The Best of 2021 blog (in June)

It seems like 2022 has already been a year and it's only May June. That probably means it's high time I wrote my Best-of blog for 2021.

I've been late before with the year-end stuff but never anywhere near this late. I write full-time now so I seldom have the energy or the inclination to write about beer or much of anything else for this blog. Besides, I get to write about beer for InDurham on a semi-regular basis, so I get my kicks in that way.

Erin Broadfoot at Little Beasts Brewing in Whitby has graced the pages of our amazing, awesome (shameless plug) online newspaper many times - notably when I chronicled her efforts in bringing stories of Sexual Assault and Abuse in the Craft Beer Industry into the light; the Threats she received from the blowback; and ultimately, the Craft Beer Safety Network she helped establish to help create safe spaces for marginlized populations and a toolkit for breweries to do the right thing.

I've written about Banter & Co, Brooklin's first brewery, Town in Whitby got some love, and I've made sure whenever local (that would be Durham Region) breweries won anything at the provincial or national level I would shine a light on their accomplishment.

Hell, my first ever story for InDurham was about New Ritual - Oshawa's newest brewery - a story I was very proud of even though I came off (unintentionally) as sexist for not showcasing the efforts of all parties involved in the enterprise.

So why continue to write a beer blog? I would ask myself that question every so often and often wouldn't have a good answer. Except because I can, and every few months I would get the itch.

Eventually one needs to scratch that itch.

I have written just two IPA Tales blogs in 2022 - both in April - but have yet to write my year-end review. So let's get that out of the way.

Brewery of the Year

Normally I save the best for last but with all this time passed and with the accomplishments of 2022 blending into what happened last year, it's difficult to seperate. My go-to breweries were New Ritual, Bellwoods (Hafis) and Little Beasts, with Town, Rainhard and Dominion City also getting some of my dollars as well.

Erin's social justice efforts I already mentioned would obviously play a big role in my decision, but that was this year, not 2021, so I had to go with the brewery that is actually closest to where I now live in north-west Toronto, the brewery that continually pumps world class IPAs and APAs, the most excellent Jelly King line of dry-hopped Sours and fantastic experimental brews and one-offs.

It's a nice local to have.

Bellwoods (Hafis)

The IPAs

My favourite style of beer and the name of this blog would naturally garner a lot of attention in any best-of story, but the sheer volume of fantastic IPAs I enjoyed in 2021 was a bit overwhelming. A mix of old favourites and first time brews, my list included Strange Proverbs and Never Look Back from New Ritual; Alouette, Sunsplit and Known Commodity from Dominion City; Upon Us and Seperation Anxiety from Third Moon; and Bermuda (Bandit), Call & Response (Rainhard), Victory Lap (Town), Outside Orbit (Collective Arts), Laugh Love (Indie Ale House), Truth Serum (Rorschach), Janky (Matron), Southpaw (Left Field) and Silent Majority (Little Beasts/Beer Diversity).

And that's not counting my picks for Wet-Hopped IPA (V Bines, 5 Paddles); Triple IPAs (Party City, Dominion City) or Milkshake IPAs (Milkshark - Tangerine, Bellwoods).

From all these beauties I narrowed it down to four:

Strange Proverbs, New Ritual; Alouette 1, Dominion City; Silent Majority, Little Beasts/Beer Diversity; and Call & Response, Rainhard.

Imperial IPAs

A few years back I would have a bunch of these in the running for Beer of the Year but my tastes have changed some and I no longer crave the high octane hop bombs.There are still ten on my list here, but really only one of these was memorable enough to make my Beer-of-the-Year finalist list.

Fine Young Cannibal Chickens and Furthermore...You Forgot to Mention Big Foot (Great Lakes); Rolling Thunder and Good Monster (Collective Arts); Double Square Wheels (Town) and Den Full of Dads (Town/Third Moon); Don't Die Here (New Ritual), Kindly Indifference of Infinity (Dominion City), Double Jutsu (Bellwoods) and Super Juicin' (Sawdust City).

Just one clear winner here:

Super Juicin,' Sawdust City.

The Pale Ales

I love me a delicious five per cent pale ale and I probably drink more of this style than anything else, even the IPAs. There are eight on my list here, including defending champ Valkyrie (Little Beasts); Anthem and Obsolute Systems (New Ritual); Canuck and Citradiction (Great Lakes), Jutsu (Bellwoods), Outside Jokes (Town) and Space Tank (Rainhard).

There is also Alternative Ale (Little Beasts/People's Pint) in the Belgian Pale Ale category.

I narrowed it down to two:

Valkryrie, Little Beasts and Outside Jokes, Town.

Saisons, Gose, IPLs, Kolsch and Pilsners

One of the most interesting thing I learned from looking at the list of beer I compiled for 2021 is how many aged, or bottle conditioned, or blended, or aged and blended, etc. Saisons I really liked last year. I like the style well enough, but five aged saisons, a regular variety Saison and even a cousin, a Belgian Grissette? Doesn't seem like me.

They were so good. Like I say every year, there's hope for this committeed IPA lover yet.

Northfield (Dominion City), Baldr (Little Beasts), Tropical Apocalypse (Small Pony), Aprikot Tart (Great Lakes) and Meadow (Bandit) were super delicious Aged Saisons that were aged in foeders, oak barrels or wine barrels or just bottle conditioned. For a good ol' standard Saison, I'm not sure there's a better one out there than Yuzu (Godspeed). Ladybug, a Belgian Grisette (Little Beasts) was damn tasty too.

