Parallel 49 Lost Souls

Reviewed by on October 27, 2014 in Autumn Guide

The Details

  • Brewery: Parallel 49 Brewing Company

  • Origin: Vancouver, BC, CA

  • Rated On: October 26, 2014

  • Best Before: N/A

  • ABV: 6.5%

  • Ideal Temperature: cool to cellar temperature

  • Style: American Porter

  • Rating: GOOD !

The Review

Lost Souls is described as a ‘chocolate pumpkin porter’, which is a nice twist on the typical seasonal offering of the moment from Van City’s Parallel 49 Brewing, and a bigger brother of sorts to Schadenfreude, I would imagine.  A suitable kick-off, then, to this week of Hallowe’en activities and dipping temperatures.

This 650ml bottle pours a dark, almost black, cola highlight riddled brown colour, with two fingers of puffy, tightly foamy, and wanly bubbly tan head, which leaves nothing more than a bit of remote islet lace around the glass as it quickly dissolves.

It smells quite pungently of roasted dark chocolate, vegetal gourd, toasted, slightly sour caramel malt, muddled gingerbread spices – clove, ginger, and nutmeg – dry coffee grounds, a bit of brown sugar, and very soft earthy, weedy hops. The taste again leads with now semi-sweet cocoa notes, middling caramel malt, a softly sour lactic astringency, ethereal spiced pumpkin latte – coffee, mildly fleshy pumpkin, and overly blended seasonal spices – a slight metallic stoniness, and more understated earthy, leafy hops. The bubbles are restrained to the point of near nothingness, the body a hearty medium-heavy weight, generally smooth, and even a little creamy for good measure. It finishes on the sweet side, the chocolate, milkiness, and spiced pumpkin conjuring a certain après-Hallowe’en experience through and through.

If you didn’t tell me that this was pumpkin-adjacent, I would have just opined that this is a rather pleasant hybrid of an American and London Porter, all chocolate, malt, and subtly sour lactation. But ya did, and the spiced pumpkin is indeed there, as generally relevant to the goings-on come November 1st as the rotting gourd on your front step is, at least compared to any newly-acquired candy bars, in this now well strung-out metaphor.

Brady White

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