The @glennhendry Appliance Series

(Alternate title) How I came to be almost famous

It started as a bit of a lark but after a few days, I have to admit I kinda liked the attention.

My dream of logging onto Twitter, looking to the right and seeing my name trending was not to be, but still, seeing the @glennhendry Appliance Series of Beer Photos on my feed every day was a helluva lot of fun.

The genesis of this social media 'movement' had its roots in my excuses for not posting beer photos on the daily like my mates on Ontario Beer Twitter. 

I'm in a dingy basement with bad lighting, I said when pressed on the matter, though if I was being honest it was because I'm depressed and taking beautiful beer photos is a bit out of my mental reach some days.

"Nonsense," my pal Don said (it might have been "balderdash" or "hogwash"). "You don't need good lighting to post a beer photo." And then he posted a pic of a beer (with a perfect one inch head) in a branded glass on a microwave (colour co-ordinated) with cherubs shooting branded arrows in the background. "See?"

Except I didn't see it until later in the day and after a few more pictures in the 'series' had been shared. "There's a whole series? About me and appliances? I honestly don't think that will be a big hit," I said, clearly overwhelmed by the moment. "But you have obviously done your market research."

"It's a way to get you to post more pictures," said my Sudbury mate Danny. "And to show you we aren't *looks up famous photographers, doesn't recognize any* uhh ... good at pictures and to just post wherever and however you can."

Or, as Don put it in another thread, my pals were "rallying" behind me, which is a reflection of both the affection they have for me and the uhh ... patience they have for my mastery of technology.

So for the next five days my friends posted pictures on Twitter of beer sitting on various household appliances, tagging a bunch of us in the process. Initially, it was five or six of my pals posting a couple of times a day, which is something they would do anyway.

The difference, of course, is all the pics would be on, in or beside appliances, from fridges and microwaves to sump pumps and toasters. With my name as the flag bearer for these acts of photographic brilliance.

Like this imaginative effort from Don:

And this gem from Greg:

No to mention Graeme's first entry:

The campaign went on for nearly a week, with the original half-dozen participants quickly expanding to a dozen or so people who joined in on the fun. I participated as well, even though the idea of tagging myself in the post seemed just a little silly.

But fun, right?

Yeah, like that.

Beer photos on appliances started to come in from all over Ontario beer twitter (a few breweries were all in as well) and it even went international, with this pic all the way from Pennsylvania.

And everything was just fine in our own little world of beer photos until Drinks On Us, a Mississauga-based podcast duo of Courtney and Michelle (who talk about coffee, wine, spirits, beer and food on 960 AM Sauga Radio), chimed in with a Twitter poll.

Besides drinking them, they asked, what's your favourite thing to do with alcoholic beverages?

The choices were a) cook b) bake c) gift to others and d) take photos on appliances.

"Troll level - master!" Greg called it, and a "hilarious shout-out" chimed in Don, and I agreed with both sentiments.

I had never spoken to Michelle but Courtney, who knows more about beer than most of us (certainly way more than me) had been actively posting beer pics with our little group for a bit and she even contributed to the series.

Now I'm the type of guy who secretly likes attention but has been known to run screaming from it as well and all this kerfuffle was melting my brain a bit. But only a bit, because I freely admit I was grinning ear-to-ear for most of the 24 hours the poll was up.

I was also checking in on the progress and I was happy Team Appliance Series took an early and seemingly insurmountable lead. Team Gift to Others - let's face it, this would be the clear winner in any poll where the participants weren't actively and openly stuffing the ballots - made a late comeback and though the good guys (us!) won in the end, people who were unaware my precious ego was at stake and voted with the logical side of their brains made sure I didn't sweep the popular vote too.

The final tally had the @glennhendry Appliance Series winning the poll with 30 votes of 63 cast. Gift to Others scored 18, with Cook (12) and Bake (2) rounding out the results.

Not exactly Daniel Gerow appetizer poll numbers (Team Devilled Eggs!) but pretty respectable, in my books.

And the photos were still coming in, like this one from Rob:

The poll took place over a 24-hour period while the campaign lasted a little more than two weeks and though I was never 'trending' (63 poll votes does not a viral sensation make) it was a blast to see my name on Twitter so much. My friends like to take the piss with me but it's always born out of love and this experience was no different.

The Twitter social media platform gets a bad rap for toxic bullshit, racism and the like, but it's like anything else in life. If you want to find the good side of people it's there if you look for it.

Who knew you could find it in an appliance series of beer photos?

Here's a few more photos just because they're so damn cool.

From Don again:

... and one from Brad, who was already anxious to start a new series

And finally, a submission from Danny.

So take pictures of the beer you love to drink - in a branded glass or not - or drink them and leave your camera phone in your pocket. Just be you is what I'm trying to say here and remember: It's only beer so have some fun.

We could all use more of that.

Cheers!

Cravings for Crave (Donuts, that is)

The fact I have ballooned to a record 240 pounds (and counting) during the pandemic should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me.

I had knee surgery in January and have done next to no exercise since my OHIP-sponsored rehab ended the first week of March. I am old, I am inherently lazy and I no longer have to get up to go to work every day.

Also, I drink the odd beer or three and my efforts to eat responsibly have been kind of weak, to be honest.

But I have my desires, my cravings and every once in a while, responsible adulting be damned. And if the moon is right and the stars align - or, put another way, if I happen to be passing through Whitby before 11 in the morning Monday to Saturday and I ordered in advance - I give in to those sweet, deep-fried desires.

It is donuts I crave, but not any donuts. Only Crave Doughnuts will do.

Crave Doughnuts is the passion project of young entrepreneurs Nicole Morais and Jeremy Black who, after eating their way across western Canada a few years back came back home and started making donuts from their home. They sold their signature brioche dough creations to local bakeries and at weddings and such before opening their own bricks 'n mortar business on Lupin Drive in late 2019.

The popularity of the new business spread quickly through social media and word-of-mouth (literally) and long lineups greeted Nicole & Jeremy and their small staff every morning when they opened up, which just as quickly became a problem when the pandemic was declared in March.

So they tweaked their business model to comply with social distancing guidelines (not to mention keeping their plaza neighbours happy), and pre-ordering from two or three pre-boxed options became the new norm.

I got to experience the lineup once in early March before our world got turned on its head, and I've been back to Crave for a half-dozen order twice since I moved to Toronto. The first time I was in the area visiting my son Jacob and I gave the boy a precious donut before I left.

When I got home a wave of guilt and shame rushed over me as I considered the calories and I gave two away to my folks.

This time around I wasn't going to make that mistake. To hell with the consequences and to hell with greedy family members. I was going to buy six super decadent, super tasty, super calorie-rich Crave donuts and eat every last one if it killed me.

I sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that.

My six. My quest

I wasn't seeing Jake this trip - I had some business in Oshawa, which was my 'excuse' for visiting Crave - so my only responsibility after picking up my delicacies was to see my pal Steve in the Shwa and then shoot down to Town Brewery and pick up some supplies from one of Ontario's finest and most consistently awesome beer makers.

