A Triumvirate From Hoyne Brewing - (What, you thought I was dead?)

Well, now. Nice to see you again.

"So what happened to the damnbeerblogger?" folks have been asking, as well they might. As it turns out, nothing particularly interesting, just the humdrum everyday excuse of not having enough time to keep up with a blog and a house and an increased writing workload and a full-time job. Beer blog went from back burner to shelf to back of the freezer to crammed-in-an-old-cardboard-box-in-the-attic. Nine months I had kept it up, but no more.

However, a few things have re-energized me recently. Firstly, an unexpected bumping into Dean&Liz reminded me of all the interesting folks that I've met as a result of starting this blog. And then there was the electrifying news that Singularity is about to drop: the very beer that kicked thingsoff in the first place for me.

So, time to dust of the 'ol keyboard (the pint-glass doesn't need dusting-off: THAT I never took a break from), and ease back into things with a trio from Victoria's newest brewery.

Hoyne Brewing boasts a history of quality, and fair enough given Sean Hoyne's CV: Swan's then Canoe, then this. While my initial reaction was, "Where did these guys spring from?" it's more evidence that Victoria is Brewtown, BC; a centre where a thriving pub culture and local support mean that the answer to the question "Do we really need another brewery?" is an unreserved "Yes!"

I miss you, Victoria (but more on that later).

The first of our three is Devil's Dream IPA, and if you are thinking of opening a brewery and NOT offering an IPA, then gooood luck. Wait, didn't Driftwood get away with that for a while. Oh well, never mind: IPA is now a recognized and demanded style for your West Coaster and, as I'm a hop-head, I had some interest in seeing whether this beer would make its way into regular rotation.

It's good... but no. Despite the fiddler on the label, definitely not an East-Coast IPA, the Devil's Dream is very hoppy and acerbic, but doesn't pack a huge resiny wallop, more a balanced malt profile. Nice citrus smell, pale malts, bitter finish, nice but wouldn't stand up to a Fat Tug.

 This, though, was much better. I'm really coming around to the Pale Ale as an easy-drinkin' alternative to getting your papillae blitzed by hop-forward IPAs, and this lovely, malty beer something in the style of the Moon Under Water's beers. And not too shy on the hops either. A very nicely rounded beer, and most assuredly the proper beer to introduce yourself to Hoyne with.

Yes, that's "bock." With a "b." Ignore the big.... chicken.

What a world we live in where 6.5% and a "strong beer" label immediately has me rolling my eyes. But enough on the labels, how does this beer stand on merit? Not too bad actually, though it's not really... I suppose the nice thing to say would be "it's approachable." There's none of the big maltiness of a European bock, but then, it's still quite tasty.

Overall, a decent debut, though nothing earth-shatteringly delicious. Not pictured: the Hoyner Pilsner I neglected to get (next time). 

Having dipped my toe, a catch-up post is in order. Then next week.... the Singularity approaches.

Battle Royale No 7: Abel vs. Cain

As a passport-bearing denizen of Northern Ireland, I am no stranger to family in-fighting. In the wee parcel of land from whence I sprung, men have bled and died while not realizing that they have much more in common with each other than they do with either the people of the Republic of Ireland or the British Royal family, that bunch of teat-sucking German vampires. No prizes for guessing which side I tend towards.

However, I am all too happy that my folks eschewed the blinkered life of the oul' sod and came instead to Canada, where I can even make friends with a Liverpudlian without the attendant stigma associated with same. Well, without most of the stigma...


But anyway, here we are at the much-overdue B.R. numbah 7, and it's time for a little good old fashioned inter-brewery throw-down. In one corner, the much-lauded Fat Tug; in the other, Twenty Pounder gets another shot. Ding!


Driftwood Fat Tug IPA vs. Driftwood Twenty Pounder Double IPA

Round 1: Fight!


Now, many of you might already be saying, "Hey! You already said you didn't like the Twenty-Pounder! How fair is that?" Well, not fair, actually, but let me put this out there. Ignoring all a priori notions of which beer is better, I laid aside my initial impression, and really tried to examine the beer. After all, while taste is subjective, some folks are really digging this brew. 


