RUPEE – PREMIUM IPA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • TYPE: IPA
  • BREWERY: Dorchester Brewing Co.
  • LOCATION: Boston, MA
  • CONTAINER: 4-Pack 16 oz. Cans 
  • COST:11.99 – Total Wine, Hobe Sound, FL
  • ABV: 5.4% ABV
  • RATING: 4-Swigs
  • REVIEWED BY: Dave

I didn’t pick the Rupee IPA.  The four-pack nudged itself to the front of the shelf the way some stories sidle up—uninvited, persistent, already convinced it belongs in your hand.

I was just walking past, minding my list, when the cans shifted with the soft clatter of aluminum clearing its throat. A little shuffle forward. A subtle lean. The kind of movement you pretend you didn’t see because acknowledging it means you’re committed to whatever weirdness comes next.

The packaging glowed that burnished, river-bottom copper, and I swore I heard the sound of fingers moiling through a pile of gold coins. I reached for it, and the plastic handle warmed under my fingers, as if relieved I’d finally noticed.

Back home, after several hours being chilled in my garage beer fridge, first can opened with a sigh heavy as monsoon air.

First sip:
Smooth—almost suspiciously so. Not the hop-crunch of modern IPAs that brag their bitterness from across the room. More of a gentlemanly bow from an ale that had crossed oceans in wooden crates and come back with stories it didn’t tell all at once.

Second sip:
The room tipped a degree toward the past. I heard the creak of rigging, the far-off argument of gulls, and the steady, heartbeat thump of waves against the hull. Either the beer was whispering history or my imagination had slipped its leash again. Hard to tell. I’ve followed stranger trails sober.

Third sip:
The bitterness stayed tucked away, letting a quiet, polished finish glide in like a seasoned traveler stepping off a long voyage, dusting off salt and holding onto dignity. Somewhere, I pictured the world-renowned brewer—one hand in old Britain, one in old India—tuning hop notes the way a luthier coaxes harmony from stubborn wood.

By the fourth sip, the can felt heavier. Not in ounces, but in meaning—ballast from a century-old route, a faint ghost of a sailor who’d hitched a ride into a modern refrigerator.

I set the can down.
It exhaled.
I might have, too.

Rupee IPA didn’t just put the India back in India Pale Ale.
It put the voyage back—the patience, the quiet grit, the long horizon. A beer that walks softly but carries its past like a compass.

When I tossed the empty into recycling, I swear the remaining cans nudged closer together, as if plotting their next move.

THEIR STORY: 

The IPAs of today trace their origin to the 19th century British India.  Ales enjoyed then were less hoppy & bitter than today.  When shipping beer to India via ship, brewers in Britain realized adding in more hops naturally preserved the beer to help make the six month voyage.  As a result, the taste became more hoppy & bitter, like the popular IPAs of today.  Our world-renound master beer brewer has crafted a British-Indian style ale with a subtle hop character & smooth finish.  Rupee is putting the India back in India Pale Ale.

The Pursuit

  • TYPE: IPA
  • BREWERY: Six Point, 
  • LOCATION: Brooklyn, NY
  • CONTAINER: 6 pack cans
  • COST: $11.99
  • ABV: 6.4
  • RATING: 4 Swigs
  • REVIEWED BY: Dave

It was just past 9:33 PM, where the road feels more like a memory than a direction. I’d just left Total Wine in West Palm Beach and the cashier wanted to see my ID–– weird, ’cause I’m well past the expiration date. The cans hissed a little in the bag, as she slid them my way.

I was halfway through the DMZ along A1A approaching Hobe Sound, when I saw him: thumb out, no coat, no skin. Just a skeleton, upright and hopeful, standing in the beam of my headlights like he’d been waiting specifically for me.

I slowed down. Not out of charity. Curiosity. Or maybe the IPA whispering from the passenger seat: Pick him up. Let’s get weird.

He climbed in like it was his car. Seatbelt clicked out of habit or muscle memory—I couldn’t tell which. I could see the cresent moon through the gaps in his ribcage.

“Thanks,” he said, voice like dry leaves caught in a storm drain. “Not a lot of folks stop these days.”

“You get ghosted a lot?” I asked.

“Ha. Good one,” he said, then pointed to the six-pack. “The Pursuit, huh? Smooth from start to finish.”

“You know it?”

“Loved it when I had a liver,” he said. “Still do. Phantom tastebuds, maybe.”

We drove in silence for a mile or two, the IPA calling my name. I cracked one open. The carbonation fizzed like a second opinion. I offered him a can. He took it, held it to where his mouth used to be, and I swear I heard him sigh with satisfaction.

“You know,” he said, turning to me, “you look familiar.”

“That’s comforting.”

“No, really. You feel familiar. Like I’ve worn you before.”

I squinted over at him. “You’re not one of those past life types, are you?”

“More like… previous tenant,” he said. “I recognize the skeleton.”

I nearly swerved. “You’re telling me—”

“Not you, exactly. Just the bones. Borrowed, repurposed, shuffled around. We’re all part of the long game, buddy. I wore that tibia back in 1826. Hell of a winter. Lost it on a bet.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I took a sip. Damn, this IPA was smooth.

“Look,” he said, setting the can in the cupholder like it mattered, “I’m just glad to see it’s still being put to good use. And I gotta say, we both have excellent taste. You, me, and The Pursuit—that’s a trinity I can get behind.”

I nodded. “You ever get the feeling that beer is a kind of spiritual currency?”

He grinned. Or maybe he just defaulted to that expression. “Buddy, I’m the spiritual. You’re the currency.”

He asked to be let out by the old train depot, the one that was stolen for half a century before being returned to its rightful place.  I pulled over. He got out, left the can behind, half empty—or maybe half full. Depends who you ask.

Before I drove off, I asked, “You need anything else?”

He gave a bony shrug. “I’m good. Just out here, chasing old bones and better beers.”

Then he vanished—just a shimmer, like heat off pavement.

I finished that can on the way home. It was smooth. From start to finish.

THEIR STORY: Beer is Culture

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