But first, a donut. I wasn't leaving my parking spot until I enjoyed at least one. Right here. Right now.

11:40 AM - Vanilla Sprinkle

I chose this one about 20 seconds after my order was delivered to my car (my friendly Donut Wizard noticed me chowing down and gave me an understanding wink) because it had green icing (everyone knows green icing is the worst) and it had sprinkles (sprinkles are for kids) and I wanted to save the best ones for last.

The icing was delicious, the sprinkles (actually 'crunchy rainbow jimmies') were delicious and the donut was, not surprisingly, delicious.

12:10 PM - Honey Vanilla Cruller

Again with the 'save the best for last' strategy, I picked the inoffensive cruller next, scarfing this one down in a Canadian Tire parking lot in Oshawa after concluding my business. I figured a reward was in order, so I enjoyed this donut while leaning against the back of my 98-hp, super sexy Chevy Spark.

This was so much better than I imagined. Sweet, with a melt-in-your-mouth texture that made me feel shame for questioning the bona fides of the whole cruller genre.

The downside to eating this donut? It was over too quickly.

Next stop: Town

My brewery stop put a hold on my donut cravings for a short while but that was okay because my timing was perfect: Town had just released a Triple IPA, a collaboration with TO's Blood Brothers Brewing. So I grabbed my take-homes and sat at a table sipping an Outside Jokes APA while the line of TIPA fans formed behind me. Even got called 'sweetie' by our server, who had to deal with a socially-distanced full house - PLUS all the to-go TIPA boys - for putting a few cases of the beer into the fridge for her.

She was busy, ya know?

But Town was not where I had my third donut. That was about an hour later (and after a nice phone call from an old friend and former Buster Rhino's colleague) when I decided to stop in at Lynde Shores Conservation Area on the way back.

I used to love this place and I would take the kids there when they were smaller to feed the chickadees (magic!) and walk the nature trails. There were no chickadees this day (though I did spy a heron and a blue jay) because the place is now overrun with mallard ducks and Canada geese, so much so I had to shoo them off the path just to get by.

Still cool, though, and afterward, with my heart and soul a little more at peace, I opened my box of sugary goodness for the third time.

The ducks at Lynde Shores

1:30 PM - French Toast

This donut was amazing. Super decadent, with cinnamon glaze, brown butter toast crunch AND a maple glaze and I had to stop myself from moving on to Donut #4 before I left the parking lot. I was barely able to resist temptation, in fact, because I nibbled on a bit of the fritter that looked ... out of place. You know, in a feng shui kind of way.

Anyway, I made it to Downsview without any further incidents and held out for a little while at home too before sitting down to polish off my fourth donut of the day.

4:50 PM - Caramel Apple Fritter

Way better than the fritter from Tim Hortons, I can tell you that. But what followed was a sugar-rush headache that persisted through most of the evening. I knew then I wasn't going to finish all six on this day, but I also knew #5 was going to be in my belly before my head hit my pillow.

9:55 PM - Pumpkin Spice Cheesecake

The box was staring at me, taunting me in fact, and even though I was still suffering from a sugar high, I was weakening. And at five minutes before ten I put my fifth donut of the day in front of me. This was Pumpkin Spice, a flavour I have found wanting in beer but in donuts, it just works. Man, does it work.

This could be the best donut I have ever eaten, though it could have been the sugar sweats talking. The absolute richness of this was almost overwhelming and I staggered to bed with my belly happy and my brain not so much.

It was going to be a long night.

12:40 PM - Reese's Peanut Butter Cup

Twenty-five hours after my first donut, I was finally ready to finish my six-pack. "Reese's Peanut Butter Cup," I said to the lone donut left in the box, "you're up."

If you had more than 2,000 sugar-bomb calories coursing through your system you'd be talking to your breakfast too.

This was the donut I had been looking forward to the most, being a massive PB fan, and I had to admit it suffered just a bit being now a day old, though the filling was chocolate/peanut butter deliciousness. A very good donut, but not my favourite.

The Pumpkin Spice Cheesecake was the most decadent, but if I had to pick a winner - a donut that was rich but not too sweet - it would be French Toast, with the humble Honey Vanilla Cruller not far behind.

And if you ask me if I learned anything from my experience, my answer would be yes: don't do this again.

A half-dozen donuts, no matter how delicious, are meant for sharing, ya greedy bastard.

A St. Lawrence kind of day

My navigation skills have never been major league quality, but I always found my way home so I take something from that.

If I've been somewhere before I can usually find it again - sometimes even before the fifth try - but it's when I'm searching for someplace new when I get into trouble. It was like that last year during a beer trip to Ottawa when I kept asking where the St. Lawrence River was in an effort to get my bearings, despite it being nearly 200 kilometres south, and my friends have never let me live it down.

It's like that often in my everyday life too, especially when I'm behind the wheel. I may have finally upgraded to hands-free calling in my car but hands-free GPS still eludes me.

But I try not to let my deficiencies hold me back and when I heard that (A) Wellington Brewery's Nothing Civil IPA was back and (B) Block Three Brewing had a Triple IPA on their shelves I really had no choice but to gas up the Spark and head west.

To quote Raptor legend Freddie VanVleet, I was going to bet on myself.

My route looked simple enough. Take the 401 to Kitchener and go north on #8 straight up to the little Mennonite town of St. Jacobs, the home of Block Three, a brewery I had heard great things about from my pal Matt, who brews for Wavemaker in neighboring Cambridge. From there, I would go back down to #7 and head east for a few minutes to Guelph and Wellington Brewery.

The first leg of my journey looked like a 15-minute trip when I planned it out, but I should have known it would turn out to be a St. Lawrence kind of day.

It took me nearly two hours.

My route (Artist rendition)

I crossed the Grand River at least twice, got turned around a half-dozen times, toured downtown Kitchener and got very familiar with Waterloo and its surrounding countryside, and generally got myself lost and had to pull over for another look at my GPS location more times than I cared to remember.

I also spent a considerable amount of time talking to myself. I tried to be kind at first, but my tone got sharper as the miles and minutes flew by and I began to question my own intelligence. It did not escalate to me yelling at God (or whoever is running things up there) and demanding to know why she had forsaken me or why she hated me so much but I came very close to the breaking point.

And then, inexplicably, I found it. St. Jacobs, not the brewery. Block Three, despite being located on the main drag, took a few more minutes and two u-turns to locate. Seems my GPS had it on the west side when it was on the east side, and even once I had that figured out I drove past it twice because it was set back quite a ways from the road.

No matter. I found it. It was open and they served beer.

I managed to resist telling my bartender all about my misadventures and only asked if he still had the Triple IPA - M, it was called, to commemorate their 1,000th brew. He did, he said, and turned to pour me a glass. "No," I responded quickly, holding up my hand. "I'm driving. Ten per cent beers are for home" and asked for a Norge Kveik Pale Ale; a more reasonable 5.5 per cent, to soothe my shattered psyche.