So here we are then, and at first sniff, here we are with some seriously hoppy beers. Seriously, the Fat Tug's got more hops than a jackrabbit smoothie, and a whiff of the Twenty-Pounder indicates the same. Warning: the 'Tug starts Alexander Keith's corpse spinning in his grave, but the Twenty Pounder has him hitting 9000 rpms. Dude just hit VTEC, yo.


On first blush, the Twenty Pounder has the edge on body and colour, but it's the Fat Tug's floral hop bouquet that draws first blood.

Round 2: Fight!


Obviously, I've got to sample the Fat Tug first off, as the Twenty-Pounder has the heft to be an A-Bomb to the tastebuds. I am become DIPA, destroyer of Palates. It's hard to believe that this stuff is even better on tap than it is in the bottle. It's fresh and light and delicious without being wimpy. As much as I love Red Racer, Fat Tug is stiff competition against any IPA.


But it's not up against any IPA, it's up against its hairy-knuckled big bro'. Which beer, it must be said, has some of that stewed-grapefruit character of Southern Tier's Un*Earthly, possibly my fav beer if I had to choose. But where the Tier balances that double shwack of hops with a big malt body, the Twenty-Pounder has an astringent bitterness that's off-leash. No mistaking the big alcohol content either. Second round's gotta go to the 'Tug.

Round 3: Fight!


There's a third left in each bottle now, and if I didn't have a liver the size of a wagon-wheel, I'd be slurring my sibilants. As it stands, I still stand, and so do our two combatants, though the Twenty-Pounder has been taking a beating.


But something funny's happened. The initial bite of both beers has been muted by their intense hop concentrations to the point that the acrid, astringent taste of the Twenty-Pounder is no longer off-putting. It's been blunted by repeated sipping and funnily enough, the Fat Tug is almost like a Race Rocks in its maltiness as its hoppiness is masked by the solar flare of resin coming off the Twenty-Pounder. Which do I prefer? 


Hmm. Round 3 is a draw.

Round 4: Fight!


We're down to the dregs now, and the numbers of lysed brain cells are hitting the trillons. So I hope you appreciate the research, dear readers, as the chances of me ever doing a crossword puzzle again just went out the window. 


But, in the final round, we do have a winner. The Twenty-Pounder is just too much like work. It's not quaffable in any degree: the intensity of the hops is simply exhausting to the palate, and then you refresh yourself with a sip of Fat Tug and wonder why you're bothering with the other. After all, the Twenty-Pounder is only 2% stronger than the 'Tug is anyway.


Result! 


Fat Tug wins, despite giving up a hop-load and ABV advantage to the heavy-weight Twenty-Pounder!

Post-Battle Review:

More is not necessarily better. Hard to believe I'm saying such a thing about beer, but there you go. I maintain that Driftwood Brewing is the Brewery to beat on the West Coast for range-wide excellence, but their regular IPA remains too good for a misfire of a DIPA to take out in single combat.

Driftwood Fat Tug
Recommended if:-one "schwack o' hops" is enough
-balance is favoured over sheer mass
-still worth ordering for the double-entendre name
Not Recommended if:
-you only buy cans
-tastebuds be damned, I need to kill my brain!
-you don't like IPAs. In which case: this is the wrong B.R. for you, boyo.
Driftwood Twenty-Pounder
Recommended if:-ABV and IBU high-scores matter more to you than taste
-For those about to have a major hang-over, we saluuuute you
-you probably should try it at least once anywayNot recommended if:-you're not a hop fan. Because this will melt your face.
-you favour balance over outright intensity

-there's Fat Tug available. Because it's better.

Battle Royale No 5: The Hockey Drafts

Note: Of course, a thought to Japan. What you can do: Red Cross.

Here's truth: beer on tap tastes better. Thus it is that the rather serious folks over at the Journal of Food Science put down their clipboards and headed off to something like 70 pubs in 14 countries to track down the best-tasting Guinness in the world, and then found that it tastes best in Ireland.

Well, I could have told you that. If you're interested, it tastes best either in Temple Bar (although you'll be neck-deep in tourists), or in a little pub in a tiny town just South of Strabane that I can't remember the name of. It wasn't this one:

But I thought it was worth a mention anyway. Can I get a pint of Darkness!

