Polkapalooza mania hits Bowmanville (and the rest of the GTA!)

When the Polkeroos come to town it's a bit like a visit from royalty.

Locals make plans to be there when the Polks arrive, just so they can tell their children and grandchildren about the time they got a glimpse of Drunk and Mrs. Polkeroo.

Their fame has spread far beyond the world of craft beer too and part of the reason is the Polks are not like those stuffy monarchs with the Royal Wave and the "tut-tut, how about a spot 'o tea" stuff. They are a decidedly more down to earth, fan-friendly celebrity couple, much like Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.

Rather, more like the dearly departed Queen Mum, god bless her hard drinking soul.

For the sake of Kathryn, we'll go with Harry and Meghan. Robert's probably good either way.

Anyway, craft beer's royal couple kicked off Polkapalooza 3 - The Rise of Polk - on March 11 in my end of the woods. More accurately, at my once and always favourite brewery, Manantler Brewing in Bowmanville.

So of course I had to be there.

The Polkeroo Fan Club at Manantler Brewing

I haven't seen the Polks since the Sunday Pub Crawl in the Hammer last fall, though I see Kathryn's smiling face most days on Twitter and Robert pops into my living room practically every evening, thanks to his regular Drunk Polkeroo podcasts.

Which is how I learned about The Rise of Polk, their annual week-long brewery marathon that this year saw them visit 61 breweries all over the province in a 2,400 kilometre discovery of beer.

As Robert put it, it was "a whole lotta laughs as we took a week to live the dream of being explorers and chroniclers of the liquid arts."

I arrived a few minutes after opening at 11 on this beautiful March morning to see Robert and Kathryn at the bar with a flight of beers already in front of them. My pal Josh was there too, so I wasn't the first Polkarette ... um ...Polkarooney ...fan of the Polks to make an appearance.

Nor was I the last as my friends Jen and Shannon (World's Greatest Bank Teller) showed up a few minutes later. That's also when Matt, Manantler's Social Media Maven, Chief Bottle Washer and Vice-President, arrived and immediately started bringing out bottles of beer (from behind a "magic wall," as Robert explained it in his blog Rise of Polk - Day 1) for us to share.

I'm going from memory, but there was Seismic Narwhal IIPA, Ketchin' Zeez Oatmeal Stout, Biscuit in the Basket California Common (the second collaboration with former NHLer Bryan Bickell), 42 Francs Belgian Table Beer and Boots Electric IPA. I may have missed one.

And that's how it went for the next couple of hours in what was supposed to be a half-hour stop.

It's not like they could rush out of Manantler anyway. Matt was his usual charming host self and the conversation - mostly about brewing and the craft beer industry - was flowing like a just-cleaned tap line.

But there were schedules to keep and the Polks had seven more breweries to visit before they could take their treasures back to Hamilton, so eventually they had to take their leave.

As did I, as I think I had told my son when I left in the morning I was heading out to get him lunch. Pretty sure he was sleeping when I said it so no hurry, but I still needed to get home.

The rest of the group followed Robert and Kathryn to Sir Monty's Brewhouse in nearby Courtice for the second stop. Josh had to take off after the Sir Monty's visit, but Jen and Shannon - true Polkaroogans ...um ...Polkaroodites ... fans - stayed for the whole day.

Mrs. (Kathryn) and Drunk (Robert) Polkeroo

That's a lot of breweries and a lot of flights.

The rest of the agenda on Day 1 of the Rise of Polk included some of my favourite breweries: Brock Street, 5 Paddles, Little Beasts, Town, Falcon and Rouge River.

And that was just the first day in what was a busy week for our Royal Couple of Beer. Somewhere along the way the Drunk Polkaroo even managed to squeeze in his 45th birthday in what was a record-breaking 61 brewery tour, from Windsor to Bowmanville and from Niagara Falls to Muskoka.

That will really test a marriage, huh Robert?

He agreed, calling Kathryn "the real hero" of Polkapalooza.