There were a couple of Gose on the list as well, including Wizard of Gose - Mango & Passionfruit (Bandit) and 6ix Days in Dade (Bellwoods/Wakefield); a Kolsch from Little Beasts (Bridget Bishop) and an India Pale Lager from New Ritual (Empty Bliss).

I have two different styles of Pilsner, the always delicious Marco Polo Italian Pilsner from Indie Alehouse and an outstanding Czech Pilsner from a Czech brewmaster over at Spearhead Brewing.

Five finalists here, two Saisons, a Pilsner, an IPL and a Flanders Red: a real indicator of how much I'm digging beers that are NOT IPAs. Like I mentioned, there may be hope for me yet.

Czech Republic, Spearhead; Meadow, Bandit; Yuzu, Godspeed; Empty Bliss, New Ritual; and Rose Coloured Glasses, Great Lakes.

Brewer of the Year

I can't say I'm the best judge for this, as I am not a beer expert nor do I know too many brewers well. But I do know what I like and I know who has been consistently knocking recipes out of the park. My circle, however, is small. These are my five:

Andrew DiMatteo, Town; Erin Broadfoot, Little Beasts; Tim Ferriman, New Ritual; Luke Pestl and Mike Clark, Bellwoods; and Jim Fay, Third Moon.

Winner winner, chicken dinner: Tim Ferriman, New Ritual, who is now a two-time champ, having copped this prestigious prize in 2018 when he was brewing at Town.

The Sours

I love dry-hopped Sours and funky aged Sours have me begging for more as well. I have eleven on my best-of list, including a Session Sour and a Foeder-aged funky masterpiece:

Barn Owl #23 and Jelly King - Raspberry & Meyer Lemon (Bellwoods); Paradise Lost - Spiced Cherry and Paradise Lost - Raspberry Lime Rum Spice (Blood Brothers); Salad Bar Suplex, Town/Merit and Concrete Converible (Town/Left Field); Born Into This - Gooseberry & Mango (Third Moon); Staring Down the Sun (Muddy York); Waking Rainbow (Collective Arts); Blood Orange, Tangerine etc. (5 Paddles) and Reflective Surfaces - Sour Ale w/ fruit (Merchant Ale House).

I'll take Barn Owl #23 (Bellwoods) and Paradise Lost - Spiced Cherry (Blood Brothers) for the win here.

The Dark Arts

Six beers created by wizards and witches deep beneath the earth made my cauldron boil and bubble - five Imperial Stouts and a Porter:

Mexican Porter (Anderson); Divine Intervention (Collective Arts/Indie Ale House) and Zombie Apocalypse (Indie Ale House); Long Dark Voyage to Uranus (Sawdust City); Dark Night of the Soul (Dominion City); and Peanut Butter Godiva (5 Paddles).

Peanut Butter Godiva is at least a two-time defending champ here but that delicious beer will be joined this time by Zombie Apocalypse (Indie Ale House).

Best New Brewery

No contest here. New Ritual.

Beer Executive of the Year

If this was for 2022 my answer would be different. But it's for 2021 and while Erin Broadfoot (Little Beasts) and Josh Hayter (Spearhead) both were extremely active in saying and doing the right things during the seond year of a global pandemic, I have to cast my vote for Kingston's finest citizen since Gord Downie:

Josh Hayter (Spearhead).

Beer Writer of the Year

There wasn't a lot of beer writers and personalities writing or talking about beer as before; we all had different priorites in 2021. But my favourite people, like Robin Le Blanc, Rob Arseneault, Jordan St. John and Ben Johnson still put the proverbial pen to paper on occasion. But my favourite in 2021 was clear-cut: in addition to his podcasts with Robin and his St. John's Wort musings, Jordan managed to put together the Ontario Brewery Map, a hella valuable guide for veterans and craft been novices alike, whilst never cutting his hair.

Jordan St. John

Raddest Person in Beer

Totally made-up category because I realized I hadn't really paid proper homage to the, well, raddest person in beer. I have now.

Erin Broadfoot

Beer of the Year

Last category. Promise. Sixteen beers in the running: Valkryie and Silent Majority (Little Beasts); Bellwoods (Barn Owl #23); Town (Outside Jokes); New Ritual (Strange Proverbs and Empty Bliss); Dominion City (Alouette 1); Rainhard (Call & Response); Indie Ale House (Zombie Apocalypse); Blood Brothers (Paradise Lost - Spiced Cherry); 5 Paddles (Peanut Butter Godiva); Spearhead (Czech Pilsner); Bandit (Meadow); Godspeed (Yuzu) and Great Lakes (Rose Coloured Glasses).

Good thing I enjoy throwing darts.

I went into the Ottawa orbit for this one.

Alouette 1 (Dominion City)

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas (unless you blog about it)

I've known about the magic of Vegas since Sinatra was crooning at the Sahara and George Burns was cracking one-liners at the Riviera, but not being much of a gambler coupled with relative poverty meant it never once entered my travel plans.

Now that I'm old, I have some disposable income and I have friends who rave about the place, I decided to give it a shot.

So I did a thing. I went to Vegas.

I had my reservations about going, namely my pandemic weight gain and my still not-officially-diagnosed lung disease leaving me short of breath after short walks, but I was tired of listening to the negative side of my brain (and there would always be time for "I told you so" from that annoying little voice later) so I pressed ahead and made the reservations.

My friend and colleague Don was a massive fan of the place and he recommended the LINQ Hotel as it was in the middle of the strip and would therefore cut back on my walking by carving up the strip into more manageble chunks.

