Enter the orbiter, we’re launchin’ the Mothership Guzzle Gulp plowing w/ gleaming tusks & her hop coned hull through dimensional drifts. Past the solar poof of lunar turf the echoes of interplanetary zest and the Lupulin asteroid belt we swing round to view the galactic cannibalism, Comet on Galaxy hops exploding something sticky to burrow into the softness...pilsner malts, wheats and flakes of oats. Notes of candied pineapple, tangerine marmalade, pineapple chunks, and coriander dust.
MALT: Pale, Crystal Oats, Munich II, Dextrine
HOPS: Galaxy & Comet