Sequatchie Valley Cartwright Kickers

It pours like liquid midnight, thick, black, and unapologetic, with a mocha head that snarls at the light. First hit is a fist of roasted malt and de-bittered black: scorched espresso, baker’s chocolate, and a low, smoky growl that lingers like burnt rubber on asphalt. Then the hops detonate. Chinook, Centennial, Nugget, and Citra slam in with pine needles, grapefruit rind, and a razor-edged citrus bite that slices straight through the dark malt. Dry-hopped hard with Centennial and Citra, the aroma is a middle finger of bright, sticky dankness riding over the abyss. Bitter? Hell yes. Roasty? Like a tire fire. Finish? Bone-dry and savage, daring you to take another pull. Cartwright Kickers doesn’t ask permission. It kicks the door off the hinges, steals your lighter, and leaves you grinning in the dark