The LINQ Promenade

Always thinking of my welfare, that Don.

And the best craft beer bar in Las Vegas - the Yardhouse - was located at one end of the LINQ Promenade outside the hotel, in a sort of mini-strip of bars, restaurants and shops, some of which were accessible directly from my hotel. So win-win.

My flight was very early - 6:30 a.m. - and on the last night I admit I was getting pretty excited about the trip. I packed and repacked my bag twice and decided at the last minute to go out and put some gas in my car so my Dad wouldn't have to during the week I was gone and pick up some masks, as I had lost my good Speahead Big Kahuna mask and my back-up was too small.

And that's how I ended up at a Dollarama outside Sheridan Mall shortly before closing on a Saturday night and that's where I left my phone behind at the self-checkout counter.

The Night Before and the First Morning

A couple of hours after I came home from my errands I noticed my phone wasn't with me and I experienced this overwhelming feeling of panic. My vaccination information is on that phone. My Air Canada check-in stuff is there. It's my alarm; my camera.

I made a frantic drive back to the plaza where I retraced my steps. Dollarama was, of course, closed, and there were no cleaning staff there. I was straight up fucked.

All I could do at this point was leave even earlier for the airport and try to explain my case (I had, at least, my negative COVID test paper) while making do with a borrowed mini-camera. That, and a half-litre of hope was all I had.

I don't sleep much at the best of times and I don't know if I slept at all this night. I know I woke just after 4 and went upstairs to rouse my father. "Let's go now," I told him. "The earlier the better."

With me trying my best to keep the panic at bay, I managed to get my baggage checked before being sent on a journey of many miles - some of which involved walking (ugh) and the rest with the Terminal Link, an actual train that ferries passengers between Terminals 1 and 3, to a nearby hotel so I could upload and print the vaccination information I needed.

And then back to the departure gate - just in time - to join the very long line at U.S. Customs to make my flight.

I Definitely could have used a 
Yardhouse litre of beer Sunday morning

I made it. Hot damn.

I had just one scare left, and that's when I tried to check-in at the LINQ and the self-help machine wouldn't accept my Debit VISA and the first clerk I asked said my card wouldn't be good because my name wasn't on it. I told her I had my laptop with me and gosh darn it, I will prove I am who I say I am.

Of course, once I got set up at the empty counter I realized I needed the Wi-Fi, so back I go to find the clerk, who was now gone. Her replacement, once she heard my story of what I was doing, just smiled and said my card was fine and she'd set me up straight away, no worries.

I went up to my room, got into my Vegas wear and had a nap. It had been a day and it was barely noon.

The Yardhouse

I had heard so many stories about this bar and all of them good. Their craft beer selection was on point, the staff was knowledgeable and super friendly and did I mention the beer? And it was damn near connected to my hotel, though with hotels in Vegas really being malls with rooms on top, it was still a whole 10-minute walk from my quarters.

The place really lived up to its billing. Plenty of beers right up my wheelhouse on tap and when the house beers are made by Stone Brewing - the Brewery that Could Do No Wrong (until they started suing everybody) - you know the selection was going to be good.

Besides a much anticipated pint of Belching Beaver Peanut Butter Milk Stout on nitro (which I enjoyed on my second visit), I decided to stick to local Nevada beers and with Tony and Sarah guiding my choices on those first two visits, sampled a pale ale from Tenaya Creek, IPAs from Bad Beat and Craft Haus and a Rye IPA from Astronomy Ale Works before getting down to business with a litre of Able Baker Brewing's Atomic Duck IPA in the Yardhouse's iconic Yard Glass.

All the while the sounds of Rush Closer to the Heart were heard pumping through the bar's sound system.

All I can say is "aaahhhh"

I think I like it here.

The Food

Las Vegas is expensive, at least the tourist areas near the strip are. Five bucks for coffee! We're talking crappy Dunkin' Donuts coffee, which is almost as ubiquitous as Tim Horton's down here. Almost.

Fast food is pricey - a shake at Johnny Rockets in the Flamingo's food court will run you $10, double or even triple the price of a standard milkshake in the GTA. (But oh, what a shake - probably the best strawberry milkshake I have ever had!) Restaurant prices are comparable, though the quality varies. Vegas parties late, so a decent breakfast is hard to find and my one meal at Moxie's on the Promenade left me wanting something better.

But the brekkie at Hash House, located right in my hotel, was spectacular, with a sausage gravy to die for (I put that shit on everything), and the shrimp and fish tacos at the Yardhouse were amazing. I even tried fast-food sushi at Sushi Burrito and came away impressed.

And with a Guy Fieri restaurant right in my hotel, I couldn't leave Vegas without one meal there. I had the Kobe burger (really good) with an eclectic mix of fries (waffle fries!) and left stuffed and in need of another nap.

The Walking

I mentioned already how much walking there is in Vegas and how I am no longer cut out for it. The vast majority of my hikes were on the Promenade or inside the mall-like casinos. I ventured out on the strip just once to make the hike from my hotel up to Sands Avenue where the garish architecture of the Venetian dominates the streetscape. I don't remember if I had plans to go further, but I know I was determined to find the one brewery - Trustworthy - that the GPS on my laptop said was within walking distance.

There's a brewery in the fancy-pants shoppes
in this here fancy-pants Venetian Hotel

What I remember is dropping my exhaused ass on the steps leading up to the Grand Canal Shoppes, not knowing exactly where the brewery was - "It's around here somewhere," I said to myself - and not having a phone to confirm that fact.

