The name itself, “Confection Affliction,” arrives with a certain weight of expectation, a wink and a nod to the arms race of bold, in your face pastry stouts, a phrase itself that suggests images of syrupy, sugar-laden behemoths that will see you reaching for relief partway through. The label of this beer promises an indulgence of coffee, maple, and doughnuts, a trinity of breakfast-table pleasures that, in lesser hands, could easily result in a chaotic, cloying mess. But this is Westbrook Brewing we’re talking about, and what they’ve put together is not an affliction, but a stunningly articulate and dangerously drinkable masterpiece.
It begins in the glass, not with the thick, motor oil of so many stouts, but with a surprising light-footed elegance. The beer pours a profound, dark chocolate brown that verges on absolute black, pierced by subtle mahogany undertones at the edges when held to the light. It’s crowned by a dense, caramel-nougat head that persists with the steadfastness of a well-pulled espresso shot’s crema. It looks alive, with visible carbonation swirling within.
The aroma is where the beer first announces its presence. This isn’t the artificial, cloying sweetness of a cheap candy aisle. Instead, the nose is greeted by the sophisticated scent of authentic maple—less like pancake syrup and more like the subtle, woody sweetness of sap straight from the tree. Woven through it is the rich, invigorating fragrance of a medium-roast coffee, a scent that speaks of freshly ground beans rather than cheap, supermarket aisle percolator coffee. It smells, first and foremost, like an expertly crafted imperial stout. The promised doughnut, however, never really materializes in the aroma. And frankly, its absence is a relief to our tasters, allowing the marriage of maple and coffee to shine without a distracting, bready sweetness.
But it is on the palate that Confection Affliction truly transcends its “pastry stout” pigeonhole. The first sip is a revelation of texture and flavor. The body is substantial enough, yet shockingly lithe, avoiding the syrupy thickness that plagues so many of its peers. It’s smooth, with a pleasant carbonation that lifts the flavors rather than letting them settle into a sugary hole.
The dominant note is a luxurious, high-quality dark chocolate—an expensive, artisanal 70% cacao bar, perhaps—with all its bitter, complex glory. This forms the foundational bass note upon which the other flavors play. The coffee presents as a beautiful mocha component, seamlessly integrated, while the maple offers a delicate, complementary sweetness that tastes more like a sophisticated maple cookie than a torrent of syrup.
And then there is the masterstroke, the beer’s most impressive and deceptive feature: the alcohol. The staggering 13% ABV, while high, is felt only in the gentle warmth that follows each sip. It is so impeccably hidden, so smoothly integrated, that you’d be forgiven for guessing it was a mere 6 or 8% stout. This profound drinkability makes it a rare and wonderful creation: an imperial stout you could genuinely imagine drinking a full pint of, even if you may regret it afterwards.
The doughnut, as it was in the aroma, is nowhere to be found in the taste. It feels like an unnecessary gimmick on the label of a beer that needs no such adornment. This stout’s triumph lies not in perfectly mimicking a doughnut, but in its balance and restraint. Westbrook Brewing, using coffee and doughnuts from their Charleston-area neighbors, has created a beer that celebrates its adjuncts without being enslaved by them. It’s a confection, to be sure, but one of remarkable depth and character. This is easily one of the finest Imperial Stouts of the year, a beer that begs for a dollop of vanilla bean ice cream in an affogato-style float, to be savored slowly as the day gives way to night.
Verdict: If you can find this beer, buy it. Hell, buy a couple.
