Modern brewing exists to test limits. First, it was “how many IBU can we get into a beer?” Then it became “what’s the lowest pH we can achieve?” Now, it’s “how much birthday cake can we toss into the mash?” These are childish pursuits compared to what renegade brewery Evil Twin is doing with Molotov Heavy.
Molotov Heavy is a souped-up triple version of Evil Twin’s flagship Molotov Cocktail. Clocking in at a corrosive 17.2%, it’s sold as “one of the most anti-authoritative beers ever made.” This is a beer that’s meant to test not only the limits of beer but also reason.
Despite a few hearty rolls on the countertop, my can dumps out a cyclone of sediment. Some floaters were expected given the sheer amount of plant matter needed to make this beer, but I end up facing down a pint of what looks like hot and sour soup. The color—an autumnal orange-brown with a toffee-colored head—is pleasing, but those asteroids of protein are a total turn-off.
I’m convinced you could get drunk just by smelling Molotov Heavy. Each noseful is like taking a shot. First, you get knocked out by the whiskey-esque overtones, and then you chase with the molasses of the roasted malt. At first, the booze is too strong, coming off like the carpet in a biker bar. But repeated sniffs become more and more pleasant.
If you’re into safe living, leave this firestarter of an IPA on the shelf. If you’re into anarchy, then bottoms up, comrade.”
Molotov Heavy justifies its absurd existence with how masterfully it subdues the ABV. It tastes more like an imperial stout than an imperial IPA. Thick currents of brown sugar and molasses go down with little or no bite. For a big-ticket IPA, there’s not a lot of hop character. You get some herbal bite at the beginning, but the resinous flavors are so deep that you’d almost mistake them for more malt.
Should a beer with an ABV higher than schnapps exist? That’s not the point of Molotov Heavy. The point is it does exist. This is a beer that makes beer look like kombucha and wine look like Hi-C. If you’re into safe living, leave this firestarter of an IPA on the shelf. If you’re into anarchy, then bottoms up, comrade.