Good thing a couple of Vegas bicycle cops happened by, no doubt wondering what the old homeless guy was doing on the steps leading to the fanciest shopping mall in town. Fortunately one took pity on me and pulled out his phone to direct me up the stairs to the second floor, where I eventually found Trustworthy, smack-dab between a rare and vintage book shop and a store exclusively selling Coach handbags and the like.

"What is a brewery doing in such a fancy place," I asked at woman at the front of the house. "What, you don't think we're fancy?" she responded, clearly a little offended.

It was really more like a classy sports bar, but the beer - I had their Showroom Ready Hazy IPA - was excellent, so no complaining here.

One more place I did way too much walking: airports, especially Pearson. My poor legs are still sore and it's been nearly three weeks.

The People

You meet all kinds in Vegas, they say, though my experiences were almost all positive. I did get shanghaied by a couple of Latina vixens - showgirls of all sorts, some wearing sequins, others feather headwear and others still, like the ladies I ran into where the Promenade meets the strip, very little at all, are everywhere on the strip. The majority are nicely trying to extract cash from horny tourists. Most (I hope) are not as brazen as mine, who whipped me (literally) before engaging me in increasingly provocative poses while her friend snapped some pics.

All right, fair is fair. I didn't exactly protest too much. But she wasn't a happy camper when I gave them each $5 for their troubles and she tried to snatch a $50 right out of my hands. Live and learn, I guess.

The folks at Nevada Beer Workd were as sweet
as the beer in the flights

The people in the service business down here were almost all awesome. Even the fast food employees, making god knows what the minimum wage is in Nevada, were cheerful and pleased to be of service. And my fellow travellers were all happy to be there and even happier to share a drink with a thirsty soul from Canada.

The Really Bad Day

Nothing could match the tragedy that was the journey to get here, at least as far as sheer panic (not even when I lost my wallet on The Really Good Day - more on that in a bit), but when it comes to just feeling like my world had come crashing down on my shoulders, Tuesday was that day.

I had booked a day trip into the desert the afternoon before and awoke to learn they had cancelled on me - actually, I was told I had cancelled and they wanted to know why - and spent the entire morning arguing via laptop with a tour operator from Germany that I had not, in fact cancelled at all and was extremely disappointed that my trip - or a back-up trip they had suggested before cancelling that too - would not happen.

The culprit, of course, was my missing phone. Despite telling the local operator my phone wasn't with me they tried to call it to confirm and then gave my spot to someone else when I didn't.

I eventually gave up and went for my walk up the strip and came home exhausted and frustrated and a trip to the pool to cool off only made things worse. In my sad state it was too easy to feel judged as I lay on a lounge chair like a beached whale, desperately grasping at the last rays of sunshine as they disappeared behind the buildings.

You meet all kinds on the Vegas 
strip. You really do

I gathered up my stuff and made my way upstairs to my room. It was an early night.

The Really Good Day

Wednesday was a better day. I cabbed over to the Orleans Hotel & Casino to see Batman on the big screen and then walked over to the adjoining arena to where the World Men's Curling Championships was being held and snuck in at the very end of a USA vs Germany match.

I caught a free shuttle almost all the way back to my hotel - I cabbed the rest of the way; I'd done enough walking - and after wimping out on getting my first tattoo I headed up to my room. I felt better but I still couldn't entirely shake my depression.

The solution to my woes came in a suggestion from Don when we chatted on Slack in the morning. "Uber up to the Arts District dude. There are three breweries there just minutes apart."

Beer is the answer my friends.

My first stop Thursday was Nevada Brew Works and it really does. Awesome space with a huge patio that reminded me of the beauty of breweries in warm climates where patio season is 12 months of the year. Friendly staff and a nice beer selection, so naturally I ordered a flight: a Raspberry Sour, a Lemon Drop Saison, a Hefeweizen and a Hazy IPA and enjoyed a chat-up with Will, a computer sales rep from LA who travelled the world on business, sampling craft beer everywhere he went.

The worries of the previous couple of days were already melting away. Next up was (literally) next door and HUDL Brewing, where I found the lovely Carly and continued my exploration of Vegas beers with another flight.

The Atomic Duck was the star of the show
at Abel Baker Brewing

I enjoyed a flight of five beers here with Postie Racing, an Australian Pale Ale; Liquid Pink Eye, another Raspberry Sour; Chocolate Sprocket Brown Ale (super sweet with a super strong chocolate aroma); Nac Nac, a West Coast IPA (very piney with a dry finish) and Salty Swabber Imperial Pale Ale, the only miss in the bunch.

I had a nice chat with Carly, who had lived in Australia for a spell (her son was born there) about mutual experiences in the land Down Under and I left for my final stop in wonderful spirits. I won't say I had a spring in my step (not sure if those days will ever return) but damn! The sun was shining and it felt wonderful to be enjoying good beer with good company once again.

My final stop on my mini-tour through Las Vegas' Arts Brewery District was Able Baker, the brewery that made Atomic Duck IPA, the beer that graced my litre glass back on Sunday at the Yardhouse.

The place was hopping and it clearly was the spot the cool kids hung out so I felt right at home as I sidled up the bar right by the open front window. For the uninitiated, Able Baker is military jargon for A and B and represents the first two nuclear missiles fired back when Nevada was a testing site in the early 1950s. Legend has it that the only animal to survive the blast was a duck, who then waddled off into history.