"Navigator, cookie provider, tea opener and constant companion - aside from those short cat naps after an Imperial Stout or two," Robert said. "We're still married and still having fun."

More beer and more beer friends

For a guy who complains a lot about not having money, I've sure been spending a lot of time drinking in the past few weeks.

The night before I met up with the Polkaroos I popped in to Buster Rhino's (and not for the first time that week) for a cold one. I was finishing my pint and getting ready to go when Matt (Bowmanville's Greatest Homebrewer) came in with a pal, who turned out to be Tim, Town Brewery's Brewmaster.

Matt hard at work

Sure, I'll stick around a bit guys.

The fact that Tim offered to buy a couple of bottles from the beer fridge may have helped my decision to stay for a bit - I cannot lie.

And when my friend Shannon (SugarLipz) joined our table we had ourselves a little party. Old Flame Red for Shannon and Halo Brewing (Toronto) for the rest of us, as Tim picked up the tab for bottles of Magic Missile APA and (I think) New Wave IPA.

Good friends, good beer, good food too. It's what keeps me coming back.

I was back a couple more times in the following week (with a visit to Brew Wizards as well) but the highlight of my week came on the Tuesday night when the lovely Candice sent me a message telling me that Dr. Juice was back in the bottle shop at 5 Paddles.

Candice being Candice

Now Dr. Juice has a back story, especially when it concerns Candice, myself and everyone else at last December's Whitby Craft Brewery Invasion 2017.  You see, there was beer left behind in Don's hotel room and in the days and weeks that followed, most of that beer found its way back to its rightful owners.

Or was ruthlessly consumed. I'm looking at you Don.

But there was one lone bottle - purchased by Candice - of Dr. Juice, the Imperial IPA from 5 Paddles that was one of the hits of the day, that never made it back

The bottle spent a month or so in Josh's fridge before it ended up in mine for another spell while Candice and I made plans to get together to drink it.

And one night I was out of beer and thirsty and couldn't help myself. So I popped the cap of this now four month-old beer and drank it. I did ask Candice for her blessing, but as that was after I opened it I'm not sure that counted.

Dr. Juice

In any event, she told me to enjoy it (I did) and then a few days later I got the message that it was back in the brewery and that I should get my ass over to her place and enjoy it fresh.

So I did, happily whiling away a couple of hours in the company of Candice, her two adorable pups and her collection of succulents (cacti and the like), not to mention her stash of great beer.

We shared a bottle of the aforementioned Dr. Juice, some Shillelagh O'Sullivan Dry Irish Stout (also from 5 Paddles) and a beer I thought I would never get to drink - the Pineapple Incident dry-hopped Gose from Nickel Brook Brewing in Burlington.

It was delicious.

I'm back working part-time now so I have a few extra bucks in disposable income, but beer drinking is still something I have to work into the budget. But, when it's good friends and great beer (the other way 'round works as well), it's hard to say no.

And I like saying yes.

Cheers!

TFC! TFC! TFC!  - plus Butter Tarts and Bowmanville Beer

"Let's go to the TFC game," my buddy Steve asked. "Champions League match, man. Against Tigres."

I hesitated, if just for a moment. There's nothing I wanted to do more than see Toronto FC, fresh off their historic MLS Cup win last year, against the powerful Mexican clubs in North America's top level of soccer competition.

But I had to say no. "I can't do it Steve. I'm flat broke."

That part was painfully true. These are lean times in the landscaping business and I've had to borrow two months in a row to make rent. Any and all major expenses - you know, like beer and food - go on the credit cards, helping to balloon my crippling debt to almost overwhelming proportions.

And as much as I love TFC and want to go to this game, I couldn't justify the expense.

And then Steve threw in the kicker. "I'll buy the ticket," he said.

"You'll buy?" I answered, a bit sceptically. "Yeah," he added, "with the $40 I owe ya."

