Butter tarts and the IPA

that broke his brain

Sometimes the best part of any journey is found not at the destination but in the treasures found along the way. Or in this case, the one's found on the way back.


Northumberland Hills Brewery is a brand new brew house in Cobourg, just a 40-minute drive - 35 minutes if I'm in a hurry - to the east. I used to work in Cobourg a quarter-century ago while serving as the Sports Editor of the neighbouring Port Hope newspaper, so I'm familiar with the area, one of my favourites east of the GTA. And when I heard last month the new guys had an IPA, I just had to go.

Hoppy Go Lucky it's called, and it wasn't bad, as I did go home with a couple of bottles. But it's no IPA and brewmaster Rick Bailey admitted as much about his 5 per cent beer, calling it "more of a pale ale."

It' a blend of Cascade and Saaz hops - which is unusual right off the top - and it provided muted hops with some sweet bready malts on the tongue. Decent, but I'm waiting for the upcoming release of its Moonstone IPA - this is homegrown Cascade hops (from Rick's back yard) mixed with Galaxy - before making a return trip.

Speaking of return trips, I made mine via the connecting road to Port Hope and along the way I spotted a roadside shop called Betty's Pies and Tarts. Tarts? Butter tarts? I had to stop in.

So I did, making a U-turn to get there while the rain, a steady drizzle when I left and now a veritable monsoon, soaked me to the skin on the 15 foot run to the door.

Betty's Pies & Tarts - billed as the "best butter tarts in the Kawarthas - was worth every drop of rain. I ended up buying a six pack, with four different kinds of butter tarts, a raspberry tart and the prize of the pack, a peanut butter and jam tart.

Nectar of the Gods. It was that good. And the tart judges whoever and wherever they are, agreed as the tart qualified for the prestigious Royal Agricultural Winter Fair this November.

Sounds like a good excuse to go next month. They have a wine competition as well, and with several pop-up restaurants and pubs happening during the week-long event, they'll probably have a few craft beers as well.

As to the overpowering smell of horse, cow and pig shit; you'll get used to it.

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When I read Chris Staten's review in DRAFT Magazine of a new beer from San Diego's legendary Stone Brewing, I felt weak in the knees. The beer, Stone 18th Anniversary IPA, is packed with tropical fruity flavours. So much so, in fact, that the writer - the magazine's Beer Editor - started questioned the future of IPAs, his own mortality; that sort of thing.


You can read the link here (The End of IPAs As We Know It) and suffice to say, it was also the IPA that broke his brain, so I must try it. The good news is I'm heading to a store across the border which traditionally carries many of Stone's offerings this weekend. Here's hoping.

The beer made me think of a few others on my bucket list (if you count 20 as a few), starting with another San Diego beer: Green Flash Green Bullet, a Triple IPA that doesn't fit the usual mold of super boozy brews. At 10.1 per cent ABV and 100-plus IBUs, that's asking a lot, but this new release promises plenty of big citrus hops, a solid bready malt backbone while being "impressively" non-boozy. Must have.

Also from Stone: Enjoy By IPA, which includes the best-before date in the beer's name while being totally awesome. But it is from Stone Brewing. And staying in San Diego, I need to enjoy Grapefruit Sculpin from Ballast Point, which is their wonderful Sculpin brewed with grapefruit rind for "extra" citrus power.

Some of the usual suspects on anyone's wish list include Pliny the Elder and its rare Triple IPA nephew, Pliny the Younger from Russian River, as well as the IPA that started it all for brewmaster Vinnie Cilurzo, Blind Pig. The world famous Heady Topper from The Alchemist is here and while we're in Vermont, damn near anything from Hill Farmstead (but I'll go with Abner (IIPA) and Susan (IPA).

There is also Hopslam from Bell Brewery in Michigan, and two brews from Three Floyds in Indiana: Dreadnought IIPA and one of the world's best pale ales, Zombie Dust. If you can call a 6.2 per cent ale 'just' a pale ale.

Internationally, I'm dying to get my hands on Punk IPA, the Brew Dog beer from Fraserburgh, Scotland. Only my father's home town. There is also Nogne IPA from Norway (yes, they make great IPAs in Scandinavia) and a trio of beers from New Zealand:  Hop Zombie from Epic; Hopwired from 8Wired; and Pernicious Weed from Garage Project, just to name three.

I haven't forgotten Canadian IPAs: I'm just doing a better job of whittling down the list.

There is Yakima IPA from Le Castor Brewery in Quebec (Canada's highest rated IPA), Sartori Harvest from Victoria's excellent Driftwood Brewery, and Humulous Ludicrous, a IIPA from Winnipeg's Half Pints Brewery.

And I would be remiss if I didn't add Cockpuncher, the Imperial IPA from Toronto's Indie Ale House. I've has their Instigator IPA - fantastic - but not Cockpuncher. My 12 year-old son, who has heard many of the crazy-ass names for the beers I've tried, is convinced Cockpuncher is the craziest.

Reason enough to drink to that.

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There’s an apartment building on Oshawa’s west side with a second-floor balcony that’s just a little bit lower – okay, a lot lower – than your average second-floor balcony. I know how low because I walked into it about a dozen years ago, and ever since then I have been very wary of its presence each time I visit.

I was there on delivery Friday night and I steered a wide berth around the concrete structure as I walked from the parking lot to the front door. That’s when things got ugly. There was no answer from the buzzer and I realized I left my phone in the car so I had to go back to retrieve it. On my return, with my head down and my attention focused on dialing the customer’s phone number, I walked straight into the balcony.

The impact cracked the top of my head so hard I went down on the grass like I was shot and I’m pretty sure I blacked out for a second. I lay on the grass for what seemed like an eternity – it was probably three or four seconds – before I thought someone might think I was dead. So I got up, my head throbbing badly and my legs wobbling slightly, to hear a guy across the street yelling, “Dude! Are you all right?”

The customer, who was at the front door by this point, was concerned at first and then, seeing I was alive, amused. So was my ex-wife when I told her this story an hour or so later, a bag of ice still melting on my coconut, when she called to see when I was picking up Jake. “Didn’t you do that before? she asked, trying hard to suppress the giggles.

“Yes,” I answered. “Same balcony, too.”

This time Christian laughed out loud.