Not a normal beer festival

I awoke to the sounds of jackhammers in my brain and the chatter of squirrels in my ears; far closer for both sounds to be ever considered pleasant.

I dragged myself into the living room, feeling the cold
air as I neared the screen door of my balcony, which was wide open. Chattering on the balcony, looking like he was about to come in for a visit, was a squirrel, who looked at me and said, "got any food dude?"

I shooed the rodent off my deck, shut the door and went back to bed.

Not a normal post beer festival morning.

But then, it wasn't a normal beer festival the night before. For starters, the theme for the second Durham Craft Beer Festival, held at Buster Rhino's in downtown Oshawa, was Ciders and Seasonals. Ciders are not my thing and while I'm all for seasonal specials, fall means pumpkin, and pumpkin-flavoured beers are usually vile tasting concoctions.

Not that it would be a reason to stop me from going, as the farther I go up this craft beer path the more I realize there's more to life than IPAs.

True story.

I was also anxious for a diversion, as I had been thinking a lot about my good friend Colin, who was suffering from the late stages of cancer at that time and, well, could go any time.

So I went, or to be more accurate, pal Brian and I went, with a plan to meet fellow Musketeer Cat and her friend Blair later.

Brian and his lovely girlfriend Willa (our ride downtown) stopped in just before two and we got the festival started with a few beers from my fridge, with me doing my best to pawn off the less tasty beers I keep for company.

(Don't judge me. Brian will drink anything and it wouldn't be fair to Willa, who prefers lighter fare, to give her a hop bomb, now would it?)

Once at the fest - with Brian under strict instructions to "get a little drunk but not hammered" - we did the walk-around, spending our first five tokens as quickly as possible. We stopped at 5 Paddles, the Whitby brewer who won the People's Choice at the first Durham Craft Beer Festival, where I had the Italian Backyard Basil Pale Ale, a beer that certainly delivered what was advertised - in this case, basil and lots of it - while Brian had the latest in the Paddler's Narcissism of Minor Differences IPA series. This is a brew that has disappointed me in the past for not delivering on its promises - hops and more hops - but I got something - just a little something - when I had a small sip from Brian's glass.

I said I'd go back to give it an honest assessment but I never did.

I also didn't have the Ten Bitter Years IIPA from Black Oak, which is an outstanding beer. I figured I'd get to it later, having enjoyed it numerous times, but never did.

Definitely not normal beer festival behaviour.

If ever I needed an IPA fix, I needed only to go to the Great Lakes Brewery booth, which was pouring Thrust! IPA and Canuck Pale Ale, which were both awesome as always. Brian and I visited Canada's two-time Brewery of the Year several times until they cacked the Thrust! keg. With all that grapefruit, mango and pine bitterness in this multiple award-winning IPA, it tends to go fast at these sort of affairs.

The lovely Sarah (middle) and Jessica (right)
served all of us with smiles. Courtney (who
was equally lovely) was just there for the beer

Which makes the tapped-out keg something that IS normal at beer festivals.

I did find a new IPA to try; the 10 Point IPA from Lake of Bays. Trashed on Rate Beer with a 58 score (with a lowly 30 for style), this wasn't as bad as all that. More of a British-style IPA though.

We tried a few ciders, with the Forbidden Dry Cider from Coffin Ridge standing out for its dry, white wine-like finish. Which shouldn't surprise me (or pal Don), as cider is fermented apples, so it's not beer. It's wine.

Still, me drinking cider is not normal beer festival behaviour.

I also forgot my note pad and pen and so took no notes and very few pictures. I had to talk to my partners in crime the next day, in fact, just to  see what they liked.

Again, not a normal beer fest for me.

I dud know I had a wonderful time.. I saw some friends there and I chatted up the Buster Rhino's bar staff, some of whom seemed to know me better than a once-a-week patron should be known. I even formally introduced myself to my IPA Girl, who I shall now call Sarah, as that is her name.

Festival Host Darryl Koster

 And then shortly after enjoying Square Nail Pale Ale from The Publican House in Peterborough (a winner) and Division By Zero, the very interesting and very potent (eleven per cent!) Imperial Nut Brown Ale from Flying Monkeys, Brian was gone, with his promise kept.

And I was left to wander the festival for 30 minutes or so until Beth Koster, our hostess for the day from Buster Rhino's, approached me and said there were people at the gate waiting for me and my pre-paid ticket and why wasn't I answering my texts?

Beth, who I was supposed to 'meet' at the gate after getting to know each other on Facebook (one particular thread in which I joined her in poking fun at her husband Darryl for daring to trash talk her beloved Buffalo Bills stood out), took me back to Cat and her friend Blair.

Cat, by the way, had that look that said leaving pals to stew at the gate because of phone issues is normal at beer fests. For me, anyway.

So back I go into the breach, with new friends in tow. We visited the Sawdust City booth and I remembered being so disappointed they didn't bring their cellar-aged Princess Wears Girl Pants - it is a seasonal offering after all - that I left and forgot to go back to try their Red Rocket Spiced Stout.

It was on my damn to-do list too

Speaking of no-shows, I was surprised Oshawa upstarts Underdogs Brewhouse - who Cat and fellow Musketeer Don had fallen in love with at previous beer festivals this summer - was not at the fest. We ran into Darryl Koster at the Flying Monkeys booth and I asked him that very question. It seems, he said, that he was waiting until the Underdogs boys were further along in their quest to find their own brewing facility before inviting them to the party.