And after buying two of each of the IPAs, Pale Ales and Sours they had in the fridge, I headed back out, confident I could find my way to my next stop without any trouble. And promptly misread the highway sign and got off too early, delaying me another ten minutes until I found Highway 7 and the road to Guelph and Wellington Brewery. 

The Lacuna Collective

Located squarely on the main street, I didn't think this brewery would be hard to find and it wasn't, though I was looking left when it appeared on the right. More importantly, they had plenty of Nothing Civil, a 'liquid protest' IPA created by the Lacuna Collective (Poet and Beer Enthusiast Truth Is...,  certified Beer Sommelier Lexi Pham, and Beer Diversity founder Ren Navarro), with all the profits going to BLM Canada.

It is also a wonderful beer and one of my favourites of 2020.

This stop was the only time I felt a small tinge of regret for my clothing choices. It usually takes the threat of frostbite before I ditch the shorts and while it wasn't at that point yet, it had started to snow just a little and the brewery's take-out window was outside.

So I shivered for a minute or so until my order was processed and then as I walked back to my car I felt one more tinge of regret, this time for not using the facilities when I was at Block Three. Fortunately for me the back of the dumpster was available (sorry Wellington) and now, my bladder empty and warmed by my car's interior, I decided to tempt fate and try one more brewery before heading home.

Fixed Gear looked like a ten-minute drive away - easy-peasy - so I froze my route in my memory and continued west through Guelph.

You can probably guess by now that the journey was neither easy nor peasy, but after one accidental wrong turn and a detour caused by a road closure, I eventually found the brewery after only a half-hour or so of driving.

This time I was able to sit down and enjoy a pint of Trackstand APA, along with the thinnest hand-tossed pizza I have ever seen. It had already been a long day but I took solace from the fact the route home would go through familiar territory. Surely this final leg would be uneventful?

And it was, until I reached the west side of TO. With Weston Road (my exit when I'm coming from the west) in sight I decided (for reasons unknown, even to me) to break out into song and I was bellowing out Hallelujah (the Leonard Cohen version) at the top of my lungs when I sailed past the Weston Road exit onto the collector lanes.

Damn, I declared. Double damn.

All right, no worries, I said to myself. I'll just get off at Highway 400 and take the Black Creek exit onto Jane Street.

And then I discovered that Black Creek/Jane Street is unavailable from the express lanes and I was now going north, which would have been fine if we still owned the cottage. But we didn't, having sold it 15 years ago, and I wanted to go home.

Finch it is, then. That's only a three-mile detour.

There was a tiny bright side, however. After I forced my way onto the gridlock that was Finch Avenue to crawl 50 metres to the first stoplight, I was able to make my south to Torbarrie Road, which is the secret way directly into my little neighbourhood. And as they only opened this route a few years ago - it was a dead-end for my entire upbringing - this was the first time I was able to use it.

Small victories, I guess. After any tough day we all need a little win to cap it off.

Especially when it was a St. Lawrence kind of day.

 This Remembrance Day blog was first published in 2013 and has been faithfully reprinted every year since, with a few tweaks each time. Lest we forget

I Remember

Je me souviens. I remember.

I remember my great-grandmother’s tears when she sent four of her boys off to fight in the Great War. I remember her muted joy at seeing three of them return safe but never truly sound; her son John – my father carries his name – fought valiantly during that horrible spring of 1917 before he was left behind in the deadly quagmire that was the first day of Passenchedale.

I remember English Sally, she who married a son of Pennan, walking the length of the island from her family home in the great naval port of Southampton to the north-east coast of Scotland, just to be with her man, homeward bound from the Napoleonic Wars.

I remember Alexander Hendry of Aberdeenshire fighting for his freedom at Culloden in 1746. Life for Alexander and the rest of the Scots who fought with Bonnie Prince Charlie would never be the same.

I remember a newlywed Rozel straining to deliver her baby on the very day her husband, an American loyal to the crown and kin to my children, was fighting for Canada’s freedom alongside Isaac Brock at Queenston Heights. The soldier would return safely to meet his son; his wife would not see either ever again.

I remember my Great-Uncle Charlie, who had left his wife behind while he tried to earn a living in Malaysia’s rubber industry, struggling to stay alive in a Japanese POW camp during World War II. Charlie, who served me marmalade on toast when I visited him in Rotorua, New Zealand 44 years later, risked his life to keep a diary as he toiled daily to rebuild the bridge over the River Kwai, while the good guys rained down death from above.

I remember a son of a former classmate losing his life in Afghanistan; the shock when I read the news lingers with me still.

I remember my friend's Uncle Don, a Second World War Navigator who died in battle in the summer of 1944. Don passed on his name to his nephew and his story to you.

I remember the 3rd Canadian Infantry and Pvt George Savage - father to Jamie - braving an apocalypse of bombs and gunfire to land at Juno Beach on D-Day 1944 to begin their push into Germany.

I remember other Dads from the neighbourhood and their efforts in that war as well. Art Canfield - father of Bruce, Diane and Paul - served with the Royal Regiment of Canada and Phil Hennessey - father of John - got to meet General George S. Patton.

I remember Tom McCaw - father to Janine - enjoying great meals and an accommodation upgrade on a Canadian naval ship because crew members were convinced he was King George VI in hiding.

Passchendaele

I remember Frederick Wilmot - grandfather to Nicole - who enlisted in 1941 and rose to the rank of Sergeant.

I remember Vic Shirreffs, my first father-in-law, who served as a stoker in the Canadian Navy.

I remember Royal Navy Seaman Stanley March, great-grandfather of Josh, and I remember Bill Ryan, father of Dave, who fought with the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders.

I remember William Findlay, great-grandfather of Amy and the youngest Sergeant Major in the British Army, being awarded the Distinguished Medal of Honour.

I remember the funeral of a young man related to me by marriage who was just beginning his military career. The sound of the pipes as they played Amazing Grace sent shivers up my spine. I will never forget that day.

I remember my friend Hago, who did two tours - the first in Kosovo and the second in Afghanistan - and continues to serve to this day.

I remember Mark; and I won't forget Scottie, who earned his Marksman Award four years running in Pettawawa. I remember the future pilots at the old Portage la Prairie air base in Manitoba; and the men and women from the local armoury who come out to Karaoke at Stag's Head in Oshawa on Tuesday nights.

Commemorating the 100th anniversary
of the Armistice. Oshawa, 2018

I remember Vimy Ridge, the four-day battle in the spring of 1917 that marked - at a cost of 10,000 soldiers killed or wounded - a coming of age for Canada as a nation, as well as the end of our innocence about wars and the people who profit from them.

I also remember my friend Sandi's simple description of four members of her family who served in both World Wars: "Heroes. Each and every one."