TFC! with the boys

Now my pal has been good about bringing down a small loan I provided him a while back, chipping in with a few bucks every few weeks or so, but it was always a bit unexpected when I got paid. Kind of like found money, really.

But it was good enough for me. "I'm in," I said.

The easiest way to get the tickets (practically the only way these days) was with a credit card, and as I was the only one with one of those things it was left up to me to make the transaction.

I should point out that technology and I are not best friends (we're barely on speaking terms) and that lack of expertise extends to credit card purchases. Especially if I'm using my phone to do the deal.

But after one misfire - I was almost at the point when the card info would be provided when a second 'service charge' clued me in that I was not on an official site but some sort of StubHub-type web page - we eventually secured three tickets in the southwest corner of the main grandstand (upper level) for me, Steve and his son Mike.

(And yes, Steve gave me the cash for all three, which I immediately - okay, the next day - deposited in the bank in my Presidents Choice Financial account. Most of it anyway.)

The cheapest option was to dispense with printing the tickets and to simply show the tickets at the stadium, where they are scanned and you're in. It's what all the kids are doing these days.

Simple, right?

Except when you're talking me and technology, nothing is simple.

I was told I could view the tickets after 8 pm on Monday - 48 hours before the event - so I had plenty of time to 'practice' locating the tickets on my phone. The last thing I needed was to be struggling to find them in front of a bunch of impatient soccer fans.

It took me four friggin' minutes the first time. I had to find the email, hit the 'view tickets' button and then punch in my password. I was able to remember my password (yay!) but my fat fingers were giving me troubles hitting the keys properly.

You have no idea what I go through every day. Seriously.

At this point Steve was getting a bit worried but I assured him everything would work out on game day. "Easy peasy," I said.

He did not look assured.

Two days later we picked up Mike and headed down to the GO Station; me with $10 in my pocket (for food) and my credit card in my wallet (for the train tickets and beer).

And the whole hour-plus ride to Exhibition Station I practised on my phone and I kept running into the same problem: I would try to punch in my password and I would instead enlarge the address bar, causing me to tap harder (and repeatedly) before my phone would co-operate.

"No worries guys. I got this," I would say after each attempt, with my false sense of bravado doing Steve's confidence levels no favours.

Mike would just laugh.

And then we were at BMO Field and in line to get in. And I had my phone ready for the moment of truth. And I tapped the 'view tickets' button and ... there they were.

No password required. No fat finger frustration. Success.

"Here you are ma'am. For your viewing pleasure," I wanted to say to the staffer at the gate with the scanning gun. What I actually said was nothing. I just held out my phone and hoped for the best.

And we were in.

Brampton boy Jonathan Osorio was the hero for TFC on this
night with the game-winning goal in the 89th minute

After finding our seats Mike and I went for a stroll around the place. It was Mike's first time at BMO, so I wanted to give him a tour, but really, I was on a hunt for beer. I heard they had craft beer in this macro-dominated stadium but an entire circuit of the facility bore no fruit. Or real craft beer, for that matter.

I settled for a tall boy of Goose IPA ($12.25) to go with my foot-long hot dog ($10.25) and we headed back to our seats to watch the match.

'Cause that what we were there for, right?

I have been faithfully following TFC since its inception in 2007 and would go to a couple of games each season, usually because of my pal Santo, AKA Superfan. The team posted the best record in MLS history in winning its first title last season, but it wasn't just TFC's reputation at stake in this tournament - it was the entire MLS league. The CONCACAF Champions League has been won by Mexican clubs every single year and our record against Mexican elevens was dismal. And that's being nice.

So no pressure TFC.

It didn't start so well, as we barely touched the ball in the first ten minutes. The weather didn't help either, as our seats were mere metres from the open south end of the stadium and Lake Ontario was apparently in an angry mood this night.

We were freezing our asses off. Whose bright idea was it to hold an outdoor soccer game in Toronto in the first week of March?

Major League Soccer's Holy Grail:
The Philip Anschutz Trophy

But our mood improved as TFC gained control of the match and even when Tigres opened the second half with a goal and the lead we remained optimistic about the outcome.