Atomic Duck was naturally on my sample list, but I started with a bang with an 11 per cent Peanut Butter Banana Barrel-aged Stout that was more bourbon than banana and peanut butter. I followed that with a Pineapple K-Pow Pow Sour (tart, very citrusy) while watching Tiger Woods finish his first round at the Masters. Ducky Trail, a mild American Pale Ale, came next, followed by the tried and true Atomic Duck.

I finished with a proper pint of Waddle, a Session IPA that looked fantastic in the glass and tasted of orange and love, all washed down with my first ever Po Boy sammy.

The Flamingo Hotel. Right across the 
Promenade from the LINQ

This place really rocks.

I also popped into the Horse Trailer Hideout next door just to try a Vegas As Fuck IPA from Revision Brewing - because why wouldn't you? - before getting on my high horse for what turned out to a very long walk to a taxi stand at the Strat Hotel.

I was beat by the time I arrived so I cooled my heels at a Starbucks, where, me being me, my wallet (with most of my ID and about $400 US inside) stayed behind when I went back outside to hail a cab for home. Imagine my surprise when I discovered I didn't have enough cash to pay my driver.

Now imagine his suprise.

No panic, says I - it's been too good of a day. Instead I rushed through the mall casino to the LINQ front desk and asked if they could pretty please call the Starbucks at the Strat and enquire if my wallet was there.

It was. Thank all the gods and my guardian angels, it was there. So I grabbed another cab and headed back, asking my new driver to wait while I found the coffee shop and reclaimed my wallet. Fifty bucks later - the best $50 I ever spent - I was back at the hotel, where I treated myself to dinner and returned to the Yardhouse, where I spent the rest of the evening getting pleasantly drunk and feeling like someone was smiling at me.

Or maybe I was just smiling at myself. In any event, it was a Really Good Day.

The Gambling

I am not much of a gambler, I'll say that right now. I used to love playing cards but since the obsession with Texas Hold 'Em I lost interest in poker (I'm always up for a game of Euchre. Anybody? Bueller?) and I am frankly a little intimidated by table games at casinos. Stakes are too rich for my blood.

So I plunk down a few bucks on the slots whenever I'm walking by one and me dogs need a rest. Which is frequently, because, as I mentioned, I get tired easily and I'm in a casino - there are slot machines EVERYWHERE!

Curling? In Vegas? You betcha. World 
Championships to boot

It's real easy to lose $20 in 20 minutes here and $10 in ten minutes there and all those losses add up quickly. I walked away from a machine up more than $45 twice in the entire week and overall I probably dropped a couple hundred total, so it wasn't the end of the world. 

But it is really boring.

I do have a gambling story, though. Before I left I was in my favourite comic store - Red Nails 2 in North York Sheridan Mall - when Danny, my friendly neighbourhood purveyor of pop art, had a favour to ask. "Sure," says I, "what is it? "Put $5 on #19."

One can't say no to such a request, but for the life of me, I never saw a single roulette wheel in all my casino travels. It was mid-week when I wandered into Harrah's off the strip and spotted a roulette slot machine. That would have to do, I thought. But I chose that particular time to get all practical and decided I wasn't going to waste $5 on a 38-1 shot, so I put the cash on 13-24 and damn if the machine didn't pay out. A whole $15 to be exact.

And then I looked at where the ball had stopped. Of course.

19.

Okay. I'll come back

That was $180 I didn't win. Sorry Danny. But I won a few more times on the machine and walked away with nearly $50, so that was good.

A couple of days later I found the same machine in the same casino and decided to see if lightning would strike twice. It didn't. I lost $40 in less than 15 minutes.

Odds on Returning

Will I go back to Vegas? Probably better than 50-50. Despite my troubles, I had a great trip but next time I think I'll hit Fremont Street downtown. More interesting people, more breweries and more compact, so less walking.

This time I will definitely take that day trip into the desert, almost definitely get that tattoo, possibly put my wallet on a chain so it doesn't fall out of my shorts and 100 per cent not leave my phone in a Dollarama back home.

But even if I find new ways to screw up, I'm still going to have a blast. It's Vegas. The odds are always in my favour.

Cheers!

 

 

Good breweries, good beer with good friends is the super tonic we all need

Confidence is a fragile thing for most of us, I think. Easily shattered and often not so easy to put back together. But confidence, or lack of same, is not why I only wrote three original beer blogs last year.

In some fashion I felt a bit like a phony as a beer writer; a charlatan, if you will. I rarely wrote about it and I didn't have a whole lot to say about the subject on social media either. The kicker for me, though, was the fact I hardly drank at all. I might have a beer a night for a couple of days and then not drink at all for three. Meanwhile I still made the occasional brewery run or had it delivered and my full beer fridge would stare at me, taunting me to ease its load.

David, Don and Robert at Clifford Brewing

It's not that I have lost interest in drinking good beer. More like I realized the attraction to me about craft beer - as I'm sure it is for most of us - was always about the people I was drinking it with. I miss those brewery tours with friends, or just popping down to the local for a pint with a pal.

The latter is possible again and has been a thing for brief perids throughout the pandemic, but it hasn't been the same, especially with me still living in Downsview and my family and most of my people back in Oshawa and other parts of Durham Region.

That's why the first-Saturday-in-February excursion to Hamilton and Clifford Brewing to meet up with friends over a couple of pints was such a beautiful thing. My pal Don (also my work colleague) was there, as were Rob & Kat (Polk and Lady Polk), Greg and artist extraordinaire David. 

It was just like the old days - we hung out, had a few beers and a few laughs and even had time for some serious chats about the state of the industry. Whether it inspires me to write on the regular is doubtful, but it was partly responsible for this blog, so there's that.