I remember the Remembrance Day service held a day early a few years ago in downtown Brooklin for the benefit of the school children. After being so many generations removed from war it was important the kids knew what their parents, grandparents and great-grandparents were fighting for, and that they would have a better understanding of what they were supposed to remember.

I  remember every soldier I have ever known and I remember those who fought and died for me and my family and for our freedom, and for the freedom that we all enjoy and too often take for granted.

I remember the families and friends of those soldiers and the tears that were shed for fallen loved ones.

I remember the blood spilled by innocents, and I remember the heartbreak of everyone affected by war.

I remember like it was yesterday the signing of the Armistice to end the Great War. One hundred and three years ago today.

I remember. So I won’t ever forget.

It's worth the drive (and the wait) for Matron Brewery

It was the morning after the night before and we were all hurting just a bit.

So when we piled into Cal's super-sized GMC Denali for the ride back to Oshawa the consensus - if anybody had asked and no one did - was to point the car west and go home and have a nap.

The adventures in Kingston the day before were memorable: we toured the city in a rented bus and visited six breweries, feasted twice and capped February's KingstonBeerFam2020 at Spearhead Brewing, the home base of our loveable and lion-hearted host, Josh Hayter.

Where it all started for the BrewCrew: at Daft Brewing
at the dawn of the day before. That's Candice & Jamie
top right and  Jeff and Cal top left (behind)

There was also an after-party in April & Chuck's room back at the hotel so the next day we were, as already mentioned, hurting just a bit.

But Cal wanted to go exploring on the way home, and as he was driving none of us argued much. Jeff, who was riding shotgun, didn't care and I, sprawled out in the middle bench, was always up for a beer tour, hungover or not.

There was no response from the back, mostly because Candice was trying to sleep and Jamie (along with the rest of us) did not want to face the consequences of waking her up.

A little tour it is, then, says Cal. Our first stop, on the north side of the highway, turned out to be a dud as we were too early for Signal Brewery. But Cal is a determined man and he pointed the car south to Prince Edward County.

I've lived on the east side of the Big Smoke for nearly 30 years but there has only been one visit to 'The County' (as residents call this 1,000 sq. km vacation hotspot 180 kilometres east of Toronto), and it was so long ago I could barely remember. I knew thousands of people flock there every year for its sandy beaches, artisan vibe and its 30-plus wineries, and I knew they were also coming for the 10 breweries that now call this rural paradise home.

And Cal was hell-bent on finding a couple.

Our Callum

Trouble was, Jeff (as the man in the shotgun seat) was in charge of navigation and he was having trouble staying awake, leaving Cal - who had been to the area once or twice before - to find his way from memory.

He was clearly doing a poor job of it as we started meandering around country roads for a while before finally finding our first brewery, about ten miles east of where Cal wanted to be.

Parsons has that farm-to-glass spirit so common here, and the Yuzu Pale Ale I sampled was delicious. But Cal had his mind set on finding another spot, so we grabbed a couple to go and headed back to the Denali.

Candice, still snuggled in the corner of the back seat, hardly noticed we were gone.

The Denali. I drove Cal to Peterborough
to buy this just two weeks prior

Midtown Brewery was where Cal wanted to be, and you'd think between the five of us - the four who weren't trying to nap, anyway - we'd be able to find it. But the drive to go the hell home was growing stronger each minute, so to quell a budding mutiny Cal conceded we would make just one more stop before calling it a day.

(Meanwhile, a persistent thought rolling around in my alcohol-saturated brain about another brewery in the vicinity I had heard good things about was starting to percolate, but I pushed it back up into the 'I'll deal with it later' part of my frontal lobe. It's a very busy department up there but I have always been able to recall the information in the past, although it's usually three in the morning and several hours after I asked for it.)

So off we went into the breach again, or at least back to the confusing country roads of Prince Edward County. And despite all the navigational expertise at our fingertips, we screwed up one more time and ended up at Gillingham Brewery.

Jeff and Josh enjoying a laugh in Kingston

In Cal's defense (Jeff had given up trying to help at this point), the cops had set up a roadblock along our route, forcing us to go around and throwing our navigational system - already suffering from a crippling lack of confidence - into total chaos. 

But we found Gillingham. It wasn't Midtown. But it was a brewery, and another of those farm-to-glass types, so we stopped in for a drink.

Cool little spot, located on the grounds of a family-owned vineyard (Domaine Darius), and pretty much built by hand by Andrew Gillingham, who is also the brewer and VP of bottle washing, and his wife Christine.

Andrew was on duty when we popped in and as he had just finished installing some new brewing equipment he wasn't actually brewing, but he was bottle-washing.

We bought a mini-flight of the two beers he had on tap and enjoyed a small hair-of-the-dog treatment while Candice continued her nap in the Denali. Dave's ESB (5.9%) was "toast and caramel" and Howlett IPA #2 (6.8%) was "peachy, slightly fruity" and both were very good.

But Cal was looking a bit frustrated about not finding Midtown so I told him to chin up and look on the bright side.

Our Candice

"There's always this summer, Cal. We'll all be back soon, right?"

Yeah, about that ...

And then we realized we were all hungry and very tired, so we joined Candice back in the Denali and Cal drove us back to Oshawa.

Like clockwork, at three a.m. I woke up from a deep sleep and remembered the brewery I had been hearing all those good things about.

"Matron!" I shouted into the darkness.

"Next time," I answered myself, before falling back asleep.

***

It wasn't long before I learned almost all I needed to know about Matron Brewery. I knew the brewer and co-owner Justin da Silva cut his teeth at Stone City in Kingston (which I learned the day before our joy ride through Prince Edward County at KingstonBeerFam2020), and I discovered he opened Matron last year, with the help of a couple of friends who also happen to be industry professionals.

The County

I learned about his dedication to using Ontario-grown ingredients - including hops from nearby Pleasant Valley Farms - and I found out Toronto beer writer Jordan St. John (who once taught the budding brewer at his George Brown College Beer Appreciation class) raved about him.

On top of all that Matron's flagship IPA looked like it was going to tick off all the boxes for me and I had a soft spot for the name of the beer as well. 'Janky' was the word a frustrated Steph Curry used when he tried to describe the unconventional defensive schemes Coach Nick Nurse was using on the Toronto Raptors' road to the 2019 NBA title.

We the North. We the Janky, or something like that.

So, yes, I wanted this beer, Two months later, as we were suffering through the fear and uncertainty of the first wave of the virus and breweries dove head-first into online sales and delivery, I started to reach out to breweries, only to strike out because my 'Debit Visa' card didn't seem to qualify.

One of those failed attempts was April 17 with Matron (though when I messaged them about it they were quick to tell me they could work something out) and it was nearly six months later, having achieved success with my debit/visa ordering brews from Third Moon in Milton, when I tried Matron once more. I may never know if breweries have modified their ordering protocols recently or if I am just a tired, cliched old man who keeps pushing the wrong buttons, but it worked, and five days later 12 shortie cans arrived at my side door.

