Half Acre Introduces 2 Fresh Hop Ales: Sticky Fat & Mr. Goroboros

Each year the fields thicken with vines while farmers prepare for the harvest. Hop farmers battle all forms of enemy. Wind may slash through acreage or mildew may ravage their most essential varietal. It’s time and dedication that delivers an average worth a career in harvesting the cones. Even if nature behaves, the slyest of farmers may fall victim to the little known foe we’ve chronicled in the past.

The Sticky Fat bear is the unknown that bellows his lethargic roar only during harvest. Like a skilled farmer, the bear waits till the cones are dripping with the essential oils that have kept him bloated for en eternity. He lumbers in and gorges on his kill. Evading farmers and filling the hills with his legend, he lives in the chants of the children.

When the 92 year-old great grandson of one of our nation’s oldest hop growing families was asked what he thought about the Sticky Fat bear, he responded, "Listen here, son. Are you listening to me? You believe what you want in this life. If I were five years younger I’d rip your f**kin’ head off. I’d do that for fun. That bear beat me, but I beat him back. He laughed at me, but I’m laughing now. You don’t know that bear and I don’t know you. Now go into my kitchen and get me a Jarritos and then get the f*ck out of my house." We admire his spunk. 

Sticky Fat American Dark Ale is brewed in homage to the farmer who beat back his adversaries. Black as coal with billowing nugget splendor that radiates the musk only a wet hop beer can.
 

The other juice we’re rendering goes by the name Mr. Goroboros. You may rememberMr. Ouroboros, another beer we’ve brewed the last couple of years. Mr. Goroboros is a Halloween tribute to a darker character brought to his knees by the ghost of Coney Bottoms, Mr. Ouroboros. This unfortunate tale has an echoing effect. As it’s told, some time ago a young man road tripped his way to the hop fields where he was to get his hands dirty during harvest. One night he stayed up late with a local gal and went traipsing through the fields. Having nipped a few steins of the local color, he and this gal began playing games. He thought it was best to run and hide in the hopes of whipping up some fright. Quickly he was disoriented in the dark rows and found himself still. A sharp shrill rang out loud and then a groan was felt behind him. He quickly twirled to find Mr. Ouroboros gurgling and drooling in his glowing disgust not ten feet away. Before he could react, he felt the moist fragility of Mr. Ouroboros’ carcass gooing all over his body. He said he could feel that body entering him everywhere. The rest remains a blur because that’s all he was able to tell those who found him. The girl was never seen again. In the days and weeks after, the boy derailed. It was as though he needed to do away with his body, as though he needed to remove it, and so he did. One tragedy folds into another and the lore gets bigger.