Next year, then.

(I should mention that Darryl, on behalf of Buster Rhino's and the Durham Craft Beer Festival, picked up an Editor's Circle award at the Golden Taps recently for "significant achievement" in the craft beer sector. This same organization, however, did not choose my pal Don of Brew Ha Ha fame as Beer Writer of the Year, despite me casting three ballots for him. They will eventually know better,)

That Division by Zero from Flying Monkeys? Turned out to be one of the hits of the festival for all four of us and it was certainly the first nut brown I've enjoyed at any beer festival. I could taste pine and citrus on the nose and some tropical fruit, before the nuttiness came out at the finish. The alcohol was slow to warm and it was a deceptively smooth beer. I liked it a lot.

Cat's analysis was far simpler: "It's an 11 per cent Nut Brown. What's not to like?"

Another winner (and another complex mash-up recipe) came from newcomers Manantler Brewing, who, to go with their catchy name, had the coolest tap handles: real antlers. These guys, who take over Church-Key Brewery in Cambellford on brew days while their own brewhouse in downtown Bowmanville is being constructed, brought Pursuit of Abbeyness to the festival, which I loved.

I'll be damned if I could figure the beer out, however - I just knew it was damn good - and had to contact the Manantler guys a few days later for the details.

Three kinds of malts, including Belgian Abbey, to give it that Belgian spice taste, with Columbus (west coast) and Orbit (New Zealand) hops for bitterness. Very adventurous beer. I couldn't pick up the Belgian influence but I liked it a lot anyway.

Cat agreed.

She also liked the beers from Port Perry's Old Flame Brewery, this year's People Choice winners, citing the Dirty Blonde and Rusty, their unfiltered red ale, as top notch.

"Both were really good, so I was glad that a pretty unknown brewery scored a gold," she said. "And the people at Old Flame were very knowledgeable about their beer."

(I asked Cat later what Blair liked at the festival, besides the Division by Zero. "All of them," she said. "They're beer." I'm thinking he and Brian would make a great beer-drinking team.)

And then we closed the festival down - well, almost - with a beer, with Cat and Blair trying some of Buster Rhino's famous pulled pork as well.

It was a wonderful festival, and I have to give props to Darryl, Beth, Sarah and the rest of the staff for another great job at pulling it all together. Unfortunately for me, I didn't remember much after that.

The next morning, after shooing the squirrel off my balcony and popping several Tylenol (extra-strength), I phoned Cat to fill in some blanks.

"How did I get home?"
Blair drove us.
"Where was the car?"
In visitors.
"I mean, where was it downtown?"
Right across the street from the festival.
"Did we drink one of my bottles I got in New York? 'Cause I see the empty here, but I don't remember drinking it.
Yup. We had the Cali-Belgique from Stone. You liked, but you couldn't taste the Belgian yeast.
"Yeah. Lot of that happening last night. Was  I really drunk?"
No, you were fine

R.I.P to this Edinburgh lad

That's when I told her I had forgotten to give her the U.S. beer loot bag I had saved for her and she had left some smokes behind as well. We agreed that we would meet up in the next week or so to sort that out.

And then I told her why I was awake at 7:30 on a post-beer festival morning.

"I got some bad news this morning."

"I'm so sorry. It's Colin, isn't it?""

"He died just after one this morning."

Not a normal post-beer festival morning at all.

                                  *

Funeral for my friend

Colin Robb Dec. 6, 1963-Sept. 21, 2014

I'm saying goodbye today to my friend. My best friend. And the strongest man I ever knew.

I think the hardest thing for Colin during his suffering from that bastard cancer was not the pain he felt - and it did hurt - but instead, the feeling of helplessness.

His whole life was about action. If something needed doing, it got done. From fixing a leak or Anne's tires, keeping his apartment spotlessly clean or reminding his co-workers to watch their p's and q's if they knew what's good for them, Colin Robb was not about to sit around and let life come to him.

And that is why the past few months have been so hard. To Colin, not being able to make things better for himself, for Anne, for Alex, for Tiffany, hell, even for me, was a sign of weakness. And he hated that.

So he suffered.

Before his diagnosis he rarely suffered, be it fools lightly or life in general. Sometimes there was some moaning the morning after a big bender, but even then he usually made miraculous recoveries. He bitched a bit, but suffer? Not our Colin.

My friend always stood tall, even though he stood 5 foot 6 on a good day. I remember one occasion when he was getting into a heated, nose-to-nose ... discussion with a co-worker. His opponent, who was doing his best to soothe the savage beast in front of him, was a bit over six feet and towered over Colin.

Colin didn't care. Big guys never bothered him. He was bigger than all of 'em.

That moment, by the way, was the first time I noticed Colin was short. Seriously. Until then, because of the way he carried himself,  I just assumed he was  taller than me, at the least.

But that's how he was. Big. And he did things big as well

His drinking exploits were legendary, though oddly enough, in all the years I knew him I never once got drunk with him. That may have been wise.

But I sure enabled him. I can't count the times I'd buy him an 18-pack of beer or a 26-er of rye when I was doing my Pizza Dude thing in the evenings, only to get a call from Colin at nine or so - sounding the exact same level of intoxication as he did at 4 - pleading with me to get him another six-pack or another mickey.

And I usually did.

But I'm not here to speak glowingly about alcohol. I write a beer blog. And I often praise beer, glorifying it even.