Still, when Jozy Altidore tied the game at ones shortly after, we were accepting of a draw for the return leg in Monterrey next week, so when Jonathan Osorio scored on a cheeky back heel goal in the 89th minute we nearly brought the roof down.

High fives all 'round.

All three remaining MLS clubs in the tournament won (and all against Mexican sides), so it is looking quite rosy for this week's return legs.

But Steve's debt to me is paid, so a trip to Monterrey (temperature as I write this: 33 degrees celsius) is out. We will just have to find a local pub showing the game and watch it there.

And finding one that also serves craft beer might prove to be as tough as a MLS team winning on Mexican soil.

I'll be watching. And hoping.

Butter Tarts ... and beer

The day I ordered the TFC tickets I was indulging in another passion of mine: butter tarts.

The quintessential Canadian treat was on full display at Bowmanville's Garnet Rickard Centre for the first annual Bowmanville Butter Tart Festival and I was determined to get my fill of the ooey, gooey tart that is as Canadian as poutine and Nanaimo bars.

More so, in fact.

And while we're on the subject, I am always willing to try different variations of this delectable pastry - and did on this afternoon - but, for the record, the classic butter tart has raisins, not pecans.

Burn the Witch Again, a collaboration
pale ale with Brew Wizards

The event got underway at nine in the morning but I'm not THAT obsessed with butter tarts. Besides, I worked until nine, so it was after lunch when I rolled into Bowmanville and headed straight for ... Manantler Brewing.

What, you think I can go to Bowmanville without a visit to my once and always favourite brewery?

So I popped in and ordered a glass of Burn the Witch Again, a 5.5 per cent dry-hopped pale ale brewed in collaboration with Brew Wizards Cafe of Oshawa that I had been hearing great things about.

Dry-hopped with El Dorado, Idaho 7 and Citra, this was freakin' delicious. I left with two bottles and should have bought more.

I also grabbed a couple of bombers of Seismic Narwhal, the brewery's signature Imperial Pale Ale, along with a bottle of Lollihop - Eldorado, part of Manantler's single hop series of beers.

And I chatted with a guy at the bar, who told me his party waited for more than an hour to get in to the Butter Tart Festival before giving up and coming to Manantler instead.

Just a few of the delicious butter tarts at Bowmanville's
First Annual Butter Tart Festival

Not a bad option to be sure, but as a fellow butter tart aficionado, I could feel his pain. So I sampled the 3.8 per cent 42 Francs Belgian Table Beer (on his recommendation), gathered up my purchases and drove to the arena, ever hopeful my luck would be better than his.

There was still a lineup when I arrived around one, but it wasn't long and I was inside in about ten minutes. But there was no way organizers of this event could have anticipated the crowds that had been lining up all day. Would there be any tarts left?

The answer to that was yes, thankfully. Especially as more than 40,000 tarts were sold at the festival.

The first vendor I found was the one I was looking for: Betty's Pie and Tarts, a bakery I had discovered (during a monsoon no less) on the way back from a visit to Northumberland Brewery in Cobourg a few years ago.

Their Peanut Butter & Jam tart was to die for (I told you I was open to different varieties) but it was sold out this day. But I did buy the last six pack of their traditional (raisin) butter tart ($10), so I left the booth happy.

I sampled a Chai Tea tart at the next booth (you read that correctly) and learned later there was a butter tart made from beer (Vanilla Porter) that I missed. Next time.

I spent my last six bucks at the Carla's Cookie Box booth. Carla, a Vaughan baker who was celebrating her birthday, enticed me with a Nutella Swirl tart and a Peanut Butter tart, so I plunked down my last coins and headed for the door.

There was the small matter of free samples of maple syrup cotton candy (so good) in my way, but I eventually made it to the arena side of the building, where I sat down to watch Oshawa's Tyke (seven year-old) Rep team against the local Clarington boys (3-1 Oshawa when I left) and to devour my two tarts from Carla's.