I will tell you I would never have written all these words and taken so long to get to the damn point of the story if the beers I received from Canada Post and Matron were just decent, or even very good. No, these brews were excellent and all spot-on for style.

Photo courtesy @moonstone brewer

I never would have thought I'd be heaping praise on a Kellerbier or even a Helles Lager, let alone a 'Sour Blackcurrant Saison,' but here we are.

Leisure Landbier was definitely my favourite Landbier/Kellerbier/Zwickelbier EVER (fruity cereal aroma; big flavours of wildflowers, wine grapes, cereal & spices) and Yeasayer, the Helles Lager (unsweetened cereal aroma; balanced & delicious) was even better.

Zuzh, the Sour Blackcurrant Saison, wasn't really tart at all but it was full of red berries with a hint of mint and definitely fell into the 'fun' beer class.

The two IPAs did not disappoint either. Deece Petitie was a four per cent Session IPA that looked fantastic in the glass and had all the flavour of a higher ABV IPA. And Janky, well, let me just say the hype was well deserved. 

Janky was super balanced, slightly juicy with a hint of dankness and smooth AF.

All year I've been debating with myself if Everyday Magic from Sawdust City is good enough to dethrone Valkrye (Little Beasts) for my Beer of the Year.

I think I have a new contender. And as the late, great local hero Gord Downie said in Long Time Running, it was well worth the wait.

Cheers!

For want of a Hug

I didn't grow up a hugger - my generation and my culture didn't encourage it - but I always wanted to be one.

So once I semi-matured in my mid-40s I embraced the hugging lifestyle with wide-open arms.

I was strictly semi-pro: the secret art of the Bro-Hug, for example, took another decade to master. But I had the skills and desire for a long career in the game and I absolutely knew I loved hugging the people I cared about.

So when the Pandemic was declared and social distancing was put in place it was the no-hugging protocols that hurt the most.

I totally get it. I live with my parents, who are both in their late 80s, and my Mom has Alzheimer's. She is also totally immunocompromised, so I am justifiably paranoid about giving her the virus.

So I don't hug my own mother. 

Jake and I in 2014. We used to hug
back in those days. Honest

My family is back in Oshawa and parts east and I haven't seen, let alone hugged, my three older kids (or my grandchildren) since I moved here three weeks before the shutdown. While that sucks, they are all grown up and on their own and I know we can make up for lost hugging time when we are out of this.

The J-Man, though, is another story. I know, he turned 18 in March and is officially an adult, but he's still my little boy and I miss him a lot. But with my own immunocompromised Mom to consider, Jake's Mom and I have erred on the side of caution. And Christian-Ann works in a retirement home so she has to be super careful too.

I've only driven out to Bowmanville to visit Jake three times since the spring and I avoided any physical contact on the first two occasions.

When I visited last month, we ate fried chicken, watched soccer (and an Australian Rugby League game - he's got the total TV package) and when it was time to go I wrapped my arms around my son when I said goodbye.

I'm here to tell you it felt good. Damn good.

A week or so later I invited my pal Don to meet up at Stonehooker Brewery in Mississauga's Port Credit neighbourhood. I hadn't seen Donny since our Kingston Brewery Invasion back on February 22 and as I was already headed down to Great Lakes Brewery in south Etobicoke that day I figured I should give him a call. Stonehooker is about halfway between there and Don's palatial Falgerwood Estate home in Oakville, so I figured it would be a quick trip for him.

Daddy and David

As I knew his son was with him that week, I was especially looking forward to the visit because I knew he would bring David along.

If you know David, you'd know he's loved by everyone who meets him, and you'd also know another important fact about him: he's a hugger.

David is actually a world-class hugger, if there is such a thing, and if I thought I was having it tough in this new non-hugging world, I failed to consider the effect it would be having on him.

So after a couple of pints of fine ale and some lovely tacos on Stonehooker's front lawn 'patio' on a spectacularly beautiful early fall day, I got up to leave and Daddy asked David if he wanted to let me into his 'circle.'

And then we hugged. And it was wonderful.

I'd say you're next Mom, but it might be a while.

Hooked on Stonehooker Brewery

The only time I visited Stonehooker prior to the visit with the Redmond Boys was the Hamilton/Halton/Peel Brewery Invasion last fall.

I remember Brewmaster Adam Cherry being a very gracious host and the beer being very good.

I guess I forgot how very good Stonehooker beer can be.

Stonehooker Brewmaster Adam Cherry and
moi at last year's visit

I enjoyed a pint of Mae West Mango Milkshake IPA in the glorious sunshine and I am happy to report this sweet mango smoothie is my favourite in the style this year.  Maybe a tad too sweet to be best ever, but it had that milkshake consistency that I have found lacking in most Milkshake IPAs released in the past couple of years.

I also enjoyed a Tantrum NEIPA and I was so blown away by this beer I said 'delicious' twice in my RateBeer review.

I sampled a Tripel as well, a style I would not normally seek out as they're usually too malty for this hop head's delicate palate. But this was smooth and surprisingly light for a strong beer.

My take-home pack included a Broadreach NEIPA, a favourite from last year which is still juicy, hazy & super tasty; Jack the RIPA, a Rye IPA that was smooth, rich and well balanced; Lemondrop Float, a 3.9 per cent Lemon Milkshake Sour (what?) that was full of flavour; Chill Pils (grainy, spicy with a little citrus); and Gollywobbler, another 3.9 per cent super sessionable beer that packed plenty of hop character.

And, of course, a whole bunch of Tantrum.

Each and every one a winner.

Before I left Mississauga, and after my hug with David, I went to my car and gifted Don a can of Great Lakes Brewery's jacked up Imperial version of their Thrust! IPA. Seemed only fair as he had picked up the tab for my tacos and our patio beers.

And then I gave my old friend a big hug.

A Love Story

I was watching television with Mom and Dad the other night when it occurred to me for the 12th time since breakfast that I really, really missed my kids.

"You are so lucky," I say to Dad with the straightest face I could muster, "to have one of your own here during the pandemic. And your favorite child at that."

My 87 year-old father, who clearly has not lost his ability to roll his eyes with the best of them, was non-committal in his response Still, he didn't say I wasn't his favourite ...

 

 *

2020 has been quite the experience for me, and I'd happily bitch about it if anybody would listen, but it's been shit for the lot of us, and my tale is better than most.

How I came to be holed up in my parent's basement just before a global pandemic - 40 years after they thought they got rid of me - is a long and boring story, so I like to say it was a series of unfortunate events which led me here, and a series of failed promises from my dear older brother that has me still here more than seven months later.

But it hasn't been all bad. In fact, it has been interactions like the one above that have kept me sane in these turbulent times.

Dad as a New Year's Baby back in his wild and crazy days

Mom at a cottage in the 50s

There's something to be said for spending quality time with the 'rents and I don't mind saying it because they are two of my favourite people. But the last time I spent any significant time in my childhood home was a brief between-marriages stay in the fall of '93 and a lot has changed since then, and not just because of Covid-19. My Mom, who took care of us kids, the house AND my Dad for most of her life, now has Alzheimer's and it's Dad's turn to take care of her.