But this is not one of those stories, because all that drinking did come back to bite him, and while I think genetics played a larger role in him getting the bastard cancer, his alcoholism didn't help.

But even in the face of that formidable opponent Colin showed strength. A dedicated Dad, he never touched a drop on those weekends when Alex was with him, at least in the years I knew him.

And when Colin was diagnosed nearly a year ago, he immediately stopped drinking and never touched another drop.

I think he really wanted to slay that demon so he could concentrate on fighting his toughest battle yet, one that he fought valiantly until Sunday morning, when it took his life.

Colin Robb was starting to make positive changes in his life when he got sick. He was going to get his licence back. He was going to buy himself a truck. He was going to use his skills - that man could operate any machine - to get a real job. one that paid, so he could take care of his family.

And then this.
.
It seems this family was just here, in this very funeral home, to bury brother Doug, also taken far too soon by that bastard cancer. And now we are all here once again to say goodbye.

                                                                      *

Anne, you have been strong for so many months now. You need to stay strong for Tiffany.

Susan. Alex needs you more than ever now.

Alex. buddy. I'm so glad so many of your friends are here to support you. The Robb legacy rests on your shoulders, Champ  And if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.

Sandra, You need to be strong as well because you are the glue that holds this family together. You've got Murph, Justin and Kyle to help you.

And to Colin, my friend, There will be a truck waiting for you up there, one of those early 70s models you loved so much. I'll be there soon enough, so make sure it's all gassed up and ready so we can go for a cruise.

I like the Maple Leafs boxing gloves touch. That's so you. A fighter 'till the end.

I'm happy that your suffering is over. I'm going to miss you buddy.

Rest in Peace Colin.

Earning my Triple Crown (without the aid of a drinking helmet)

I don't know if there's a special ceremony for a man's first Triple IPA, but I thought there should be.

I found Devil Dancer, a 12 per cent hop and malt monster from Founder's Brewing in Kalamazoo, Michigan, at a Consumer`s Beverages outlet in Niagara Falls. Having never tried such a rare treat, I couldn`t pass it up, despite its nearly $10 price for a 355 ml bottle.

Still, I waited several days after I returned home before breaking out the bottle. I didn`t light any candles or perform any special rituals, save for a cryptic message on Facebook stating that it was "time."

A few of my friends yawned or asked "time for what," while others understood the gravity of the situation (Marie) and said they were jealous.

That's the response I was going for.

As for the beer, I can tell you it was definitely something that should have required my drinking helmet. With 112 IBUs, this was powerful stuff.

Devil Dancer Triple IPA (Founders)

The rare and illusive Triple IPA

Pours dark and oily with a creamy, almost stout-like head. Smell is all bitter piney hops. Taste is pine, alcohol, roasted caramel and subtle hints of citrus, though that is the only thing subtle about it. Extremely smooth for a 12 per cent beer and though I can taste the alcohol, it is muted. This is dry-hopped for 26 days using ten different hops and the result is big, bold and boozy, like Andre the Giant on a 100-beer binge.

I followed up that bottle with a bomber of another new (and rare) beer: Racer X from Bear Republic in Cloverdale, California. I've had their excellent Racer 5 IPA before but this IIPA? New to me.

Racer X (Bear Republic)

This beer is not to be taken lightly either, with 100-plus IBUs and 8.3 per cent alcohol, though drinking helmets were not mandatory. It poured a cloudy bronze with a creamy head and a strong citrus aroma on the nose. I got orange, dark fruits and floral flavours, along with pine and sweet malts, more citrus and a bit of booze at the finish. Damn good, and Rate Beer certainly agreed: it scored a perfect 100.

I decided then, even though it was already an hour past my bedtime (four a.m. comes early out here), I had to have an IPA before I hit the sack. I mean, a Triple IPA, followed by a Double IPA? It stood to reason that I had to go for the triple crown, so I chose Finestkind IPA from Smuttynose Brewing in Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

Finestkind IPA (Smuttynose)

This 6.9 per cent beer scored a 96 on Rate Beer, which is not too shabby at all. I got tangerine, light pine and a hint of pineapple. There's a little sweetness with the malts and plenty of tartness with the hops. Not an overpowering beer but nicely balanced. Really good.

Seeing as I still have a bunch of new beers from the trip to rate, I'll get to some of them now. Specifically, the west coast beers. Four from California and one from Seattle, Washington.

Stone IPA

Poured a rich golden with citrus on the nose. Nicely balanced: grapefruit and orange on the tongue, pleasant bitterness on the finish. 6.9 per cent 70-plus IBUs. Pretty awesome beer and Rate Beer agreed. giving it a perfect score.

Hop Ottin' IPA (Anderson Valley)

Pours a deep bronze. Prominent malts hit you first, followed by lemony hops which trickle in all subtle-like. Bready backbone on the finish. But I was expecting a bit more (especially hops) from an IPA rated 97 on Rate Beer.

Unapologetic IPA (Stone Brewing, in collaboration with Beachwood and Heretic Brewers)

This is a big beer. Nine per cent with 90 IBUs, this collaboration scored 98 on Rate Beer. This is also a malt-forward IPA, not normally my style, that I absolutely loved. The booze is masked nicely but there is a solid sweet malt backbone and some potent piney hops at the end to ensure you show this brew respect.

Sweet Baby Jesus! Nine per cent and 90 IBUs and it's soooo smooth. I get dark fruits and bitter orange and some seriously earthy hops. Why can't everyone make beers like this?