More rambling (and ranting) about Guinness closer to St. Padraig's day, but let's have a good look at our current combatants.

On one hand, we have (left) the Gold-Medal Winning Red Racer IPA. It's already a champ, and might just be the best beer you can get in a can. Certainly it's a front-runner for hopheads seeking a sixer on the way home. How does it stand up on draft and without home-court advantage?

On the right, it's perennial home-town hero Driftwood with their Fat Tug IPA. Honestly, it's worth ordering it for the pardon-me-miss wink-wink nudge-nudge snap-snap grin-grin double entendre name, but it's a frankly excellent beer, and has firmly supplanted the no-longer available Hop Circle as the hockey-watching beer of choice down at The Beagle.

Ah yes, the Beagle. This great little neighbourhood pub is our beers' battleground tonight, and as well as the main event, it appears we have a little side-skirmish on ice: 'Nucks vs. Sharks. Eeexcellent.

(sigh: I really need to learn to use Photoshop.)

Central City Red Racer IPA vs. Driftwood Fat Tug IPA

First period: Fight!

Central City drops the gloves right after the faceoff with a smasher of Cascade hops. It's 1984, this beer is Dave Semenko, and you've just laminated Wayne Gretzky to the boards. Hope you enjoy the taste of broken face.

But Fat Tug is no whinging Kyle Wellwood. Right from the get-go, you can tell this is going to be a bench-clearer, as the Driftwood hits right back with citrusy, hoppy goodness.

'Nucks up by two, battling IPAs at One-All...

Second Period: Fight!

Both beers are out of the locker rooms after getting a pep talk from their head brewers, and having their knuckles taped up. Meanwhile, the Sharks take just over a minute to tie it up. This might go more than three periods. Hope me oul' liver can take it.

Body-wise, Red Racer has the edge. Or does it? It's certainly got a heavier malt and a denser feel to it, but it's paired nicely with a dry, dry finish that keeps you reaching for that next sip. It's a bruiser but a speed-skater too.

Only an idiot would call Fat Tug a lightweight, but it is certainly less heavy than the Racer. Mind you, that works in its favour. The citrus notes are enhanced to a degree, as though between two varieties of grapefruit, one tarter than the other. I'm just alternating sips here, back-and-forth, end-to-end. Nobody's playing the trap, both are going for broke.

'Nucks-Sharks 3-2, IPAs 2 each

Third Period: Fight!

It's down to the wire, but I still can't make my mind up. You'd think the Red Racer would overpower the Fat Tug because it is a bit heavier, but Tug comes from the guys who bring you Sartori and Singularity and old Cellar Dweller. They're CAMRA gold-medallists too, and the super-balanced nature of their IPA is hard to find fault with.

Everybody's tied up. IPAs and hockey teams.

Overtime!

This looks like just a crappy picture, but it's actually a rather accurate representation of my view of the screen right now. The thing about sessioning IPAs is that they don't tend to hold back, and both these enforcers are absolutely Bertuzzi'ing my frontal cortex.

But even with extra minutes, I've got to go to the shootout. So do the Canucks.

Shoot-Out!

Okay, here's the thing. If I rolled into a pub in Vancouver, I'd be reaching for the Red Racer unless there was something missing on my untappd list. It's a huge IPA; an unconcussed Crosby I'd be happy to put up against the best that the Yanks have to offer. That means you Dogfish.

But I'm not in the Big Smoke. I'm in Victoria, and specifically, I'm in the Beagle, the place where Driftwood first rolled in a cask and essentially said, "we're here to brew great beers."

It's all down to the goal-tending, folks, and the home-team wins this one. On-screen, Cory Schneider does his best impression of a Pink Floyd Album, and I ain't talkin' Dark Side Of The Moon.

Result!

Fat Tug wins by decision. 'Nucks win by (quite frankly) luck.

Post-Battle Review:

Honestly, one this close could have been swayed by a food-pairing, or simply the mood you were in. It's like picking a Sedin: I'm just glad I wasn't at Christie's where Hop Circle gets thrown into the mix. Let me just put it this way: how killer is it that we've got both these breweries in BC, putting out some of the best beers in the world? I'd even say they were nearly as good as Dockside.

