Donny's Bar and Grill

I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been really drunk in the past decade, and each time has been memorable.

Not Rob Ford memorable, but he usually loses count of those occasions before the week is out. He’s in a league of his own, that guy.

The problem for me is that on those rare nights when I tie one on, it is usually memorable for other people. I can’t remember a damn thing.

This time, as I would find out to my horror the next day, would be different. This time there would be video evidence.

This can’t be good.

The occasion was, predictably, about beers. Specifically seven or eight hard to find American IPAs I brought back from Florida with a desire to share them with the rest of the Beer Musketeers. (There were actually about 14 or so when I got off the plane, but it had been almost a week since then and, well, I get thirsty.)

An evening at Donny’s Bar and Grill in Burlington was therefore in need and subsequently planned and on Easter Monday, executed.

We spent the day getting pleasantly plastered by drinking IPAs, Imperial IPAs and some tasty pale ales with my friends Cat and Don, and with Steve, our ex-pat Musketeer living in Wellington, New Zealand, joining us via the beauty of modern technology, making do with a few bottles of Pinot Noir.

Some of us got more pleasantly plastered than others (*cough* me), but all in all, the day, spent on the patio of Don’s ground floor, townhouse-style apartment, was a roaring success. I got to share my beers with my friends and better still, I got to see my former college roomy through the magic of Skype, or as I call it, the talking picture phones from the future.

I paid for all that excess the next day with a hangover that never quite left me and I was, predictably, a no-show at work. I actually surprised myself by remembering to set my alarm before I passed out and did wake up at 3:30 am, with every intention of making the long drive to Ajax. The best laid plans of mice and drunks often go awry, as they say, and I, like Rob Ford after his latest drunkfest, never made it to work that day.

The day only got worse from there after Steve told us that he captured some of the festivities on camera and we were welcome to re-live the experience.

Dear God, did I really say that? Yes Glenn. Yes you did.

I was looking forward to the event all week, though the day started out on an ominous note when I was stung by a wasp at work, just before making the drive from the job site in Whitby to Burlington. My pal Jim, an outdoorsy angler type, said it was the first time he heard of anyone getting stung in April.

Only me.

The day improved significantly, however, after arriving in Burlington. My father-in-law David lives just down the street from Don and I don’t see the old guy nearly often enough (David, not Don), so I spent a little while at his place before I found Don’s complex and the visitor parking lot.

Finding Don should be easy. He lives on the ground floor and I’ve been there once before. No problem.

Problem.

I walked around the entire complex – two high-rise buildings and some townhouses – nearly twice, carrying valuable (and heavy) cargo, before finally finding his unit. Don had conveniently been napping and wasn’t answering his phone, but that’s okay big guy: I’m here now.

Once I got settled and got my prizes into the fridge my mood improved, especially after the two of us got it started with some Hoptical Illusion from Flying Monkeys. You know, something light to ease into this all-day affair.

Soon enough Cat showed up and we got the party rolling by bringing out the growler of Headstock IPA, Don’s local beer from Nickel Brook Brewing, as well as some Naughty Neighbour pale ale from the same brewery.

That’s one awesome brewery you have in your town Donny.

We moved onto the imports next.  I had made sure to save a Founders Centennial IPA (the Michigan beer that Cat and I had been chasing around the LCBO’s product system for a while) for our Toronto girl, as well as an All Day IPA (a 4.7 per cent hopped-to-the-gills beer, also from Founders) for Don.

We were just getting warmed up when Steve came online with a coffee in his hands – some sort of French Press affair he made because he didn’t feel like firing up his espresso machine – and this techno-dumb ass had his first experience with Skype.

To say it was really cool would be understating it, and it was even cooler to catch up with Steve, who I roomed with during my last year at Humber College more than 30 years ago and haven’t seen since.

He’s gotten a bit more sophisticated since he moved Down Under some 13 or so years ago and besides his appreciation for good coffee (a taste he picked up when he lived in Vancouver) and his love of craft beer and IPAs in particular (New Zealand makes some of the best), has become a wino as well.