Alesmith IPA

Cloudy orange pour, all pine and sweet malts on the nose, powerful hop punch on the palate. Tangerine, plums, tropical fruits, grapefruit vie for top honours with a solid malt base. Top notch IPA with a 100 score. San Diego classic

The Immortal IPA (Elysian)

This northwest beer scored a little lower than its friends - 91 - but wasn't a bad brew at all. It was bright and citrusy with a nice bitter finish.

Cheers!

Border beer stores are the bomb for beer lovers

Yes, fellow beer lovers, there is a Santa Claus.

Santa lives and works at Beers of the World, an enchanted place in Rochester, New York where presents - in the form of IPAs, Stouts and other exotic elixirs - are awarded to all the needy people of the world. At least the ones willing to drive to Rochester to get them.

This Santa Claus, regrettably, doesn't deliver.

As soon as I decided on Rochester as the destination for a three-day getaway I was planning with my son, I searched for the best beer store in the city.

Seriously. Doesn't everybody?

I discovered Beers of the World on the first google search and one look at the website, where the beers are itemized by country, sealed the deal.

Rochester, N.Y.

This place is what beer stores could be and should be. It's Heaven, Eden and the Promised Land, all rolled into one. Not to get all religious with my metaphors, but I'm drinking a couple of heavenly IIPAs from that place as I write this and I'm feeling real spiritual.

One look inside this place and you'll be a convert too.

I've been to awesome beer stores south of the border before: Total Wine in Orlando is an amazing place, but three-quarters of the building is reserved for stuff other than beer. Beers of the World is ALL beer. All the time.

I found beers - especially IPAs and all its cousins - from nearly every state in the union and bought as many as I could fit in my shopping cart. Stone, Ballast Point and Alesmith from San Diego; Founders and Bells from Michigan; Smuttynose from New Hampshire and Dogfish Head from Delaware; just to name a few.

I scored beers some international beers as well, though Brew Dog's Punk IPA (Scotland) and 8 Wired's Hopwired (New Zealand) were not to be found on this trip. Next time.

My bill was $113 and well worth every penny.

Two days later we were in Niagara Falls and though I had hardly made a dent in my stash, I decided to top up my take-home case and called in at the Consumer's Beverages Center.

Consumer's Beverages is much smaller than Beers of the World - convenience store sized, compared to grocery superstore sized - but what it lacks in size it makes up in quality.

This is the place I found Alesmith IPA (still in my fridge waiting for the call) and Bell's most awesome Two Hearted Ale. Both brews scored perfect 100s on Rate Beer. It's also where I found Devil Dancer from Founders, a 12 per cent Triple IPA and my first IIIPA ever. More on that in a future blog.

Niagara Falls, N.Y.

While Beers of the World had an incredible choice in singles, the Consumer;s Beverages outlet carried mostly six-packs and an amazing assortment of hard-to-find bomber bottles.

Nearly fifty bucks later I\m headed back to the hotel, trying to figure out how I'm going to stash the extra bottles for the next day's border crossing. Worth every penny and worth every risk.

We really need beer stores like Beers of the World and Consumer's Beverages in Ontario.

Truly a beer geek's paradise.

                                                                         *

I have a ton of beers to review but for this blog I'll just talk about the New York State beers, plus one from nearby Cleveland and the Two Hearted Ale from Bell's Brewery.

Commodore Perry is the signature IPA from Great Lakes Brewery in Cleveland. (Not to be confused with Canada's Brewery of the Year, Great Lakes in Toronto, as I very nearly was last spring. ) I got citrus on the nose, along with grapefruit and some tropical fruit. It was nicely hopped but not overpowering, with a nice bitter finish.

Seven point five per cent ABV with 80 IBUs, the beer scored 94 on Rate Beer.

Next up was Flower Power IPA from Ithaca Brewery, which turned out to be the best of the New York bunch.

The NY State Champion IPA

Flower Power scored a 98 on Rate Beer and with 7.5 per cent ABV and 75 IBUs, it packed a pretty good punch. It poured a deep amber with a thin head and it produced big citrus hops and lots of pine that smack you upside the head right away. Then it was some malt sweetness meeting a dynamite resiny bitterness at the finish. A real solid IPA.

The Kind IPA from Three Heads was next and this 6.8 per cent brew was hoppy on the nose with a medium bitterness. A decent if unspectacular beer.

Lake Placid IPA was next and while I declared Flower Power to be the state champion, this beer (6.8 per cent, 64 IBUs) did not put me in a New York state of mind. It poured very dark with a creamy head and the first taste is caramel malts with subdued citrus hops and a bit of a metallic finish. Not my thing.

Southern Tier's 2XIPA got me back on the winning track, delivering big piney hops right away and citrus and bitter hops on the palate. Super clean and very smooth. Damn good.

The final New York beer was Hoptical Illusion from Blue Point Brewery. Not to be confused with Hoptical Illusion from Flying Monkeys in Barrie, which, by the way, was found on the shelves at Consumer's Beverages.

This beer, which scored just 89 on Rate Beer, was tasty, though not as hoppy as advertised. Malts and piney hops battle it out with lots of carbonation, and though there are hints of citrus up front, there wasn't a lot of bitterness on the finish. Drinkable.

Two Hearted Ale from Bell's Brewery in Kalamazoo may be the best IPA of the trip and the first six was so good I went back the next day to grab another. There are still a few in my fridge today. Mmmmm...