Driftwood Fat Tug IPA
Recommended if:
-that's what she said
-you want one of the best beers on tap. Period.
-you would consider this counts as a cruise

Not Recommended if:
-you want to remain conscious into the 2nd OT
-like a rabbit with polio, you don't "do" hops
-you're at the tiller of the Queen of Oak Bay

Red Racer IPA
Recommended if:
-you're near Central City Brewing. As in: within 500kms of it.
-you want one of the best beers on tap. Period.
-you're an '80s oiler fan

Not recommended if:
-you're a lager lout
-the pub you're in has just run out of it
-that's it, I'm out of reasons. Just order yourself a pint.

Super Bowl First Down: Dead Frog Citra IPA

I have to say, I like American football. It's brash and noisy and fast-paced and is probably what cavemen played before they discovered ice hockey. But I don't follow it regularly, so I have a hard time picking a team when it comes to Super Bowl time.

Picking a beer to quaff during the commercials, though, comes easier. Yes, it's another damn IPA (sorry Sports Andy).

I first had a glimpse of what Dead Frog brewing could put out after attending a CAMRA event at the now-defunct Dix's in Yaletown. There were something like six IPAs available that evening -the memory is hazy, and no wonder- but a standout for me was a heavily-hopped version of Dead Frog's Nut Brown Ale.

Since then, though, it's been pretty tame stuff: the most interesting thing about the Aldergrove-based Brewery was their silly name and the catchphrase, "Nothing goes down like a cold dead frog." That might be true if you're a Frenchman with a busted microwave, but for me, I'm picking a beer that's still capable of leaping off the lily-pad and onto my taste-buds.

However, here comes another big-beer series from a brewery not previously known for experimental stylings. It's Dead Frog's Citra IPA and it has a label that's about as subtle as T-Pain's dental work:
I mean, honestly. Liberace could wear that as a belt buckle.

But who cares? The last beer I drank with a silly label was Lighthouse's Deckhand, and it was agreed by all involved to be excellent, despite the cartoonish lady lumps. Speaking of lady lumps, that half-time show was the biggest outrage visited on music since Simon Cowell was spawned. I very nearly pulled a double Van Gogh with a butter-knife.

There are now more types of IPAs out there than there are versions of Wiz Khalif's "Black and Yellow"; so many that it's hard to remember what the original was like. This one is crammed with Citra hops: a hybrid variety consisting of 50% German Hallertauer Mittelfrüh, 25% U.S. Tettnanger and 25% East Kent Golding, German, Brewers Gold, and other unknown hops. If that sounds book-smart, I just copied-and-pasted it off of Left4Beer. Imitation, flattery, etc.

Anyways, this beer has a nose like Cyrano de Bergerac and an aftertaste as astringent as chewing partially cured leather (or as bitter as a Steelers fan, as it turns out). It's fantastic!

Dead Frog Citra IPA
Recommended if:
-you want a Dead Frog that still Hops
-you own a cubic zirconium tie pin
-you enjoy chewing black tea leaves

Not Recommended if:
-you like your beer to be like lager leftover from St. Patrick's day: flat, green and flavourless
-all your pimp chalices are in the dishwasher
-you're still a Black Eyed Peas Fan, because then you don't have any taste

New, But Any Damn Good? VIB Double-Decker IPA

If you were to ask any of my friends to describe me, they'd say, "Brendan? Total car nut." Then, if pressed for more details, they might add, "Oh, he's got red hair too." So it shouldn't surprise you to hear that I spent my entire day today running over to the mainland to get progressive-rate lowering springs and Koni inserts installed in my jalopy by a specialist. Result? It's like a new car, but most importantly, it was able to use its enhanced cornering abilities to get me back in time to grab a six of Vancouver Island's new beer: Double-Decker IPA.


I wasn't quite in time to hit VIB's store, but after bleating out a call for assistance, I was reminded of the little gem that is the Penny Farthing liquor store, which I always forget about, and never fails to stock at least one beer I couldn't find anywhere else. Yes, you do have to navigate Oak Street Village and its suicidal octogenarians that dart out in front of you (dart is perhaps too strong a word), but hey, at least brittle bones don't mark up the paintwork much. It's like worrying about colliding with meringue.

