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.