The six-pack from Betty's? I savoured those over the next three days because I'm disciplined like that. Sometimes.

That was my coffee budget blown for the week but it was well worth it.

Cheers!

Sniffle Boy takes on the Hammer (and lives to tell the tale)

I don't know if it was the power of the IPA that penetrated the plugged nasal passageways of this sick pilgrim, or maybe my ill health was just turning the corner for the better.

All I know is that one minute I couldn't smell a fresh cut rose if it was put in front of me and the next, as I sat with my pal Don at Grain & Grit Brewery on Hamilton's west side, I was overloading on grapefruit and pineapple.

And all this from a five ounce sample of an IPA called In the Palms taken straight from the tank by co-owner Joe Mrav for our enjoyment.

I'd like to say this beer cured what ailed me, but that would be a lie, as I suffered from my symptoms for a couple of days longer. But the aroma from that beer was so powerful it was able to cut through all that, if only for a moment.

And while I'm on the subject of my health, I want to state for the record that despite this bad case of the sniffles, I sucked it up (like the trooper that I am) and headed west on late February Sunday to see my beer bro for an epic day of beer drinking in Steel Town.

The only way to disguise my bloodshot teary eyes was to
adopt the googly-eye method, as seen here. I think it
worked: I don't look sick; just insane

This was a twice re-scheduled event, I should also point out, and one of those cancellations was because my pal Don was, and I quote, "sick AF."

He went into more detail, which I will not repeat in this space, but suffice to say his dedication to the craft left something to be desired. Or, conversely, he was a good friend and didn't want to infect me (and everyone else in range) with his virus.

I guess we'll never know who was right.

In any event, I ignored the mild case of nasal congestion that greeted me when I woke up, packed up my toothbrush and pointed my car in the direction of Oakville, with that stuffed up feeling getting progressively less mild the farther west I went.

The quest for #5 took us to Hamilton's
harbour and Collective Arts Brewery

Don was in his driveway when I arrived, so we wasted no time and headed straight to Hamilton's waterfront and Collective Arts Brewery.

My last beer adventure in Hamilton (with Don and the Polks - Robert and Kathryn) centred around a trip to Merit Brewing in the downtown core, so a visit to Collective Arts was tops on my revised Hammer wish list.

Housed in what used to be Lakeport Brewing's headquarters in the 1990s and 2000s (until Labatt bought the plant in 2007 and shuttered it three years later, destroying or sabotaging any useable brewing equipment in the process - but that's a tale unto itself), Collective Arts has turned the former home of buck-a-beer into a sanctuary for top notch craft beer in Hamilton.

Despite the macro size of the brewery, the tap room is quite small. There are three rooms, actually, and on this day the rooms filled up quickly. So Don and I ordered beer (a Life in the Clouds IPA for me, an 8.2 per cent IPA #5 for non-driving Don) and I tried to limit my visits to the bathroom to blow my nose to a minimum.

Donny Vegas at
Fairweather Brewing

One of the chief reasons for making Collective Arts our first visit was the hope they still had IPA #5 left. This Vermont-style Imperial IPA was one of the best things about 2018, and while there was LCBO distribution, that was extremely limited. So the fact there was some on tap was a good sign, but were there any cans left for takeout?

So I made sure I got in line ahead of Don when we had finished our pints and ordered four, as well as more Life in the Clouds and a couple of cans of Mash Up the Jam, a double dry-hopped Sour.

Don was up next and asked for a six-pack of the best IIPA of 2018. He got four, the last four cans in existence. As he noted in his recent blog, sucks to be the fellow behind him, and anyone else in line that day hoping for some IPA #5.

#Sorrynotsorry, I guess.

With my illness reaching Monty Python proportions ("I'm not dead yet!"), we decided to pass on the most excellent Merit Brewing in downtown Hamilton and pointed my car west towards two of the Hammer's newest breweries, Fairweather and Grain & Grit.