I sometimes tell people the reason I'm here is to help look after Mom, whose 'early-onset' diagnosis is not so early-onset anymore. But the truth is Dad does almost all the work. I try to be within shouting distance at bath time if only because it's not an easy task to get Mom in and out of a conventional bathtub, and I'm there to help her down the stairs and into the car on the rare days she leaves the house, but that's about it.

Mostly I'm just here for the heavy lifting. I take care of the laundry for them - no lie, my father has t-shirts older than most of you, and between the two of them they own several dozen not-quite identical pairs of black socks that I was successful in matching up only once.

I was so proud.

I also do the shopping, run the odd errand and perform any other task I'm asked to do. And I'm Dad's assistant on some of his DIY projects that have occupied his time this summer.

See, my Pops is a handy fellow (those genes were definitely not passed down), so we've been busy. It started with the downstairs toilet, which had to be replaced before anyone (me) could live down there and that led to me tearing my rotator cuff, because toilets are very heavy when you have to hold them in the squat position long enough for the boss to prepare the landing zone.

(I'm seriously hoping the cure is Tommy John Surgery, by the way, because old dreams die hard.)

Mom& Dad (on the right) at their engagement party
 with family friends John & Eilleen (centre) and Bill & Thelma.
Of the four, only Bill is still with us

Dad also decided to build a new bed frame when he discovered Mom (all of 4'11" on a good day) was having difficulty climbing into bed. Which was rather sweet, I think. That meant tearing out the old wooden frame (which he built a half-century ago) followed by a few trips to Home Depot for supplies and most of two weeks with the two of us in the driveway creating his masterpiece.

I expect the new bed to outlive all of us.

But it's not all work and no play in the Hendry household and their sanctuary is the upstairs TV room, which is where I find myself two or three times a day. And if Dad is puttering away somewhere else I take the big chair and Mom and I have our time together.

I especially like to be up there around lunchtime, and as Dad busies himself in the kitchen Mom and I watch 'our' show, You Gotta Eat Here from the Food Network. Mom tut-tuts over the gluttony while salivating over the dishes and I encourage her to demand that her husband prepare her something for lunch befitting her Queen status.

She is almost deaf and likely doesn't hear most of what I said but she is suitably disappointed when Dad returns with a microwaved hotdog and half a banana for her lunch, as I am when my attempt to get a rise out of my father nets me nothing more than another eye-roll.

You Gotta Eat Here is also where I do my best beer celebrity watching. I spotted Beer Diversity founder Ren Navarro on one episode from a few years back, touting the virtues of former Toronto brunchspot Lisa Marie (it closed last year) to host John Catucci. A week later Mom and I are watching his spin-off show, Big Food Bucket List, and there was Ren again chatting up John at Butchie's, a super popular Whitby eatery that is known almost as much for its work in the community - particularly for LGBQT causes - as it is for owner Andrea's authentic southern fried chicken.

Mom's face after Dad swooped
in for a kiss

(I eagerly sent Ren a message after the first sighting, telling her about her new celebrity status, but after seeing her in Butchies, I figured she is probably far too busy to respond. Teaching breweries and people in the craft beer community about the importance of diversity is time-consuming enough without the added responsibility of being a Food Herald for John Catucci, like Silver Surfer was when he was scouting out new worlds for Galactus to devour.

As long as Ren doesn't start wearing plaid.)

We watch other programs as well, and I've become a fan of NCIS in these past months, though my love of the action drama has already surpassed my Dad's. If he had his druthers - and if he's holding the remote - he'd choose shows on British architecture, or maybe a nature program which we both love.

Or we just talk. While our world undergoes a dramatic social revolution it has been a wonderful thing to live with an 87 year-old man who is so ardently liberal in his beliefs that back in the pre-pandemic days he used to get a kick out of debating politics with his conservative pals when they hung out at Tim Horton's on Sunday afternoons. As old folks do. So we chat about current events every day.

I also ask him a lot of questions about things I don't understand, because he has always been my rock and though I may be getting on in years myself, that part hasn't changed.

But it hasn't always been peaches and cream at Casa Hendry. I wasn't planning on being here, and in fact only found out that negotiations for the horse farm I was scheduled to 'manage' north of the city fell apart 24 hours before I arrived in my parents' driveway with a U-Haul containing all my stuff.

That 'stuff' is now crammed into an already busy garage and in the furnace room downstairs, much to the annoyance of Pops, and I have been called upon numerous times this summer - particularly when we were working on the bed - to climb over my boxes and other assorted junk (as well as his band saws and other painfully sharp things) to find the tool he needed for the job.

All things considered (my age, my recent knee surgery) I wouldn't be the first option for Climbing Over Stuff in most households. But I am in this one.

But besides the complexities of folding a dozen pairs of black socks that look identical to me, I haven't had much to complain about living here, save for that beer 'incident' from early in the summer.

When I arrived on the last day of February I brought beer with me (naturally) and was storing them in the main fridge upstairs until Dad said he needed the fridge space for food. I know, right? But he was quite serious, so we found a little beer fridge he had stored in the basement, plugged it in and voila! I had my own fridge.

Fast forward three or four months and Pops announces that my niece Natalie is coming down from Edmonton for a socially distanced visit and that my brother Craig and my other niece Nicole will be driving in from Innisfil for the occasion. And could I get a few of his beer from the front closet and put them in the fridge?

Because who doesn't keep their beer in the front closet?

And in the closet, nestled up against Dad's macros, were four of MY beers, including a Waller Street (Ottawa) Black IPA, a 9.5 per cent glorious hop monster I scored on a beer trip to Kingston (April & Chuck from Waller Street were in our party) exactly one week before my move.

Good thing all that alcohol ensured the taste wasn't drastically affected by months in storage. Can't say the same for the other three, but I drank 'em anyway.

So you see, I don't have much to complain about. Besides, my father didn't exactly plan for his adult son coming in to live with him during the pandemic, so I really hope the experience has been at least half as awesome for him as it has been for me. 

*

September 17, 1955

It was just over a week ago - the 17th of September to be exact - when I went out to buy a cake, a card and some flowers for my parents to help them celebrate their 65th wedding anniversary. As someone who has been married twice for a total of 14 years, I think it's safe to say 65 is a major accomplishment. Hell, I believe that merits another pension just for the marriage itself, though I have yet to convince Ottawa of that.

I joined my folks for the cake-cutting and stuck around as Dad opened a nice bottle of wine for the occasion. Mom had two glasses - unusual consumption for her - and was snoring by eight o'clock.

Congratulations, you crazy kids.

💖

The Facebook-only, Family-friendly, Beer-free 4/20 Blog about Adrianne

4/20 has always been Adrianne's birthday for me and my family, except we didn't call it that. We just called it Adrianne's birthday.