This beer, which scored 100 on Rate Beer (with 100 points for style as well!) gave me huge - and I mean huge - citrusy hops right off the bat. I picked up some tropical fruits and a floral bouquet, but it was mostly citrus-grapefruit with a bit of lemon, along with a big bitter finish.

Smooth. Outstanding. It deserved its perfect score.

Cheers!

Scots kicking it auld skool with family, friends, freedom (and beer)

The night drove on with songs and clatter. And aye, the ale was growing better
Tam o' Shanter, Robbie Burns

"Tell our enemies that they may take our lives but they will never take our freedom"
William Wallace (played by American-born Australian of mostly Irish stock Mel Gibson) in Braveheart

With historic independence votes, family reunions, legendary beer writers, prodigious feats of strength and a scotch ale with a Canadian twist,  it's been a very Scottish summer for me and my family.

Thursday's Scottish vote for independence was a massive international event with huge implications for the Scots in particular, as well as for every UK citizen.

But until the last few weeks - at about the same time the No side realized the working class people were overwhelmingly voting Yes - it was a back-of-the-mind story happening an ocean away. I didn't really pay attention to it all until just a few days ago.

I joked with my Scottish pals about independence, shouting "Freedom" in my best Mel Gibson voice, but in my heart I believed Scotland to be better off in the Union and was happy with the result, with No forces taking 55 per cent of the vote.

Scots certainly took the vote seriously, with nearly 85 per cent of eligible voters casting ballots, a number that is about double what Canadians get for a hotly contested election over here.

So while the referendum was historic, the highlight of my Scottish season was the reunion we hold every year or so to catch up on gossip, take a dip in the pool, drink a beer or two, and most importantly, to remember where we came from: a wee seaside village so hard on Scotland's North Sea coast it gets wet dreams whenever the tide rolls in.

All of us Canadians (and a few Americans as well) who can trace our roots back to the enchanted village of Pennan make a point of being available the second weekend in August for the party - dubbed the Gatt Family Reunion - which was held this year at my cousin's home in Toronto's posh Bluffs neighbourhood.

The common demominator for everyone in attendance is my Nana, Jean Hendry (nee Gatt), who hailed from Pennan before marrying my grandfather, Fred Hendry, a townie from nearby Fraserburgh.

Nana, who would have turned 111 in January, never forgot her roots, and if you see the picture below, you can understand why. Still, beautiful can be dangerous and with the wild open ocean in front and towering cliffs that threaten to crush the village's single street behind (a very real concern in recent years), it is not a place for the soft.

Pennan, Aberdeenshire, Scotland. Rugged and beautiful

Which made it a perfect plunder, pillage and holiday spot for marauding Vikings of a thousand years ago (we like to think we still have Norse blood flowing in our veins) who sailed here for the fishing and the women, as well as the view.

Some still do, though less so for the fishing these days. Tourists still come for the view, as well as the famous red telephone box from the 80s cult film classic, Local Hero. (That phone box, by the way, was originally a prop but after much public outcry installed permanently on the village's main street, six years after the movie's release in 1983.)

Visitors also come to this part of north-east Scotland for the beer - Brew Dog's Punk IPA is one of Scotland's (and Fraserburgh's) greatest gifts to the world - but I digress. There's more to family reunions than beer and nice views after all.

There's family, to start. I have aunts (no uncles left, alas) and four generations of cousins to chat up - most of whom I only see at these parties - and for the older members of the family, there's always the fear I won't see them again.

There are also the newcomers to the family, and I brought some of them to the reunion. I even used them as fodder for trash talk.

"The Hendrys are going to kick ass at this party," I crowed to Jamie Lyn, my slightly confused cousin in the days leading up to the event, citing my three awesome grandkids and my daughter-in-law Katie, who was three weeks away from delivering my fourth grandchild - darling Josie - to the world.

"I'm bringing a very pregnant girl and a major announcement from a member of the family. What are YOU bringing?"

As it happened,  Jamie and family already knew about the big announcement (my brother Brian shocked us all by tying the knot this summer in Anguilla) and, as I mentioned, Josie hadn't made her appearance yet. So I knew what Jamie's answer would be. And I knew if I had put money on my boast I was going to lose, because she was bringing her daughter Addison, The Adorable One.

Damn stars make it hard to get
a decent pic of the Adorable One

Addison, who just turned one (her birthday party was held the day before our reunion), is the most photographed child in the history of photography. And in each of these pics she is absolutely adorable.

She never seems to fuss, fidget or fight and she has a Mona Lisa smile in every picture. It is uncanny, really.

With a house full of women to dote on her - cousin Logan struck out on his own, leaving only Addison's father Shawn to represent the male influence - it's no bloody wonder, I suppose.

So I raised a can of Red Racer IPA (see how I bring it all back to beer?) to Addison, still adorable even after soiling my second best shirt with the remains of her chocolate cake dessert, and went back to socializing and seeing what everyone was drinking.

I had made sure to bring some decent IPAs to the party - a couple of Red Racers and a Mad Tom - figuring any freebies would be the usual commercial crap. But brother Brian surprised me with a cooler filled with some of Keith's Hop Series as well as some German beers with my enjoyment in mind. Not my cup o' tea, but I appreciated the gesture and the cooler proved quite popular with some, notably my budding rock star cousin Logan (gratuitous plug - check out the band St. Andrews and how Scottish is that?), who eagerly enjoyed the Keiths, while announcing he was starting to embrace the craft beer scene.