The other spark lately was a feature I wrote for InSauga, the online newspaper Don and I work for, on the subject of abuse, descrimination and sexual assault in the beer industry. To be more specific, the story was about my friend Erin, who owns Little Beasts Brewing in Whitby, and her Instagram campaign that invited people to share stories about abuse in the industry.

Erin did the heavy lifting and those who shared their tales were the courageous ones. I just re-arranged their words. But I am proud of the story I wrote (and of the follow-ups - Threats made against Whitby Whistleblower and Safety Network) and I sincerely hope it helps spread the word on how toxic working in craft beer can be.

The stories Erin shared was also the subject of the "serious chats" we had at Clifford. We all know some of the breweries named in Erin's stories and we know some of the people called out for their behaviour in those stories.

Some of those people are our friends. Not easy conversations.

The lovely Candice at Second Wedge

The next weekend the conversations on the subject continued as I took my friend Candice out for a mini-tour of north Durham breweries. She had been having a bit of a tough go lately and had been looking forward to joining us in Hamilton but her truck decided - at the last minute, of course, leaving no time for other arrangements - that it wasn't going to start.

So I promised her I would pick her up on Saturday and we would visit Second Wedge in Uxbridge and Old Flame in Port Perry, two breweries in my home turf  I have never visited. And drop in on an under-construction brewery in Brooklin, Banter & Co., just to have a look and maybe say hi if anyone was around. (They weren't. Next time.)

Another pal, Adam, was supposed to come along as well but he begged off with a sore throat so we met him outside his swanky downtown Oshawa condo to present him with a couple of cans from @spearhead beer and then headed north to Old Flame.

(After a brief stop at White Feather Country Store in Raglan where I bought a giant strawberry rhubarb pie, a loaf of cheese bread and the heaviest apple fritter I have ever seen; but only because Candice promised it was all calorie-free.)

I always found Old Flame beers a bit pedestrian, but my flight - two pale ales and a couple of flavoured stouts -  were quite intriguing. The stouts didn't really pack the advertrtised orange and peppermint flavours but the two ales - one dry-hopped, the other wet-hopped - lived up to their billings.

The ambience was amazing. Huge crowd for a Saturday afternoon. And the place was filled with dogs, especially in our little corner.

We headed west after that to Second Wedge (who championed the call to allow dogs in brewery taprooms) and enjoyed a few more flights. Nothing fancy for me with two pales ales and a couple of solid IPAs, but I made sure to go home with a few Fat Bikes, an Imperial IPA made with locally grown hops.

Flight at Midtown Brewery

Like Old Flame, Second Wedge was very pup friendly, which is super conducive to melting away anxiety and putting oneself at ease.

And that's the beauty of breweries for me. Good friends, good beer and a welcoming vibe.

I made a couple of trips to Little Beasts and one to Town Brewery - by myself and with pals - over the next couple of months, along with several trips to Bellwoods' Hafis location, which is the closest brewery to my Downsview digs. Each time the pressures of the day or even any general depression I had been feeling would slowly disipate into the ether.

I even made the long drive into Prince Edward County this weekend just to visit a couple of breweries that had long been on my must-see lists: Midtown and Matron.

Midtown was right in the heart of Wellington, a beach community on the county's west side, and offered a super cool tap room, delicious fish and chips (the fries were smothered in garlic aoli and covered in parmesan cheese - so good) and some unique brews, including a UK-style IPA that may be the best I've had in years and a delicious Apricot Sour.

The wild Lake Ontario surf at Wellington Beach

Matron was in the next village over - Bloomfield - and was a little harder to get to as it was at the end of a muddy, pothole-filled wagon road. No flights, unfortunately, but I had a tried-and-true Janky IPA and filled my to-go bag with familiar favourites - Janky, Bobo - and some new beers in Link Up IIPA, Candor (Belgian IPA) and Flightless, a Cold IPA (?) collaboration with Willibald.

Very hipster-friendly, this place, with more Blundstone boots (and a couple of old school Doc Martens to boot) per square ... foot ... than perhaps anywhere else in the world.

I'm tempted to buy a pair.

I was back east the next day seeing the J Man in Bowmanville and on the way home I rang up Candice and we met for a beer or two at 5 Paddles in Whitby and I was reminded again about the magic of breweries, especially when you're with good friends.

Breweries: Good for what ales ya. (I'll show myself out.)

Cheers!

 

Slaying the dragons - one positive, wonderful thought at a time

It's been a while since I wrote a fresh blog. Nearly six months really, if you don't count re-prints, and though I write every day in my every-day job as a mild-mannered reporter for the insauga/indurham online newspaper conglomerate, there are still beery and personal things I want to to share that I can't in that forum.

Finding the time to write is tough but finding the desire to write when I already do that 9-5 is even more difficult, especially as I am still fighting my usual inner demons of depression and loneliness. Now, as my weight has got completely out of control since my knee surgery - I now touch the scales at just under 260 - I can add self-loathing to that list as well. All three dragons and no fly swatter in sight.

It shouldn't be that bad for me. I'm working in journalism again for the first time in a decade and the first time as a full-time working journalist in about 20 years and I absolutely love what I do. When the alarm goes off at 7:30 I am genuinely eager to roll out of bed and greet the day and I can tell you it's been an awfully long time since I felt that way.

Slaying the dragon - my new quest

I moved in with the folks in Downsview to help Dad take care of Mom (Alzheimer's) at the beginning of the pandemic and while I pay my share of the expenses, my bank account is flush like, well, never before, really. So that's a worry that was part of my life (and a part of most of my loved ones as well) that is no longer there, ready to strike at every month-end.