I'm a bit confused about how to feel about Vancouver Island Brewing. On one hand, I have fond memories of scouring Vancouver for the few cases of Hermannator Icebock that ever made it over, at one point forcing a dejected BCLDB store employee to hand over the flat he'd hidden in the back for himself (I felt bad and left him one case). But on the other hand, I've got a friend who insists on using another term for their Sea Dog when ordering, which is a bit off-putting. And, I don't mean sailor.

So pints of Seaman aside, I consider VIB to be Victoria's Granville Island Brewing. Both were (weirdly) founded in 1984, both have a full and varied lineup, and both have paved the way for upstarts like Driftwood and Phillips to come bounding on the scene with crazy beers like Singularity and Hop Circle. So can Vancouver Island Brewing put out a beer that competes with the whippersnappers? Well, as it turns out, yes.

Oh bugger, I've spoiled the rest of the review.

Well, for those of you still reading, there are two things you need to know. First, be prepared for the inevitable endless onslaught of babbling about the brewery mixing Victoria's English roots with westcoast brashness to produce a blend of old and new. Those red double-decker buses are now chiefly used by tour companies to ferry about ancient and foamy-boned tourists, while anybody actually going anywhere takes a bus that's more Star Trek shuttle than Coronation Street. Never mind twee references to tradition and heritage and all that claptrap. This beer needs to stand on its merits alone.

Second, if you're looking for a beer that's hoppier than a crack-addled Bugs Bunny, look elsewhere. This is not an IPA version of an extreme sport, where the volume knob goes up to eleven and you can't come first unless you fracture something. Rather, this beer is a gentleman's sporting event. Like cricket. Or philandering.

As it says in the sidebar, there are many great beer-blogs out there that will deal with a beer review by assigning a rating, drawing comparisons and listing tasting notes. So make sure you wait for Ian's take on it at Left4Beer, or check out what Dan will have to say over at the Small Beer Blog. You really should be reading these guys anyway.


All I can tell you, without reference to mouthfeel or anything like that, is that I liked it. It was not dissimilar to the Propeller IPA I had last week in that it tasted nearly like something Fuller's or another English brewer would make. As you can tell from the colour, there's a lot of malt in there, but the crispness that rests on the palate isn't of the same everything-else-now-tastes-like-styrofoam intensity of a Dogfish Head 90min, just a nice dry finish like the tannins in a cup of strong black tea. It's also insanely drinkable and smooth, and there's something just out of reach, like a hint of Teutonic brewing influence. There might be a German spy in the O.A.S.

Vancouver Island Brewing Double Decker IPA
Recommended if:
-you're taking public transit home from the pub
-you favour smoothness over intensity
-you were weaned on Islander Lager

Not recommended if:
-you're Kevin Falcon
-you're looking for hop salad in a bottle
-you're Kriss or Kross

Battle Royale No. 3: The Glass Jaw Joe Edition

Phillips Hop Circle IPA vs. Alexander Keith's IPA

Round One: Fight!

Last post, some folks thought I was being a little hard on poor ol' Alexander Keith's IPA. Let's be clear: the real Alexander Keith had a beard like a rhododendron bush and looks like he ate lightly boiled babies at breakfast. Comparing his Masonic magnificence to the current Labatt-run accountant-brewing is one way to highlight the insipidity of Keith's "IPA". I've got another.

But hang on: when I twittered about this upcoming battle, the responses from the beer-swilling cognoscenti were universal in their confusion. "Is that even a competition?" one asked. Another compared it to a "viscous (sic) lion taking on a timid mouse." Wasn't this B.R. going to be as one-sided as Mike Tyson fighting a man composed entirely of ears?

Oily felines notwithstanding, we're talking here about a huge, multi-nationally owned brand that sells thousands of hecta-liters of beer and has essentially limitless resources and funding, going up against a beer brewed by a guy who started in the business by maxing out his credit cards and making deliveries in a crap-can Subaru GL. You're damn right it's unfair.

Still, we've got to handicap David so that Goliath doesn't get the bejesus kicked out of him in the first round. As such, I'm tying one hand behind Hop Circle's back by drinking both beers right out of the bottle. I regard myself as against the winification of beer and deplore aping the oneophiles with their snorting and snuffling into their glasses like a pig after a truffle, but beer tastes better when you can smell it while you're tasting it.