(Logan also had this to say about beer and beer drinking: "I must be getting old. I used to be able to drink a case easy. Now if I have ten I'm done." He is, I think, 23. But I did say he was a rock star.)

I also ran into Peter, a Texan who married into the family a while back. My dad mentioned to him that I write a beer blog - "IPA Tales," he was told ("Dad, you remembered!"), a tidbit that perked up Peter. "That's my favourite style," he said, happily announcing Stone IPA as his top choice.

Hello! You need to come to all the reunions, Peter. Between the two of us we'll change the world. Or at least my clan's taste in beer.

(Seeing as this is a Scottish blog, I should to point out that famed San Diego brewery Stone has collaborated with Brew Dog several times. Just to bring it all back to Aberdeenshire and that Circle of Beer thing.)

We talked about things other than beer at the reunion, but at this multi-generational house (presided over by my Auntie Jan, the family matriarch) the topics tend to gravitate to kids and their issues more than Scottish independence. Scotland is near and dear to this family - five of the ladies just returned from a Scottish vacation - but independence is an issue best left to those who live there. But that's just me.

Our kids though? They are our future. Even the kids who pranked my cousin Christine's house that night, plastering it with for sale signs. Them too, especially as it could have been her kids anyway.

                                                                                                                    *

This is what a Beer Writer of the Year looks like in
New Zealand. Yes, he gets paid to do this

The other newsworthy event (with a slightly Scottish spin) that took place this summer was the selection of Neil Miller as Beer Writer of the Year by the Brewer's Guild of New Zealand.

Neil, a new pal, was a famed Kiwi writer with an thing for moose touching before this honour. Now, while his ungulate obsession and general love for all things Canadian remains unabated, his writing status has been upgraded to Legendary.

And well deserved at that.

Neil's Malthouse blogs are always funny and informative, with a two-part tale dubbed The Greyhound Story standing out this year. In this, Neil regales us with the story of how, down on his luck at the track, he watched his dogs finish 1-2-3 - a rare trifecta - only to see the race scratched and his winning tickets invalidated because of alleged shenanigans on the track. The worst part about it, he lamented, was that he had no part in the fix.

It seems the 'rabbit' fell off the motorized rail, causing the three leading greyhounds to attack it, with the next dog bounding into the middle of the ground and "rather brutally" killing a real goose. "My dogs ran on," Neil remembered with pride, "mainly because they were so far behind the pack they probably did not see the rabbit or the goose, All these soon to be gloriously victorious creatures probably heard was me cheering them on from the most prestigious seating area in the ground."

His Honourary Canadian title (photoshop skills courtesy of fellow Musketeer Steve) was awarded shortly after being named Beer Writer of the Year and was given partly for that momentous achievement and partly because of his self-proclaimed infatuation with us Canucks. Mr. Miller's favourite Canadian, William Shatner, inexplicably failed to acknowledge the beer writing crown but number two on the list, Stephen Beaumont, the world's richest beer writer (in prose if not in actual salary) was effusive in his praise for the man.

Neil Miller - our honourary Canadian

(Somewhere in that thread I inadvertently challenged Beaumont to prove his own Canadian status by humming the Hockey Night in Canada theme, and got this response back: "Of course I can! Dah, da-dah-dah. Dah dah dah dah dah dah. Dah, dah da-dah..." and so forth. I'm sorry I doubted you Stephen.

Neil, you are now the fourth-most famous native of Bathurst, Scotland, after Sir James Young Simpson (the inventor of chloroform); John Newland (who parlayed the profits from a slave-laboured sugar cane plantation into fame as the founder of Bathurst Academy); and racing legend Dario Franchitti.

Any time you want to visit us in the frozen north, I can guarantee you great beer, at least one moose to touch, and probably Beaumont.

With his fame and fortune he may even be able to provide Shatner.

                                                                                 *

My Scottish summer had its start earlier in July when the J Man and I got our kilts on and ventured north to the hills of Uxbridge for the Durham Highland Games.

Okay, We really didn't get wear kilts. It's just a figure of speech. But I would of worn one if one had been available. Seriously.

I have more hair than this guy
but otherwise, pretty similar

Anyway, after seeing the sights we settled in to watch some of the Heavy Games; specifically the two hammer throw events, where one dude - far from the biggest guy on the field - absolutely dominated. He was aided a bit by his cheering section: a woman with non-stop chatter who didn't actually praise her man so much as trash talk his opponents. The fact that the beer tent was just a few metres away might have had something to do with that. Can't say for sure.

I also couldn't keep my eyes off  a small circle adjacent to the grandstand containing three boulders weighing 80 pounds, 150 pounds and 200-plus pounds, along with a sign that implored me to "give it a go."

At this point my mind is racing with the possibilities, both good and bad. Showing off by lifting heavy things is a rite of passage between father and son, but on the other hand, I'm 54, out of shape and sporting a left knee that is both arthritic and meniscusly-challenged.


So avoiding embarrasment is also important.

With Jake and the whole crowd (maybe 40 people) looking on, I approached the first stone and set myself for maximum effort, only to hoist the rock with ease.

"Try the next one sir?" asked our friendly emcee. I wasn't going to, but I was on a roll here and damned if I didn't get this one - dubbed the Stone of Pain - onto my shoulder as well, though not without a great deal of huffing and puffing and wheezing and grunting.