But there's a level of guilt that goes with that. I miss my kids very much and I very much want to get back to Oshawa to see them on the regular. I see Jake every six weeks or so but Cam and Matt only twice since this all started and Adrianne and her lovely family not bloody once. I can now afford to move back there (no more basement apartments for me) and much love to Mom & Dad and all, but the desire to get my own damn place is super strong.

But there's that guilt...

You see, Dad has his own share of 88 year-old difficulties and I really don't want to leave him right now. He doesn't move around that well and the duties I now do, like laundry and shopping, would be difficult (but not impossible) tasks for him. I can't stay forever either, but the move has been delayed and I'm not really sure when it will happen.

And let us not mention my older brother Brian and how he fits in this little family dynamic. Not today anyway.

And then there's my health. In addition to the problems caused by my knee replacement of 22 months ago and my weight gain, I have been experiencing a persistent cough lately, not unlike a smoker's cough, except I quit smoking more than 21 years ago. So I got it checked out, and while official confirmation will come after a new battery of tests next month, it appears I have idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, which is serious shit.

The prognosis is varied. I could keel over next week in a paroxysmal fit of coughing, or I could hang on for 20 years or more, and a lot of that is up to me. Lose weight, eat healthy, that sort of thing. And for the record, the 'idiopathic' part is not because I was an idiot (though some may disagree) but because I was never a miner, concrete cutter or worked with asbestos - the usual culprits with this lung disease - and therefore they don't know why it chose me.

Thankfully I haven't wasted any precious minutes with the 'why me? nonsense, so I thought I should start looking around at the good things in my life right instead of wallowing in self-pity.

Ain't nobody got time for that.

If I ever want to slay those three dragons, this is the only way to do it. In no particular order, here are a few reasons why the future looks bright, if not necessarily long for this chubby but still handsome old writer.

I Have A Job

Yes, I know I mentioned this, but it's worth repeating that I was given a new lease on life back in the spring when old college pal Steve asked if I was interested in returning to the world of newspapers, albeit of the online variety. God yes, Steve! Thank you, thank you and thank you to Khaled, my new favourite best boss ever (sorry Jessica).

Dental Plan

I've identified with Homer Simpson for many years - "Lisa Needs Braces" - as my front teeth started falling out and damn if I haven't really smiled for years because of my lack of chompers. Now I have a dental plan and a little extra cash for what may not be covered and I have started the process of getting an upper plate of some kind. I hope to be smiling for real early in the new year.

New Beers

This is a beer blog, so I thought I would throw something beery in it. I don't know if it's pandemic related but the majority of my favourite beers of 2021 are new-to-me beers. My best-of-show IPA list is up to 14 as I write this and a dozen were born this year. Nine out of a top ten list of Imperial IPAs too. Creative minds not resting on their laurels but continuing to create, I guess. I like it.

Beer People

This has been a tough year for craft beer. The industry has had to deal with the fallout from the stories of sexual harassment and misogyny shared by Brienne Allen, a production manager and brewer at Notch Brewing in Salem, Massachusetts, with some well-known people taking the fall in the aftermath.

I made the mistake of wading into the debate in the early stages and put my foot squarely in my mouth in the process, assuming all these stories of assholes in the industry were American and weren't we just peaches up here? And I got rightfully told (in a very nice way) to STFU, so live and learn. But what I really learned through the experience was that there are many, many truly awesome people in the business who are not afraid to say and do all the right things.

From brewers and brewery owners like Erin Broadfoot (Little Beasts) and Josh Hayter (Spearhead) to writers and podcasters like Robert Arsenault (Drunk Polkeroo), Robin LeBlanc (Thirsty Wench), Jordan St. John and Danny Brown - just to name a few - I realized there is a solid foundation in Ontario's craft beer community and with it, hope for the future.

Buist-ed for the second time

David Buist

Speaking of beer people, I have a beer pal who is destined for greatness, if for no other reason than he has immortalized me twice in cartoon form. I am far from the only one and it's considered a major coup to be thus turned into a comic book character of his invention. David is a noted children's illustrator and an illustrator of a few beer books as well and I really need to get together with him again just so I can get a few more pieces of art and get them signed. And maybe re-visit that cottage in God's Country. Next year if we can get through this damn pandemic.

Built a Bike

I kid you not. I actually built something. Okay, it's taken me three weeks and the pedal straps are still unattached and the control panel is not wired up, but I have (almost) successfully created an exercise bike from nothing more than parts, tools and a manual. I know, right? But it's a true story.

Friends

I don't get to see many of them (besides my best pal Jake) but I have seen my Oshawa peeps Steve and Brandon a couple of times and my Beer Bro, college chum (and now work colleague) Don a few times as well. I am, in fact, visiting him in his new St. Catharines digs this weekend. I can tell you I really look forward to our Friday morning virtual Huddle meetings at work, so that should tell you something of my desire to see friends again. (Christmas Party December 11 - yay!) And my dear friend Candice, what can I say about her? She and I have met up at least a half-dozen times to drink fine ale and share our tales of woe with each other. It's what keeps me sane.

North American Beer Writers Guild

Pretty fancy name, but then it keeps pretty fancy company and they have a contest each year to declare the fanciest of beer writers in a bunch of different categories and this year, I entered it. There was almost no chance of me winning anything but I knew I had at least three good blogs over the past 12 months (Appliance and Love Story are the others I chose) so I thought, 'why the hell not?'

