”There are no mistakes, only happy little accidents” said Bob to the tree. The tree was feeling down about the lopsided, imperfect branches Bob had just painted on them. “Look Bob, I am a tree. I need to be perfect – balanced and mature.” Bob put down his brush and took a sip of his beer, perplexed by the tree’s request. “When you make me, you need to pay extra attention to details. Sure, I look simple and effortless, but I am not some fluxious everchanging mass of atmospheric water particles that you get to paint over and over again. I’m a tree, you get one fucking chance to paint me and that’s it,” the tree explained. Bob took another sip, added a new arsenal of ingredients, and tinkered away at the tree for 8 weeks until it became a black lager that was brewed with a blend of German base malts, a touch of dark crystal, a splash of Carafa Type III and hopped with Magnum and Tettnang.