Today’s Mistake: Stella Artois, the jolly green jaw tumor.
5.2% alcohol by volume
22.4 ounce bottle
If you’re one to believe a beer bottle, Stella has been in existence, in some capacity, since 1366. According to my calculations, Stella Artois is old as shit. That’s what’s nice about Belgian beer: even the really nasty ones have some sort of storied brewing heritage, an enviable back story and well-documented place in history. Stella is one of those beers that 8th graders assume is a “craft beer,” something those highfalutin rich guys in fancy Belgian beer bars enjoy. In reality, it is closer in taste to raccoon piss than real beer, and proof, along with this monstrosity, that Belgium is not without blame in this world. It’s a beautiful country, with wonderful people, food, and beer, but they’re just as prone to producing crap as we are. For every beer dick out there drinking a La Chouffe or a Wostyntje, there are fifty more throwing back Stellas and Hoegaaaaaaardens.
The bottle is green. The beer is probably some pale yellow. I did not pour it out; it’s hard enough to get through 22 ounces of Stella without seeing it.
I think raccoon piss is succinct. In all seriousness, it’s a remarkably poor attempt at a pilsner. This might have knocked people’s socks off 700 years ago, but the times have changed.
I’m reminded of a trip to the dentist.
The nice thing about crappy beer: you can usually spot ’em from fifty feet away.
Too expensive. I know it’s a bomber, but there are many better options at 4 bucks.
I hated Stella when I first tasted it, and I hate it now. I will probably hate it on my deathbed. 1 out of a possible 5. By deathbed, I mean a pallet of Troegs Nugget Nectar. Remember in Big Fish when kid Finney sees his death and says, contently, “So that’s how I go?” That’s how I feel about death by Nugget Nectar.