These days April 20 is universally known as 4/20, a date which has begat an entire movement centred on what is now the most important day of the year in the cannabis world. As someone who has at least one foot in that world, you'd think that would be top of mind for me when I hear 4/20.

It isn't of course. It's my step-daughter's birthday.

Adrianne has other competition on the day, too. 4/20 is her brother Matt's Uncle Matt's birthday. It's also the birthday for Spider Jones, the boxer turned motivational speaker. My pal Don's brother Gary shares this day, as does my late friend Colin's son Alex and legendary Oakville musicians Dan and Dennis Ford.

For what it's worth, 4/20 is Hitler's birthday too, as well as that of George Takei, Jessica Lange, Andy Serkis, Carman Electra and Joey Lawrence. Bet Adrianne remembers Joey Lawrence.

Adrianne and her boy-toy Greg

There have been a few notable events that happened on 4/20, such as the horrific Columbine High School Massacre in 1999, but also the first pasteurizing test in 1862 by Marie and Phillip Currie. And it was on April 20, 1986, when a young Michael Jordan went off for a playoff record 63 points against Larry Bird and the Boston Celtics in a losing cause.

Using Facebook as a guide, it turns out lots of cool stuff happened on 4/20 through the years too, and most of it was family-oriented.

Ten years ago, I was reminded yesterday, was when I became Facebook friends with my cousin Neil, who lives in Australia and is about to put both feet in the cannabis world. I thought that momentous occasion couldn't be topped, but in 2013 4/20 was the day Cam - another of Adrianne's brothers - earned his full 'G' licence.

That same day? The Toronto Maple Leafs clinched a playoff spot for the first time in nine years with a 4-1 win over the Ottawa Senators. We all know how that season turned out, but still ...

That's gotta be the clincher, right? But no, in 2016 Adrianne's oldest child Allison - my granddaughter - competed in the Kawartha Idol talent competition in Peterborough and absolutely rocked it. She was 12.

Besides last year, when I re-posted a video with  Tom Jones, Jeff Beck and Van Morrison performing Bring it on Home to Me - who knew Van Morrison could sing with such soul? - all my other 4/20 posts in the past decade were about Adrianne.

Understandable. It is her birthday, after all.

Kingston, ON:

BeerFam2020

I remember a time from days of yore when men and women of honour and grace would congregate in large numbers to celebrate kinship, fellowship and love.

Stong libations would be consumed and the throng of revelers would travel from tavern to tavern and sometimes, on special occasions, would hire special chariots to take them to the places where these libations were conceived and to meet the wizards creating these magical ales and lagers.

Those times are part of history now, but it is the wish of ale lovers everywhere that history can one day repeat itself.

This, then, is a tale of one such occasion from long ago. February 22 to be exact ...

When it comes to spending time with my beer invasion buddies I will make almost any sacrifice to make it happen.

Not like my own kids or anything - I consider them pretty special; even sacred - but the rent money, the neighbour's kids, my self-esteem; all that's on the table.

But there comes a time when you have to admit defeat, and I was almost at that point in my efforts to get away for KingstonBeerFam2020, a highly anticipated event on my social calendar for a lot of reasons, most notably because a ton of my friends would be there.

There would be a bus to take us to all the beery fun our first capital city had to offer, lunch and dinner would be provided and Josh Hayter, fast becoming one of Kingston's favourite sons, would be there, so it was guaranteed to be, as us old people like to say, 'lit!'

Super lit, even.

The whole gang at Daft Brewing. Photo courtesy of Ryan - the head
brewer - with camera supplied by Candice

But there were obstacles in my path and once one obstacle was cleared another would rise up to meet me.

The first stumbling block was my health, as my knee surgery was six weeks prior to the event. But I had finally started to take my physio seriously so I was confident the walking and the standing and the sitting wouldn't be a concern. But the second obstacle - money - was proving to be somewhat more troublesome.

I had to extend my rent payments (and had to borrow off my Dad to do so) because my impending move was delayed and my first EI cheque had only just arrived, so the trip was looking dicey.

Also: no credit card.

I had a plan, though, and it involved me driving to Kingston to meet the party bus and my friends midway through the day and driving home to Oshawa the same night. It wouldn't be perfect but at least I would be able to see my pals and visit a few breweries.

And then my Oshawa peeps came through for me.

Jeff messaged me after he read about my scheme. "I don't know what your plan is, but Candice said you're coming to Kingston, so I'm here to tell you that you're coming to Kingston. Cal is renting the room so don't worry. We'll fit you in."

I still had questions but damn the torpedos, full speed ahead and all that, and on Saturday morning Jeff, Candice, Jamie and myself squeezed into Cal's truck and we headed to Kingston, arriving in plenty of time to check into the Delta, toss our stuff in our rooms (no couch to be found - this could be interesting) and hop on the bus.

Lots of familiar faces for me and a few new ones as well. There would have been a bigger turnout, our host informed me, but the rail blockade that was front and centre in the news at the time had prevented those who were coming in by train from attending.

One day I'll get Jordan St. John to autograph the book he sent me. One day.

Jeff and Josh enjoying a beer at Stone City. If you
look closely you will see I captured a
unicorn: Josh actually smiling

In addition to the five-person Oshawa contingent, there was my Oakville Beer Bros Don and Greg; Graeme (King City); Curtis and Nichole (Guelph); Matt (Ottawa); Waller Street Brewing's April and Chuck (also Ottawa); Paul (Newmarket); David (Hamilton-ish); our hosts Josh (President) and Amanda (Marketing Manager) from Spearhead Brewing; and Stephanie and Miranda, who Josh shanghaied from the Delta Hotel.

And John, the Bus Driver Extraordinaire.

The first stop was Daft Brewing, one of the new kids on Kingston's brewing block. Like, they've been open three weeks kinda new. These guys have re-purposed an old 5-bay garage and turned it into an open-concept space with a huge horseshoe-shaped bar at one end and the brewery at the other, with some cool artwork on the far wall.

They like to experiment at Daft, and I enjoyed a Spruce Sour, an Oat Dirty Bastard and a True Level Gose while Ryan, the Head Brewer, took us through a little of the brewery's long and storied history from his perch in the rafters. His vantage point made for a great picture too, as you see can from the above image.

Next up was Stone City Ales, and if Daft is a newbie, Stone City is a veteran of the local scene, with a history of producing brews like 12 Star Session Ale and Windward Belgian Wheat since they opened shop downtown in 2014.

(In fact, Stone City was at the first Durham Craft Beer Festival in '14, where my pal Steve, who drank macro if he was drinking beer at all, fell in love with the Windward Wheat. But I digress.)

The English pub decor at Kingston Brewing

Head Brewer Richard was on hand to greet our unruly crew and we got to sample a wide range of beers this day. There was Counterpoint Farmhouse Ale, Brood & Bloom Sour (Blackberry & Raspberry), Unchartered IPA and Nocturnal Dark Czech Pilsner.

And some Distant Origin dry-hopped IPA to go as well.

