Not quite pale ale, not quite baby vomit. I’m not really sure what the “magic” part of this ale is. Maybe it’s that drinking this stuff will make your taste buds want to disappear from your tongue. Or, maybe the name implies that it’s made out of old hats that fat, sweaty, balding magicians have been pulling rabbits out of. Flatulent rabbits at that. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s probably a mixture of all the above.
For this parrot, we’ll need a movie to distract us from this not-quite-tasty beer. Given the circumstances, I recommend you pair MH9 with a screening of Schindler’s List. The reasons for this pairing are twofold. First, it will make you so damn grateful that the worst thing in your life right now is just a putrid liquid that somebody has chosen to inexplicably label as “beer.” Second, MH9 will test the limits of your trust in mankind, bringing you to the brink of giving up on people and beer altogether, leaving you wanting to shout at the top of your lungs, “Goodbye, brews! Goodbye, brews! GOODBYE BREWS! Goodbye brews…”
But fear not. We will move past the terrible taste left in our mouths from both the plot of Shindler’s List and the residue of Magic Hat #9. We will work toward a better future in order to obtain great things like world peace and ales that aren’t complete and utter crap (which are directly correlated, according to science). So make a list of beers you’ll never drink again, place Magic Hat #9 at the top, and start saving the world.
(PS – Before you get all bent out of shape about this review, remember that this is just, like, my opinion, man.)