I'm also going to attempt to remove Phillip's home court advantage by creating a sort of East Coast ambiance through the use of selected props. Having thought about it for a while, I planned on using a Sou'wester, a cod, a bottle of screech rum, and a Rita McNeil CD.

Unfortunately, by the time I got home today I didn't have the opportunity to get any of those things. Therefore, I reached in the freezer and pulled out a trout I caught myself (which is why it's so pathetically small), created a sou'wester by sticking yellow Post-Its to a baseball hat, and "found" an authentic Rita McNeil CD. For some bizarre reason, we had the Screech already.


All right, down the hatch!


Y'know, it's not terrible. There's an old joke that goes: "Nothing is better than Budweiser. Given the choice, I'd take nothing." That's not the case here. On first taste, the Keith's is almost like a real beer. Now the Hop Circle.

Oh. Oh wow. Okay, so what happened there in my commentary on the Keith's is that I had a problem with my brain being missing. Keith's is not beer. This is beer.

In comparison to the robust (resisted a temporary urge to say "out-of-this-world") flavour of the Hop Circle, Keith's IPA is an IPA the same way that Chinese air-to-air missile footage is real. Real IPAs are exploding with hops. Keith's has less hops than a squashed grasshopper. Less hops than a kangaroo with polio.

Less hops than a white basketball player.

Round Two: Fight?

What's the point?

Look at this man here:
This be-joweled chap is an East India Company Officer: the fat bastards that IPAs were originally brewed for. Does he look like he'd be satisfied with a watery yellow imitation? No, he Does Not. Try sending these guys Keith's IPA in the 1800s, and their reaction would make the slaughter of the Sepoy Mutiny look like high tea at the Empress.

On the other hand, if you Fedexed them a coupla six-packs of Hop Circle, I think we could all breathe easy. Just like the historical IPAs, Phillips has created something packing a far more intense experience than your everyday beer. If you think the six-packs are good, just try growling it sometime!



Result!

Anybody want a Keith's 5-and-a-half-pack?

Post-Battle Review

No surprises here, but Keith's IPA got hammered like a myopic carpenter's thumb. What a bloodbath: even with the extras it wasn't close.

Just so you know, I bought both sixers at Liquor Plus between Douglas and Blanshard: and the Hop Circle cost me all of fifty cents more. For my small investment, I got a real beer, and let me just say that the beauty of living in Canada, with all its back-asswards semi-repealed prohibition nonsense, is that you can buy a craft beer, brewed by people who are striving to produce the very best thing they can, and it's going to cost you pennies more than the heartless, soulless, greedy, conniving, cut-throat, incompetently-produced corporate swill.

Phillips Hop Circle IPA
Recommended if:
-you like a hoppy west-coast IPA (who doesn't?)
-you're going to see this movie
-you want something one step lighter than Red Racer's IPA

Not Recommended if:
-you've been probed
-you don't like hoppy beers
-you own a REAL sou'wester

Alexander Keith's IPA
Recommended if:
-there's a fire and you need to pour something on it
-that's pretty much it

Not recommended if:
-you own a working tastebud
-you understand that IPA doesn't mean International Police Association
-Zima is also available

(Canada): Bracketing the country with a pair of kickass IPAs

I love being a Canadian. In fact, if you'd like to read how much I do, click here to find an essay I posted on a previous very badly put-together blog.

Anyway, when I was watching that epic Crosby goal, I was seated front and center at the Howe Sound Brewpub, a pint of Diamond Head in front of me and surrounded by a group of craft-brew and hockey enthusiasts. It was amazing and epic and united the entire country in a single hoarse-throated cheer.

And then the next day, I went back to living in the greatest place on Earth, and I'm sorry, but the greatest place on Earth is not Thunder Bay, Ontario.

You'd never get me to relinquish my clutches on B.C.; no golden carrot nor nail-studded stick would induce me to move East. Barnacle-like, I'll cling to this craggy coast with my last breath.

But if I had to, if I had to move, I'd be an East Coaster. There's a warmth and a generosity and a charm about the East Coast of Canada, and I can see the appeal of living neck-deep in newfies, although I'd imagine the constant fiddle music might get a bit wearing.

