Showing posts tagged Iron Horse Brewery
    Iron Horse Cozy Sweater Outside, there’s a subtle and terrifying stillness. A quiet, wobbling drip of recent rain and things are more silent than they should be. There is a feeling of being watched and you strain the periphery of yer vision to ease your vexation. Inside, yer mind fuzzes and pills like a well worn hoody. A safe, brotherly glass of Iron Horse beer awaits you. It wastes no time in releasing it’s essence into yer life. A heavy, soothing guzzle as vacationing chocolate wafts past yer tonsils. Terrible things are far from yer thoughts. The night mashes together as one morphing memory, simply blended and administered by pint. Outside is visible through dewy panes of glass as you finish. A lightness invades yer body akin to the airy unfettered ale you’ve consumed. As you enter back into the surreal fray and beyond the friendly pub doors, the dark corners of alleyways brighten. The former stillness shudders into life. That which should not be, isn’t. The coziest of sweaters wraps itself around your mental preoccupations, hushing and lulling. Yer constitution eased and the night saved, there’s yet more holiday brew to dream of and awake to find upon the morn. -Pedro Wooly

    Iron Horse Cozy Sweater

    Outside, there’s a subtle and terrifying stillness. A quiet, wobbling drip of recent rain and things are more silent than they should be. There is a feeling of being watched and you strain the periphery of yer vision to ease your vexation.

    Inside, yer mind fuzzes and pills like a well worn hoody. A safe, brotherly glass of Iron Horse beer awaits you. It wastes no time in releasing it’s essence into yer life. A heavy, soothing guzzle as vacationing chocolate wafts past yer tonsils. Terrible things are far from yer thoughts. The night mashes together as one morphing memory, simply blended and administered by pint.

    Outside is visible through dewy panes of glass as you finish. A lightness invades yer body akin to the airy unfettered ale you’ve consumed. As you enter back into the surreal fray and beyond the friendly pub doors, the dark corners of alleyways brighten. The former stillness shudders into life. That which should not be, isn’t.

    The coziest of sweaters wraps itself around your mental preoccupations, hushing and lulling. Yer constitution eased and the night saved, there’s yet more holiday brew to dream of and awake to find upon the morn.

    -Pedro Wooly

    • 1 year ago
    Iron Horse IPA In the story, “My Side of the Mountain”, a young child runs away from home and plunges himself head-first into a world of terror and joy in the Catskill Mountains. He is completely alone excepting his badass, squirrel murdering Peregrine Falcon. If that infant had decide to brew an IPA in the hollowed-out carcass of a tree he called home, it would be this earthy, bitterbark engorged IPA. There’s nothing child-like here though. Something more engrossing and reminiscent of the Shire or some Hobbit feet stuffed in yer mouth and allowed to wiggle the toesies around. Who said a little toejam and dirt ever ruined a mouthful of beer? There is something mindless about downing this brew and there’s something awfully right about that. Especially when you come out of the pouring rain and want to slake yer thirst on a bright and bubbly india pale. But Iron Horsey comes at you with its own wet scent and dulled aromas—an attempt at trickery and foolingtime. It’s my personal belief that whatever argument Gilbert Arenas and Caron Butler were having couldn’t have been about gambling. No Way. Unless the bet was a soapy, creaky tree ring encrusted barrel of this particular ale.

    Iron Horse IPA

    In the story, “My Side of the Mountain”, a young child runs away from home and plunges himself head-first into a world of terror and joy in the Catskill Mountains. He is completely alone excepting his badass, squirrel murdering Peregrine Falcon. If that infant had decide to brew an IPA in the hollowed-out carcass of a tree he called home, it would be this earthy, bitterbark engorged IPA.

    There’s nothing child-like here though. Something more engrossing and reminiscent of the Shire or some Hobbit feet stuffed in yer mouth and allowed to wiggle the toesies around. Who said a little toejam and dirt ever ruined a mouthful of beer? There is something mindless about downing this brew and there’s something awfully right about that.

    Especially when you come out of the pouring rain and want to slake yer thirst on a bright and bubbly india pale. But Iron Horsey comes at you with its own wet scent and dulled aromas—an attempt at trickery and foolingtime. It’s my personal belief that whatever argument Gilbert Arenas and Caron Butler were having couldn’t have been about gambling. No Way.

    Unless the bet was a soapy, creaky tree ring encrusted barrel of this particular ale.

    • 2 years ago
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