When I'm this far up in my head, I shouldn't even try to be social. My work, the weather, my sleep, my food supply--not much room for human interaction. Tonight I tried because I thought I needed it. Brixie's is a grounding spot, usually, but I couldn't find the handle. Thoughts wouldn't form words; I spoke out of turn; I stared; I didn't even notice I was biting my nails until I started to make them bleed and had to stick my hand up in my undershirt because blood's not a great palate cleanser. I don't think the staff or regulars noticed. The last thing I want to do at a bar is seem drunk or sinister because I'm neither. But what can you do--at least I got out.
Dominique is a Belgian sour, a slow-sipper that doesn't taste very Belgian and only a little sour. The aroma is oaky with some fruit--cherries or cranberries. It reminded me of the Frank's Nursery and Crafts I worked at in high school--fake flowers and wicker baskets. The taste was similar but with a bourbon kick. The tart, cherry notes stick out; maybe some apple too and a vague hint of celery or turnip. It's mildly sweet but boozy first, bitter second. It's 8.5% ABV but tastes like more--surprisingly not a bad thing. The twelve ounces lasted a good eighty minutes; I bet I tilted the glass twenty-five times by the time I was done, but that's probably an exaggeration.
Grade: G, for gripping. You won't let Dominique get too far out of sight once it's in front of you, and it'll stand out after the fact. Drink this on its own when you have plenty of time. Calmly. Never when you're anxious. Trust me; it's pretty good.