And then we were back on the bus, with our next stop just down the street and around the corner: Kingston Brewing.

This is billed as Ontario's oldest brewpub (1986) and it's set in a building that at least a century older than that so there's a lot of history in this place. The walls are adorned with memorabilia, giving it that old English pub feel, and the whole place just oozes charm.

Our gang was shepherded upstairs - because we're special -  and we were offered flights of their finest ales, including Dragon's Breath English Pale Ale and their double dry-hopped IPA. A few thirsty travellers opted for beers from their extensive guest tap list as well.

The beer was excellent and co-owner and Brewmaster Braden beguiled us with tantalizing tales of brewing lore, but the highlight of the visit came after Braden ordered the smokers downstairs fired up and subsequently brought us lunch.

And not just any lunch, but brisket, and fall-off-the-bone ribs, and macaroni 'n cheese to die for and I feared (briefly) that one of us actually did. I had two plates of food but before I could feel shame I saw that most of our party did as well. Paul was on his third when I noticed the tell-tale sign of a meat coma on his face and was about to intervene when he reminded me that he was a professional and I needn't concern myself.

Still, some of us had to be rolled out of there and down the stairs (ouch!) and back into the bus because we still had more drinking to do, with Riverhead Brewery next on the agenda.

Head Brewer Aaron gave us the brewery tour (and a fine glass of Tropical IPA) and it was a good thing we were segregated from the rest of the crowd because the big room was a dangerous place that day. Seemed a hockey tournament was in town and that meant a mini-stick competition was in full swing and if you know anything about nine year-olds playing mini-sticks, you know 'full swing' is to be taken literally.

Safely in the brewhouse, we got a lesson in brewing from Aaron (Graeme, one of our homebrewers, was right in his wheelhouse here) while I absently played with some ancient-looking bottle opener that was apparently worth $75.

I didn't try to steal it, Aaron. I swear.

Skeleton Park Brewery was our penultimate stop on the tour, and like everything else in Kingston, it has a bit of history attached to it.

Named for a nearby park that began its life as a burial ground for immigrant labourers, the brewery is owned by a man whose family has been brewing - or bootlegging - for three generations, and it was Trevor who gave us the speech on Kingston's brewing traditions and gave us the run-down on the beers on tap.

I went for their Best Bitter - I bought some to go as well - because it's a style we don't see very often and I love me some Bitters and ESBs.

With Skeleton Park complete, that only left one brewery on the itinerary. There might be some debate to say we left the best for last, but there is no argument that Spearhead Brewing, home of Josh, our host with the most, is the biggest.

It's not close, actually. Spearhead is huuuge and sports $5 million in custom-made brewing equipment that produced close to a million litres of beer last year.

Not all of that beer is Spearhead brew, which means the brewery, which started life in 2011 as a contract brewer, has come full circle and is now producing beer for others.

Josh had put on a buffet feed for us when we arrived but most of us were still stuffed from lunch so we ignored it. We were more eager to get a beer in our hands - Hawaiian Pale Ale for me - and a tour of this shiny new brewery.

"Who likes our shiny new tanks," asked Jacob on the Spearhead tour.
"I need a show of hands."

That's when Jacob stepped in and introduced himself. The Head Brewer at Spearhead, Jacob has a lot more experience than his late 20s-something eyes would have you believe, and he comes by it honestly. His dad, Tomas, spent three decades as a Brewmaster for Labatt before coming out of retirement to take the same fancy title for Spearhead.

There are whispers that Jacob does most of the work, Jacob whispered as he gave us a tour of the facility (which actually has room for future expansion), but whatever the arrangement, it seems to be working as the place is operating near 90 per cent efficiency.

Not a hundred per cent sure what that means, but it sounded impressive.

With the tour complete, all that was left was spend an hour or two enjoying each other's company, making sure John's tip jar was full and watching some cool Kingston cats - dressed to impress - invade the place for a blues show inside the brewhouse. Chicago Blues Hall of Famers Maurice John Vaughan and John Watkins (and friends) were in the house, and all was right this night with Spearhead Brewing.

Probably time to take us back to the hotel, someone told John, and that's when I spotted the buffet.

"There's food? Hang on a sec, John. All of a sudden I'm hungry."

***

You'd think after all that beer consumption we'd be in a hurry for our beds but there was the matter of the after-party. Because there's always an after-party, and this night it was in April & Chuck's room, which was a good thing because they brought lots of Waller Street Brewing swag. And by swag I mean beer. And by beer I mean their award-winning (award presented by me) Black IIPA.

Is there a finer Doorman than this man?

But first I had to sort out my sleeping arrangements, because at that point I had a pot to piss in but I didn't have a bed to sleep in. "There seems to be a misunderstanding," I said hopefully to the desk clerk at the Delta. "Do you have a cot or something for me?"

The answer was no, but the helpful clerk did offer to deliver two sets of extra bedding to our room, which sounded promising but proved to under-deliver on that promise. Beggars can't be choosers, I guess.

The party in April's room was in full swing when the Oshawa crew arrived and I made sure to snag a few bottles of the Black IIPA to go before settling in to watch the end of what turned out to be a historic hockey game.

This was the game both Carolina Hurrican goalies were hurt and the team had to use the Leaf's emergency back-up, a 42 year-old part-time Zamboni driver named David Ayres who rightly earned his moment in the sun - he dominated social media and even did the talk show circuit for at least a week - by beating (not to mention embarrassing) his employers in a 6-3 Carolina win.

By then the party was starting to fizzle out and after suffering our first casualty - Jamie had to be dragged from his resting spot at the end of April's bed to his own room across the hall - we called it a night.

The hotel manager was getting a little nervous anyway, though someone down the hall magically produced a puppy and everything was peachy again at the Delta.

It was a perfect day in Kingston in fact, with six breweries showcasing their hospitality to the world, or at least to a busload of freeloaders beer lovers who more than appreciated their efforts.

Shout-out to Josh and Amanda at Spearhead for organizing this event, the Delta for putting us up and putting up with us, Tourism Kingston and Kingston Economic Development for sponsoring lunch and dinner, to John and McCoy Bus Service for shuttling us around in style and to everyone else involved who made KingstonBeerFam 2020 an unforgettable day.

Thank you.

This tale was from a month ago but seems much longer, what with everything that has happened in the interim. A busload of people going from brewery to brewery these days would be dangerous and downright criminal as we fight to prevent the spread of Covid-19, which has already killed more than a thousand people worldwide and affected hundreds of thousands more.

The actions we take today - self-isolation, social distancing - are necessary to flatten the curve and save lives but they are devastating our economy and putting the future of many small businesses at risk. Breweries are no different and all six we visited in Kingston last month could find themselves out of business if this pandemic goes on much longer. So please continue to spend money at local businesses or your favourite brewery if you can. Most breweries deliver so you don't even have to leave your homes to get delicious, Ontario-made beer sent right to your door.

Stay safe, stay home, wash your hands and we will get through this together.

Peace.