Damnbeerblogger Returns to Vancouver. It Rains.

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.

(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.