You can see from my closeup shot of this tap pour that the color and head are what one comes to expect from the Langunits, if you've joined the cult by now, but not so easy to see was the aroma of its high hoppy notes or the full body of this pound cake. The sumthin sumthin here was a flavor that I spent the entire pour trying to put my finger on, just as if that Jane Mansfield drawing of a woman on the tap handle were seated next to me at Skylark in the wee hours.
I want to say "plastic", but not in the negative way that is impossible not to, so I won't call the flav plastic, per se. It's not a punchline from a Dustin Hoffman, Mike Leigh production, or something you'll find at the picnic tables outside that comb factory at the tip of the Baja peninsula in Mexico, which remains free from onerous regulations that would mute those tones in the air there.
No, it's not a plastic in the negative sense, for I didn't stop drinking for a minute, even as I never stopped thinking about it. I'd call it a delicious plastic, like the scent of a Pez container as you gobble those last few sugar cubes. It's sumthin alright, but I'll be damned if I can actually tell, but I'll tell you this, you'd be a fool not to order a pint of this to get a little sumthin sumthin on the side, no matter what you slurp down on the regular.
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