My eyes were bulging out of the sockets and I knew my back would get payback in the morning, but I got it done.  Mission accomplished.

"Would you like to try the Great Stone of Durham sir? Just 200 or so pounds."

"Next year," I said. "I'll be wearing a kilt for that one."

                                                                *

I'll wrap this long-winded blog with a review of a Scottish beer, Innis & Gunn's Canadian Cherrywood Finish.

This one came on the recommendation of pal Don of Brew Ha Ha fame, who had tried several of Innis & Gunn's offerings and declared this one the best of the bunch, calling it "liquid dynamite."

I have to agree. This brew is matured over Canadian Black Cherrywood for 49 days (not 50) and then cold-conditioned while drizzling maple syrup into the concoction. At 7.4 per cent, it is - like all things Scottish and Canadian - not to be taken lightly.

It pours a dark bronze and I get all sweet malts on the nose - no hops to speak of - with hints of cherries and aromatic wood. Go figure. Really, really silky smooth on the tongue and a really outstanding beer.

Alba Gu Broth!

Getting lost (and found) in all the right places

For a guy whose part-time job is delivering stuff, I sure get lost a lot in strange places.

I know Oshawa like the back of my hand and I get around Toronto - which I haven't lived in for more than 20 years - with the greatest of ease. Put me in unfamiliar territory, and all bets are off.

Just ask my son Jake.

I got lost often on Florida's highways on our trip last spring and even took a few wrong turns walking, as my experience (culverts, quicksands and six-packs oh my) in an Orlando ditch will attest. But I think our mini-vacation in upstate New York (we got back today) takes the cake.

We crossed the border okay but once past Lewiston I got lost trying to get to the south shore of Lake Ontario on our way to Rochester. Several times, in fact, before we ended up in the middle of nowhere at a bar called Somewhere to ask for directions.

(Yes, I am a man and I have no problem asking for directions. The truth is I have a lot of experience at it.)

So we got directions from the bartender, while I enjoyed a Southern Tier IPA - bars in the middle of nowhere in the USA (at least the ones called Somewhere) have IPAs on tap, and they cost one dollar for a half-pint - and Jake was regaled with hockey stories from Tony, his new pal and the proud uncle of a lad soon to be drafted in the first round of the NHL. That's what he said, anyway.

So away we went from Somewhere with our directions, only to get lost at least twice more before finding the right road to Rochester. (We also got perilously close to running out of gas on the way but we don't really need to talk about that.)

Somewhere bar in Youngstown, N.Y.

Once settled in Rochester (I found the motel with no difficulty, I am proud to say) I told Jacob that I was going on a beer run to the Beers of the World outlet (the subject of a future blog), located south-east of us. Looked pretty straightforward on the map and I told the J Man I would be back in a half-hour or so.

It was a little farther than I expected, but I was there in about 20 minutes. Easy peasy.

It was on the way back that I ran into more troubles.

You have to understand that Rochester is littered with highways. There's the I-90, the 390, the 490, the 590, the Inner Loop, the Outer Loop plus some expressways and thruways that appear on maps but don't seem to actually exist.

I'd say Rochesterites can probably get around their city pretty quick with all those options. For visitors - especially visitors with a habit of getting lost - it's a recipe for disaster.

Lanes appear and disappear without warning and even after getting off the highway to try the city streets I had troubles. The city is not exactly designed on a grid system and, coupled with my sense of direction which had gone to hell an hour before, panic was setting in.

I had been gone quite a while and I knew my son would be getting worried.

I finally found a sketchy motel - I mean really, REALLY sketchy - and asked the clerk for directions to Lyell Avenue and my hotel. "It's just up the road about a quarter-mile," said the lady from her barbed-wire adamantium cage, giving me that "are you on drugs?" look.

"Uh, okay. Thank you," I stammered, relief in my voice.

(Lyell Avenue, by the way, got an entry in Rochester's Wikipedia listing:

Once an Italian-American neighbourhood, there have recently been efforts to improve the quality of life here. It is known largely for its crime, especially instances of prostitution and drug sales.

(For someone who lives two minutes away from Oshawa's crackhead and hooker headquarters, I felt (almost) right at home. But I digress.)

Anyway, I made it back to the motel, mindful of 12 year-old Jake's safety during my long absence, only to hear him say he didn't know I had left. Kids.

I had no roaming services so I had taken steps before we left to ensure the trip from Rochester to Niagara Falls, where we finished our vacation, went off without a hitch -  I took the low road all the way across the State. Lyell Avenue, also known as Highway 31, took me straight to the Falls.

Niagara Falls - the American side

No problems. I was happy. Jake was ecstatic.

But my woes continued on our walking trip to the American Falls that day. You'd think finding Niagara-Bloody-Falls would be a simple task. I thought so too, having seen it from the other side a dozen times or so, but we ended up circling the downtown core for half an hour before finally discovering the way, which involved entering a State Park and then a government building before reaching the promised land.

The next day, after crossing the border with my 24 delicious IPAs and a few - okay, a dozen - extras that we weren't going to tell the friendly Customs Officials about, we stopped on the Canadian side of the Falls to take some pictures.

And before we left I decided to take some downtown shots and parked my car in the duty free parking lot to do so.

Yeah, you know where this is going.

Upon leaving I discovered I had no choice but to go back to the American side (paying another toll in the process) before turning around and re-entering Canada once more.