Which is why he started on the wine as soon as he finished his coffee. As it was first thing in the morning (the next day) for him, we thought that was an admirable effort.

Meanwhile, we got into the beers. There were the American ales I fought hard to bring back from Orlando Gimme back my Beer! which included Ruination IPA, an 8.2 per cent, 100-plus IBU monster from legendary Stone Brewery in California; Lagunitas IPA (also from California); Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA from Delaware on the East Coast; and a brew called Ranger IPA from New Belgium Brewery in Colorado.

I also brought out a Rye Pale Ale from Schmaltz Brewing of Albany, N.Y. called Lenny’s RIPA, which was made as “a tribute to Jewish stars.”

It wasn’t in the class of Cameron’s RPA, but it was interesting, if a little too malt-forward for me.

And that’s just my beers. Don, as the host of this formal affair (he spent the day in pajamas, flip-flops and his drinking hat), had plenty of cheer on hand, including the Headstock growler (which we polished off); and some Malevolent Black Imperial IPA. This Nickel Brook beer packed a big wallop at 9.5 per cent and 90 IBUs (so dark, so tasty) and it tasted of chocolate and licorice and IPA goodness while looking like a black lager.

And then there was Immodest IIPA, the real star of this day. Another exceptional beer from Nickel Brook, this nine percent, 85 IBU hop daddy tasted like a grapefruit and orange punch in the face. It poured a cloudy orange with a thin head but it was so hoppy! A real lip-smacker. Damn fine beer.

I really have to pay a visit to this brewery soon.

There were other beers as well but as the day wore on I forgot to write them down. As the day turned to night I forgot a lot of things. Fortunately (for my friends; not necessarily for me) there was that newfangled Skype technology to remind all of us the next day.

No way I said that. I couldn’t have, could I?

It turns out, as I watched footage of our patio party patter the following day, that it wasn’t so much WHAT I said (though there was something about my ‘package’ and would it pass muster on Wreck Beach?) as it was the fact that I kept saying it. In fact, the problem was I wouldn’t shut the hell up.

The camera was centred on Don, who mostly just sat there, with his grin getting wider and grinnier as the day went on and the IPAs flowed, and I was half in the picture. Which was, apparently, enough face time for me to yammer on to Steve on the other side of the world about girls from our college days, nude beaches in Vancouver (the package, remember?), Australian bugs and other nasties, the craft beer scene in New Zealand and assorted other topics, none of which I remember talking about.

But talk I did. Incessantly, even.

The only times I shut up was when the camera moved to Cat’s side, though that was probably because I was too drunk by then to bother moving out of my seat to get back in the frame.

Speaking of Cat, she seemed to do a much better job than I of appearing sober. There was a moment during the second video clip when she looked a little wasted, but that may have been a look of boredom from listening to too many of my stories.

Steve, meanwhile, started a little later than us due to the 17-hour time lag and never got noticeably drunk at all. Could have been the wine, could have been a Botox injection, or it could have been the fact that the big guy is better at holding his booze than I.

Yeah, it could have been the last thing.

I did make it through the night in one piece, so props to me, and I did provide plenty of entertainment for my friends.

And after putting in a full day of work on the Wednesday and with a clear head (finally), I pronounced myself ready to go another round at Donny’s Bar and Grill. I just have to remember, I tell myself, to shut the hell up more.

And then I got home to this message from Steve: “I almost forgot. There’s a third video. Enjoy.”

No. No. No. No thank you.

*

I leave you with this semi-appropriate story from the classic television show Cheers now making the rounds on social media. While this is exactly the type of story Cliff would tell Norm, it apparently never actually happened. Makes for a good story though, and I know it would have been an episode that Rob Ford would have watched over and over again. For inspiration …

“Well, you see, Norm, it’s like this. A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it’s the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members.

In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Now, as we know, excessive intake of alcohol kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine.

And that, Norm, is why you always feel smarter after a few beers.”