Buck 65, those funny yellow hats, Ashley MacIsaac, screech rum, Rick Mercer, that "I'se the bye" song: I can't imagine Canada without the Maritime provinces, and quite frankly, I don't want to. As an Irishman, the West Kerry lilt of a Labradorian is proof positive that this land was discovered by Brendan the Navigator in his wee leather curragh. That's a type of boat, FYI, not a cod-piece.

I realize Canada has quite a large middle bit. That middle produces oil, wheat, cattle and Alex Trebek, (which is good). But it also produces pollution, Avril Lavigne, Conservatives and Maple Leafs fans (which is bad). Let's face it, all the best stuff in this country is from the Coasts, and there's no better example of this than to look at another type of gold medal winners: Central City's Red Racer IPA and Propeller Brewing's IPA.

First, the Propeller. Often times Alexander Keith's IPA is touted as "the pride of Nova Scotia" which, not to put too fine a point on it, is utter crap. Alexander Keith's IPA is the pride of Nova Scotia like December 6, 1917 is the pride of the Halifax Association For Harbour Safety.

What Halifax should be (and is) proud of is this UK-style IPA. It's not always available out here, but it's always a good buy, being a gold medallist at the Chicago World Beer Championships. Find it, buy it, drink it: it's citrus-y and sessionable, and quite different from hoppy kick of a West Coast IPA.

...which is best exemplified by this beer: Central City's Red Racer IPA.

I'm happy to report that CAMRA Vancouver has yet again placed the laurel wreath upon the brow of this incredibly hoppy IPA, awarding it the 2010 Gold Medal for best beer in BC. It comes in a can, it has the same bicycle-riding pinup as all the other Central City brews, but this beer is hoppier than some other labels' Imperial and Double IPAs. Finding out that there are people who haven't tried this beer, which is all of 10% more expensive than Lucky Lager, is like discovering that there are people who think the high-pitched noises Justin Bieber makes are "music": it's confusing and bewildering and frankly makes you weep for humanity's prospects.

So there you have it. Want to try the best beer in Canada? Try going coastal.

Bad Day, Good Beer

What a crap day.

Miserable damp weather, dragged into work early where there's nothing but a litany of complaints to sort-out, car dropped off to be fixed and returned slightly more broken, and when I went to get my lunch I got stuck behind some addled twit who insisted on arguing with the clerk for twenty-five minutes about the fact that the cherry pound-cake he was trying to buy wasn't on sale when the regular kind was (a savings of $0.79, I might add), and when I tried to switch lanes 400,000,000 people appeared at both other tills, all with carts brimming as though they were shopping for the Apocalypse.

But during the whole rotten day (slightly mitigated by the catharsis of beating a man to death with his own pound-cake), there was one shining beacon waiting for me at home. What kept me going? I knew I had beer in the fridge, and what's more, not just any beer.


This is Southern Tier's Unearthly Imperial IPA, and it tastes like a backrub feels. If life has handed you a great big drawing of a raised middle finger all day, coming home to crack one of these babies is like giving the ethereal etch-a-sketch a big ol' shake. Suddenly, All Is Well Again, and you can relax in a golden cloud of hops and lysed brain cells.

If you have not tasted this beer, then please download an iPhone app so that I can reach out over the Interwebs and slap you in the face. Then, go to your local private store (as you won't find it at the BCLDB) and buy one. Buy several, in case of emergency (shout-out to Cook St Liquor for carrying it).

Somehow, Southern Tier has created a beer that's packed with more hops than a rabbit smoothie but carries none of the bitterness you'd expect. It's a citrusy, chewy, stewy juggernaut that packs a wallop but never stings or bites, like being round-house kicked in the face by Chuck Norris while he's wearing cotton-candy slippers.

Unearthly indeed: with every sip, I can feel the accumulated slings and arrows of this earthly plane washing away, leaving only the transcendent carbonation of a well-made beer.


"Setting at eye-level with Snorri Sturluson
Who has come to bathe in a hot spring
And sit through the stillness after milking time
Laved and ensconced in the throne-room of his mind."
-Seamus Heaney