The first time through I had no troubles. This time I got asked a lot of questions about my trip. Did I have a hotel receipt to prove I was gone the requisite 48 hours? (No.)

Did I have a receipt for the beer I purchased? (Yes.) Fortunately for me it was for the beer I bought in Niagara Falls. The Rochester purchase alone would have put me way over my limit. Though in my defence, I did drink many of those beers before I came back to Canada.

In the end, after I told the young lady - who was absolutely gorgeous, I should point out - about my love of IPAs and she had a good laugh about the nearly $10 price of one of them ("That's a Triple IPA," I told her), she let me back into Canada.

And once on familiar soil we made it home with getting lost once.

I think the only one who was not surprised at that was Jake. But then he's always had more faith in me than I ever did.

Thank God somebody does.

Cheers!

Cosplayers and Stan Lee - but no damn Moralite

I had marked Fan Expo down on my calendar months ago, but the closer I got to Toronto's biggest comics and pop culture event, the more I realized I was there for the beer.

Moralite, to be exact. That's Dieu du Ciel's glorious IPA collaboration with The Alchemist, the famed Vermont brewery that brought the world Heady Topper. And it was listed on the online menu at the Beer Bistro in downtown Toronto, just a short walk from Fan Expo's digs at the Metro Toronto Convention Centre.

So when I got to Union Station, that's where I went first, all giddy with excitement. Giddy like P Diddy after he discovers his net worth jumped 20 per cent while he was napping on the couch. That kind of giddy.


And then the bartender laid down the bad news: "We're out of that. Sorry sir."

Damn. I had tried this beer just once before, at C'est What after a spring comic con adventure with fellow Musketeers Cat and Don. An if memory serves, it was a half-pint that I had  to share, so I was eager to try it again.

She is portraying ...um...
I dunno and don't care

Oh well. The only IPA on the menu that I hadn't tried was Bellwood's Boogie Monster IIPA, but the price tag of nearly $20 was a little rich for my blood, so I had a 10 Bitter Years from Black Oak and headed to the convention centre.

I still enjoy comic conventions well enough, but once I picked up a few issues I needed and toured Artist's Alley for the comic art I love (a Lee Weeks Daredevil and a Mike Del Mundo Elektra went home with me), I was pretty much done.

Well, except for the people watching. I'd like to say once you've seen your first dozen or so cosplayers, you've seem them all, but it seems the participants outdid themselves this year. There was a ton of outstanding costumes, including a few that were all original. And most of the other cosplayers were representing characters I never heard of. Sure as hell weren't comic characters, that's for sure.

But when you look like this woman on the right, who cares?

There was one more item on my Fan Expo list I had to check off before I left: Stan Lee.

At 91, Stan Lee, creator or co-creator of nearly every Marvel character and a bigger draw than any of them (yes, even a bigger draw than Scarlett Johansson), is still the man. Nowadays, conventions are what he does and interacting with the fans is what he does best.

The Man

One doesn't go to a Stan Lee presentation to hear anything controversial or even new (though he did slip in a few teases about some upcoming Marvel movies - Black Panther AND Black Widow films green-lighted? Maybe...), but the fans in attendance - some 2,000 strong - ask the same questions year after year so they don't care.

It's Stan Lee, man.

Once I got my Stan Lee fix, I headed for the door but instead of turning into Union Station for the long GO Train ride back to Oshawa, I kept going east on Front Street in the direction of C'est What.

After all, if that's where Moralite was found last spring, it couldn't hurt to try again.

Alas, no Moralite. But I did have a Hop Addict from County Durham (meh) and a Smashbomb Atomic from Flying Monkeys (outstanding as usual) to help wash down a delicious chicken dinner.

Maybe next year Stan and I can go out bar-hopping after the convention. Maybe we run into Scarlett and that woman pictured above and we all drink Moralite from Dieu du Ciel together.

Maybe next year.

                                                                      *

I have a long list of new beers I haven't reviewed yet, mostly because I haven't written anything in a while. Here's a couple or three.

I saw Black Oak's Break of Dawn APA on the chalkboard at Buster Rhino's and I figured if it was from Black Oak, it must be good.

Break of Dawn from Black Oak:
An outstanding session beer

When I'm right, I'm right. This beer was outstanding.

Hopped up so much it tasted juicy, this beer had big grapefruit flavours along with some pine and citrus to give it a wonderful bitter finish. At just 4.5 per cent it is a fantastic session ale rivalling All Day IPA from Founders Brewing of Michigan for the best under-five per cent beer I've ever tried.

Unfortunately it was a summer release and now it's gone.

Something new from Rogue Ales showed up at my local LCBO recently, so I had to give it a go. OREgasmic Ale, a six per cent ale packing a powerful 90 IBU punch, was brewed to showcase Oregon's hops, malts and barley and uses nothing but in the recipe.

It pours a dark bronze with a creamy head and tastes thick and malty, with lots of caramel, some dark fruits, a touch of citrus and a hint of spice. Really tasty stuff.

Another newbie I found in the liquor store was Hop Bot IPA from Hop City. At seven per cent and 70 IBUs (along with five west coast hops used in the brewing), this beer came with some lofty expectations.

Alas, I didn't get the insane amounts of citrus as advertised, Very little, actually, though there was lots of pine and decent bitterness. It poured dark (and a little evil looking) and I picked up more tropical fruit than citrus, along with prominent sweet malts. I liked it, but it wasn't really a west coast IPA.

Cheers!