Fairweather Brewing is housed in a huge re-purposed factory that gives them loads of room for future expansion.

Grain & Grit Brewery

(The 20,000 sq.ft building is so big, in fact, they have had to rent out part of it, including a portion that has been leased to neighbours Grain & Grit. The camaraderie in the craft beer world never ceases to gladden my heart.)

The tap room is big too, and once I got my order in - Still Shining, a six per cent lemony citrus pale ale - I headed straight for the washroom to blow my nose (for the umpteenth time) and, more importantly, stock up on tissue so it would be clear to our charming server and anyone looking my way that I was sick and not stoned.

Seriously. I looked high as a kite.

But I survived the session at Fairweather and after stocking up on to-go beers - more Still Shining and a few High Grade IPAs for me - and sneezing a few dozen more times, we figured it was time for our last stop.

But where exactly is Grain & Grit, we asked. Our server pointed across the street and up the road a hundred metres or so. Maybe less. I drove. Don walked.

The newest of the bunch, Grain & Grit is a friendly little place, located in what appears to be a former garage.

Friendly also describes Joe Mrav, who brought a background in mechanical engineering and his understanding wife Lindsey (who has a background in graphic design and encouraged Joe to take the plunge) to the business of beer.

Don with Grain & Grit co-owner Joe

They brought in Alex Sporn, a German winemaker with a passion for brewing, and after suffering through the usual bureaucratic rabbit-hole paperwork, opened their doors last October.

The place was busy when we walked in, which was right around the time the sign said they closed on Sundays.

When exactly do you close Joe? we asked.

"When the crowd leaves, I guess," he answered.

I enjoyed the Pineapple Rye Pale Ale (5.3 per cent), which was tasty, though not being able to smell of the beers I had on this day was getting annoying, while Don opted for the Light Ray Session IPA, which clocked in at 4.5 per cent but boasted an incredible 80 IBUs.

That's Imperial IPA territory, folks.

Joe hung around to chat for a bit, and to his credit did not once ask if I was high on something. Perhaps the repeated trips to the facilities to blow my nose gave it away.

Light Ray Session IPA. Under
five per cent with 80 IBUs

Anyway, Joe had a little surprise for us. He disappeared into the brewery side and came back with five ounce samples of an IPA - In the Palms it was called - straight from the conditioning tank.

And Hallelujah, I could smell this beer as soon as he set it down in front of me. Somehow, the aroma of pineapple and grapefruit cut through the congestion that had plagued me all day.

I could smell. If only for a moment.

Then I sneezed and the moment was gone.

After a visit to the bottle shop (Light Ray Session IPA and Huell Melon Pale Ale for me) and saying our goodbyes to Joe, we decided to call it a day and headed back to Oakville.

As Don wasn't going to let me drive home in my state, we went straight to the man cave, where my pal set me up in the Lazy-Boy with a comfy blanket and a few delicious beers, and we watched the first two X-Men movies before I nodded off to sleep.

I'm pretty sure he tucked me in too.

Next trip I hope to be healthy, so I can smell ALL the beers!

Remembering David

I was back in Hamilton a week after the beer trip for a get-together with some family and friends at Rankin's Grill on Hamilton's east side to pay tribute to my father in-law David, who died February 22 after a long battle with throat cancer.

Rankin's Grill was always his and Lene's favourite Hamilton hangout, and we filled up the back room on this evening to remember the man, who was aptly described by Julie, my niece, David's granddaughter and one of the main organizers of the event, as "one of the most stubborn and amazing man to have graced this earth."

David Rozel. R.I.P.

Sounds about right Julie.

It was nice to see some family I haven't seen in years, as well as some of David's friends that I haven't seen in decades.

My young brother in-law Noah, who works at a marijuana dispensary in Hamilton, was anxious to get together sooner rather than later and promised me an "old man discount" if I paid him a visit.

Old man jokes aside, I'm thinking I will take him up on the offer.

Cheers!