Note: I still love you, Boston. Just not your hockey team.
This is what it looks like outside now:
It did not look like this yesterday. I forgot to take a picture, but here's a rough approximation:
Ille, as the French say, Pleut.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
As you may or may not know, I've moved from (sunny) Victoria to (damp) Vancouver, and along with considerably more precipitation comes considerably more beer. As they say, "When it rains, it's time to pour yourself a beer". Thus, as prevention against damp spirits, Mrs. Damnbeerblogger and I donned our least porous articles of clothing and headed out into the incessant June-uary deluge.
You know, what? 'Tweren't so bad after all. Our lift dropped us off on Broadway and Cypress and we walked down to Granville Island, one of our favourite places in #yvr, and certainly a fitting place to kickoff our unofficial "welcome-back-to-Vancouver" tour. First stop, the Market (and what a melange of memory-laden smells that place has). I've been going here since I was a kid. We used to go to Kids Only and admire all the Lego sets. Nowadays we go to Oyama (which is what Rome would look like if the Pope was a sausage, and not just a German).
We went to look at the Lego sets afterwards.
Part of the joys of being an adult, aside from getting funny looks for freaking out about how cool the latest Star Wars Lego set is, is that when you're finished establishing yourself as a infantile, regressive Peter Pan, you can go drink beer with the grown-ups. This is where the Granville Island Brewing tap house comes in.
The perfect pairing for a pint of Brockton IPA -which I have to say tastes pretty damn good this close to the source- is some surreptitiously sneaked salami (that's what she said) in this case, finocchiona. These two go together so well, I ploughed through them like Alex Burrows through a box of ladyfingers.
Mrs Damnbeerblogger loved her False Creek Raspberry Ale (as you can see, she was a bit impatient for me to stop taking pictures). I had a sip: good job GIB, but more on that later.
Next stop was scheduled at the Alibi Room where we had arranged to meet up with a buddy who's a neophyte homebrewer. His best creation so far: Erythmic Ale - seriously red.
I love this place. Never mind Vancouver, I would move to someplace bleakly horrible like Antarctica or Death Valley or, y'know, Boston just to come here and try to drink my way through their epic beer-list. She had a Gold Tooth (hey, that's a great band name!), and I had a Lagunitas Undercover Investigation Shut-Down. And then a Vern's Session. And then a Rasputin on Nitro.
Then it was time to stumble North to the Whip, a journey through some very sketchy areas that had me mentally clutching my purse. Of course, I was just fine, although I did see a well-dressed businessman urinating beside his Nissan Pathfinder's open door. Ooo-kay.
Ah, the Whip. How choked was I to miss their annual show-and-shine? Very. And aren't they supposed to do it on Father's Day anyway? I have a bottle opener to that effect somewheres. Any-hoo, place was packed, beer was great (although only one seasonal). I had the Wee Angry and a Black Plague Stout. Russell and Storm need more recognition for their fine ales: these were delish.
It's good to be back. I'll miss Victoria, but coming through downtown on Wednesday night after the game and feeling the electricity in the city whet my appetite. Now that we've hit up our old haunts, it's like catching up with an old friend.