothing without Yours Truly.
Once one has discovered they possess the gene that allows them to not only comprehend, but greatly appreciate the riddle wrapped in a mystery inside a 22-ounce enigma that is Arrogant Bastard Ale, they do not go back to mass-produced industrial swill. In fact, they find themselves succumbing to the sudden urge to go even further. My answer to that is Double Bastard Ale, a version of the Liquid Arrogance brewed to be brawnier, not as an enticing value-added to blockheads and frat bros looking to beat the bar or get, as they so eloquently put it, “crunk.” Hardly. Double Bastard Ale registers higher on the ABV scale because that makes this mighty spawn of my liquid loins ideal for aging, not just a few months (or days if you, like so many others, find it irresistible to wait much longer than that to quaff such an other-worldly brew), but years. The eldest of this proud creation, the original vintage dating back to 1998, is not only holding up, but holding its own, bringing new and poignant meaning to the term timeless.
Double Bastard Ale plays an integral role in the every-other-year conjuring of another form of Liquid Arrogance, Lukcy Basartd Ale. And so do I. Lukcy Basard Ale is something so ambitious, it’s best if mere mortals attempt it just once every 730 days, lest their puny brains buckle under the pressure of harnessing not one, but three editions of the Arrogance to produce one grand cru cuvee of such magnificence it will bring tears to the eyes of both the Worthy and inferior. The latter will cry as their faces contort into an expression resembling that of the “bitter beer face” ad campaign run by Big Beer Sellouts R Us back in the ‘80s, while the former will shed salty streams of fluid joy. Lukcy Basartd Ale is a masterful blending of Arrogant Bastard Ale, Double Bastard Ale and OAKED Arrogant Bastard Ale (the last of which just joined my other relatives as a once-in-a-while release after several years trying to hang with me year-round) designed to be consumed at the peak of freshness—yes, astute reader, the opposite of the cellarable Double Bastard Ale. It’s more than most can handle, making it all the more special for those who’ve proven up to that feat since Lukcy Basartd Ale’s 2010 debut.
Then there’s the youngster of the bunch, a limb on the family tree that, while presently short and stubby, is oaken to the core and will undoubtedly grow to scrape the sky with the rest of the upper echelon members of this storied clan—Bourbon Barrel-Aged Arrogant Bastard Ale. Life has nothing to do with killing time, but to make this no-brainer of an American strong ale a reality, I endured months of sequestering in the pitch-black, closed quarters of a vanillin- and whiskey-laced oak vessel. Normally, being relegated to solitary confinement would anger me, but knowing it was for the greater good of mankind, and the proliferation of the most noble bloodline within the netherworld of craft beer, I bore down (there was no way you’d find me grinning), bided my time and spent those months contemplating what I would become, figuring if something as puny as a caterpillar can, by virtue of little more than time spent in a chrysalis, can emerge as a breathtakingly beautiful butterfly, there would be no words to describe the magnificence of what an already incredible specimen such as myself would become after emerging, born anew, from those bourbon barrels. Adjectives fail as adequate descriptors, but I’ll venture some all the same: amazing, awe-inspiring, hellishly heavenly, jaw-dropping, life-changing and myriad other synonyms plucked from the second half of the alphabet.
Myself and the esteemed aforementioned relatives have been crammed unceremoniously into a snug and simple-yet-stylish Arrogant Bastard Box so that those who aspire to experience the best of the best may do so in ceremonious fashion. And though the niche component of the population that can step to this level of amazingness is rather small, these legions grow larger every day, meaning that red-and-black box of awesome shalt last long. (Read: Hurry up or be the sad sack that misses the bus and has to watch as the truly Worthy—and immensely elated—pull out of the depot.) Post-Script: If you have the gall and daring to climb even higher up my family tree or peek into its dark knothole, the origins of three more of my other descendants, Crime, Punishment and Southern Charred can be found here.
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