Spoiler alert: I didn't win, but I was told there was feedback from one of the judges if I wanted to hear it and I most certainly did. This is what the judge had to say: Glenn's unique voice and self-awareness lend themselves to quality content. I laughed at the appliance bits. I teared up a little at the thought of the struggles of Glenn's Mom. This is an easy-reading blog with lots of personality.

It was well worth the $30 entry fee just to read that.

Christmas

I love Christmas but didn't always look forward to it. I was usually working one job or another through most of the holiday season and my most consistent holiday tradition was being broke. This year money is less of an an issue but the most important thing I am looking forward to is being with my family. That's four kids, seven grandkids, an ex and all the spouses and girlfriends to make an absolutely memorable reunion.

I can't wait.

Cheers!

 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 Portsmouth 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 a daily torrent of 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 in Oshawa who came out to Karaoke at Stag's Head 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 back 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 five years ago today.

I remember. So I won’t ever forget.

The Unknown Warrior

by Moz Perkins

On November 7, 1920, in strictest secrecy, four unidentified British bodies were exhumed from temporary battlefield cemeteries at Ypres, Arras, the Asine and the Somme. None of the soldiers who did the digging were told why. 

One body was then chosen at random and taken by horse-drawn carriage through Guards of Honour and the sound of tolling bells and bugle calls to the quayside, where he was loaded onto HMS Vernon bound for Dover. The Unknown Warrior was met at Dover with a nineteen gun salute - something that was normally only reserved for Field Marshals – and finally taken to Westminster Abbey where the soldier became part of the second Armistice Day ceremony.

The idea of the unknown warrior was thought of by a Padre called David Railton who had served on the front line during the Great War. It was his intention that all of the relatives of the 517,773 combatants whose bodies had not been identified could believe that the Unknown Warrior could very well be their lost husband, father, brother or son.

THIS is the reason we wear poppies. We do not glorify war. We remember - with humility - the great and the ultimate sacrifices that were made, not just in this war, but in every war and conflict where our service personnel have fought - to ensure the liberty and freedoms that we now take for granted. Every year, on the 11th of November, we remember the Unknown Warrior. At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.

-    

 

For most of us, our relationships with our fathers have their ups and downs as we go through life together.  My own relationships with my dad has gotten stronger as the years pass - probably because I got wiser as I got older more than anything else - and I believe our bond is stronger today than it has ever been.

For that I am truly grateful.

Not that my father hasn't changed as he got older - he's 88 now - but I think the biggest change has been in his relationship with my mom, his wife of nearly 66 years. Dad used to depend on Mom for so much, but with Mom in the not-so-early-onset stage of Alzheimer's, the tables have been turned and it is Dad who now looks after Mom.

It's been wonderful to see his nurturing side revealed. First-hand too, as I have been back home helping him since this Pandemic was declared.

It really is a beautiful thing.

In honour of my dad and Father's Day, I am sharing with you a blog I wrote
about my Pops eight years ago. Enjoy!

Sunday, 16 June 2013

Father’s Day

"A man can be a father, but not every man can be a dad."

My step-daughter Adrianne used those words to start a blog she wrote about me a few months ago. It was beautiful – made me tear up and everything – and it also made me think about my Dad.

My Dad was 24 when he became a father for the first time. I was ten years older, but I inherited three at once, so at the age of 34 we were even. The difference – and it was a big one – was that he had ten years to try to get it right. I was jumping into the deep end without a paddle, or a manual for that matter.

It wasn’t easy, I can tell you that. I had my Angry Dad moments. I had my frustrating times, my feelings of powerlessness. I wasn’t always around either, especially after Jacob was born.

I held down three or four jobs at once in his first year and I think Adrianne, who was 18 at the time, spent more time with her little brother than I did.

I love that they developed a special bond that still exists today, but I hated that I couldn’t be there for him. Especially as my Dad traveled all the time on business during my childhood.

I wished he was around more in those days, I really did. But he was there to teach me how to ride a bike, he was there to teach me about the wild, wonderful and wide world outside our cottage door, and he was there to look the principal in the eye and tell him that I did not lie. “If he said it wasn’t his beer on school property, it wasn’t his beer.”

Thanks Dad.

Dad in his wild and crazy days

As time went on being a Dad got easier for both of us. No less challenging – I think we can both say the older our kids got the more demanding the job became – but easier, because by then we figured we knew what we were doing.

A little delusional on our parts, sure. But the important thing is we persevered. We learned. And we loved. We still do.

 
Among the nice things Adrianne said about me in her blog was that I am “always there” for her and her kids. I guess I am, but that’s only because I had the greatest teacher: my Dad.

 
I’ve never asked him, but I bet Dad hated being away from us when we were kids as much as we did. He must have hated it, because he has done his best to make up for lost time since then.

To this day my Dad is the one I call when I need help. It’s always been that way. During my first marriage, when my wife and I were having problems, Dad was the one who acted as the referee and smoothed things over.

 
In the years that followed, Dad was the person I turned to. Especially if I needed money, and that was often. I’ve owned two houses in my life, and neither deal would have happened without the kick-start we received from my parents.

 
Yesterday I gathered up the clan – ten of us – and we headed out to Toronto to see Mom and Dad. Also known as Grandma and Grandpa. And Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa. We ate chicken wings and salad and other goodies. And we had a good time because we were together.

 
I was sitting with my Dad on the porch after dinner watching the kids run around the lawn, playing some sort of soccer-football-dodge ball game. And I noted that it had probably been a long time since there were so many people having fun there. Dad just smiled.

 
I love you Dad. Happy Father's Day!