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Blonde Porter

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We wanted to deconstruct the flavor profile of a porter and recreate those flavors without using the traditional roasted malts to create a light blonde colored, full flavored beer. We used oats and wheat to build a full creamy body aged with coffee and chocolate for a rich roasted aroma and robust finish.

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Perrin Brewing Co

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The Drunken Mr. McFlew
By Nathan Cordes

Does anyone know where the Grace of Man goes when death bleeds into tomorrow?

Do the hateful dead give up their dread when the living ones show them sorrow?

Are the graveless corpses lost to the forces that beckon to those that are buried?

Oh how I do pale when I tell this tale of the corpse that won’t remain still.

I’d pay any cost to escape the frost that signals the spirits chill.

When he was alive he would come and he’d drink and make the place stink and eat up all of our stew.

I thought when he passed that it would be the last I would see of Mr. McFlew.

But at the end of Halloween day as I cleaned up my customer’s stay I heard an eerie rasp.

I looked up in dread at a man I thought dead, I swore he had breathed his last.

He looked at me and said did he “My name is Mr. McFlew and I think my fine sir that I’ll have you pour me another Brew! I haven’t had a beer since the last I was here and I how I miss it so!”

He looked ghastly pale and the nights business was stale, I knew I couldn’t say no.

So I filled him a cup, and as he guzzled it up I watched it fall to the floor.

He gave one last glug then slammed down his mug And he said in a haunting roar-

“Give me one more for this beer warms my core and it makes me feel alive!”

I shook with fear and choking back tears, I thought I could see right through his eyes!

I swear it’s a sin but when he showed me his grin I knew he was no more.

His hair hung in clumps, his leg was a stump his clothes bloody and tore.

I remembered the fight on that fateful night when Mr. McFlew left my dive.

A drunken man’s rage is a rat in a cage and It was the last he was seen alive.

He stormed from the bar and left in his car. I’d served him too much beer.

He never saw the tree that ended his spree. The blame, it was on me I fear.

I fell to my knees and begged the shade please to leave me alone with my Bar.

“I’ve learned my lesson not to pour too much session! I shouldn’t have let you get in your car!”

He looked at me and said did he “Back to before when I asked for more you’d never pass me by. Now my body is stale, my flesh is all pale and I never sleep anymore. So fill this request, like you’ve done all the rest and just pour me another ale.”

I told myself it was all in my head as I poured him another glass.

I could have run to go get my gun and try to save my ass.

But as he finished his beer he said with a sneer “I will be back in exactly a year and when I stop, don’t deny me my hop and fill the chalice on up!”

Now It’s Halloween night and I sit in fright as I wait for the drunken dead king.

It’s nigh on the time to fill the phantoms stein and I harken for that grisly thing.

I pray it’s all fake and it will pass when I wake, but then I hear his rasp.

The strike of twelve knocks tells me the time of the clock and I let out a terrified gasp.

I know it’s my curse, one I’ll take to the hearse but how it haunts my soul.

This is the Lament of those that are spent to tell by the dying fire coal.

But how I do pale when I tell this tale of the corpse that won’t remain still.

I know from within that this is my sin. But I never thought my Craft would kill.

So, Does anyone know where the Grace of Man goes when death bleeds into tomorrow?

Do the hateful dead give up their dread when the living ones show them sorrow?

Are the graveless corpses lost to the forces that beckon to those that are buried?

The End.