Historically, I probably would’ve said that my all-time favorite Crispin would have to be Glover.

Ya know, the dude that played George McFly and then went fucking apeshit.

But after today, I’m afraid that Willard no longer owns quite as much real estate in my heart as he once did. Sorry dude – I didn’t actually expect this to happen. But the fact of the matter is that I’ve now tried Lansdowne by the folks at Crispin Cider and I’m impressed.

Fuck that, I’m blown away.

I snagged Lansdowne from the shelves of my local beer-dealer because I was lured in by its appearance. I ain’t no liar, and I can admit when visual aesthetics win me over. There’s something elegant, mayhaps even classy, about the 22-ounce container. Maybe it’s the black label or the little tree logo or the use of simple typography – whites and golds, print and script. But if I had to toss money on it, I’d say that it’s the interrelationships, the gropings and moanings in a darkened room bathed in auditory-lubrication, between all of the above that sold me. Looking at the bottle, it looks urbane as hell.

I’ll be damned if I can’t imagine Don Draper taking a rip from a bottle of Lansdowne.

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