Empties.

Bit of a catchup post today, as I've been sadly neglecting my blog. Apologies.

Actually, scratch that. I shouldn't be apologizing for not inflicting my rambling incoherencies upon you for nearly a week. If anything, you should be thanking me!

Well, you're welcome. And if you'd like to know why there's been a dearth of activity on YADBB, it's because my good lady wife and I are attempting to purchase a house, an activity which is as stressful and difficult and apparently impossible as trying to castrate a unicorn. Luckily, there are many ways to cope with stress: vigorous exercise, deep breathing, meditation.

I chose alcohol. It's traditional.

But the line representing page hits on the blog has been trailing off like the trajectory of Charlie Sheen's career or, if you prefer, coming very close to a graph representing my fading will to live over the duration of that awful Rebecca Black video, so it's time to get back behind the keyboard.

Let's rummage through the pile of empties. First dead soldier: an Elysian Immortal IPA. We hit up the Hogshack in Steveston on Saturday for some BBBQ (the extra B is for craftBeer) and an Elysian schwag pack. I highly recommend it. Great beer, good eats and yet more people fired up about the local craft brewing scene. Plus I got a free shirt.

Read here, for a proper review of the place.

Next, a new pair from Howe Sound Brewing.

Rockfish Red is good, although after drinking wild and wooly stuff like Pothole Filler and Megadestroyer I was a little surprised it didn't actually contain fish. But as a fisherperson, I applaud their action for conservancy, and it was a tasty little bevvy. The hemp ale is the better of the two; it's a full Big Lebowski of malty creaminess. I didn't know the wife had picked it up but my beerdar must have been on because I inexplicably chose to buy humus on the way home. Fitting.

Next up, a hopeful story accompanying a purchase of Hitachino Nest.

Cook Street Liqour provided me with some high-test after a day of wrestling with mortgage lenders, and amongst the haul were a pair of Japanese hooters. These guys were hit hard by the tsunami, and there were rumors that the brewery would be out of commish for months, if not years. At least as far as I can ascertain, Hitachino will be back in production in about 3-4 weeks. The sake brewery seemed more damaged, pictures can be found here. Good news for everyone. Side note: the Cook Street boys have got their hands on some Baird beer. Coming soon from the rising sun.

Lastly, a small obit for Dogfish Head.

As everybody already knows, the Delaware-based brewery has simply maxed out in terms of production. It's Peak Beer, worse even than running out of liquid dinosaurs. As such, no more DH for Canada, the U.K. and a few Red States.

Sad surely, and I'll especially miss the 90 minute 4-pack (far more effective than NyQuil), but I'm going to put a positive spin on it. You know what? So we lose one beer company. Big deal. This might have been a tragedy three or four years ago, but nowadays we've got multiple local guys brewing crazy beers, loads more foreign imports like Mikkeller and Brew Dog, good availability of East and West Coast American brewers, and the big micros are stepping up their game in a huge way. Examples? Just look at Lighthouse's Deckhand and GIB's upcoming Imperial IPA.

You know what? It's a hell of a time to be a craft-beer fan in BC. We've got kickass brewers, great organizations like CAMRA, and a community of enthusiastic beer-folks spreading the gospel. I'll miss Dogfish, but one dead soldier either way doesn't make a damn difference.

Another Damn St. Patrick's Day

St. Patrick's Day, as far as I can make out, is a day when one is supposed to celebrate the triumphs of Ireland, its writers, thinkers, musicians, and playwrights, its cultural contributions to the world and the influences of those who left during the diaspora by drinking a hectalitre of Budweiser with some kidney-destroying green dye in it, singing a song filled with wack-fol-de-diddle-idle-crap, starting a fight where both sides lose and then vomiting into someone's shrubbery. A reasonable way to pay tribute to a people who, like the Scots, are very good at drinking, fighting and being oppressed by the Brits, although at least we have the good sense to not to run around in skirts.

Each year, I brace myself for the usual trials: radio-waves packed with Irish accents that are as cartoonishly unconvincing as Michael Flatley's hair, enough stupid green leprechauns everywhere to have Darby O'Gill reaching for his pitchfork and hordes of people ordering a Guinness and then only drinking half a pint while exclaiming, "it's so thick! It's like a meal!" Guinness is a meal like those little cracker packs with the orange rubber you spread with a razor-sharp red plastic rectangle are a meal. It barely qualifies as a snack.

Here's the thing, I'd be considered fairly Irish by any yardstick. I've got red hair, a "Mc" in my last name, dual-citizenship, and a fondness for potatoes. But even I consider that the Emerald Isle has only really contributed two things of note to human history: the Book of Kells, and Father Ted.

And not necessarily in that order.

As such, I regard Guinness with a fair degree of suspicion. Oh sure, it's traditional, and of course I bought one to toast my cousins, aunts and uncles overseas, but it's kind of like U2. Sometimes it's not bad, but it's a little embarrassing to be a SUPER HUGE FAN, dontcha think? Also, if you know anything about the history of Guinness in Ireland, they've basically taken over nearly every pub like the beer-Borg. Unlike the UK with its wealth of real ales, Ireland has little going on in the microbrew scene, unless you start looking at things like cider, and then there's quite a bit, which is an interesting reverse of the situation here (although that's rapidly changing with Merridale, Sea Cider and others).

So, a pint of the Black Stuff, but only just the one, as I following it up with something better.

If you're out-by, as I've said, try to find yourself a Backhand of God or a Black Plague on tap. If you're looking for a dry Irish stout that you can get in an easy-to-carry-home six-pack, then you should pick up one of the most underrated beers on the Island.

This is Lighthouse's Keepers Stout, and we've all seen it on the shelves and reached past it for a bomber of some uber-hopped trice-Imperial brettanomyces ale-porter-stout with 25% ABV and the same viscosity as used 50W engine oil. That's a mistake.

Like many beerthusiasts, my a priori views of Lighthouse have been favourably changed by the surprising excellence of their "Small Brewery - Big Flavour" series, particularly Deckhand Saison. But, truth be told, I've always had a fondness for a few beers out of their lineup and this is one of them.

It's not what you'd call a big-bodied stout, although I'd really be interested to try a cask done on nitro for added creaminess and to keep the head from disappearing faster than the Celtic Tiger. As it is, there's plenty of nose, malts and a little lactic sourness on the palate and a crisp, dry, roasted finish that'll have you craving a second one.

Drink! Feck! Arse! Girls!

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.

I'm back! Damn it.

Judging from the way my blog readership has dwindled over the past two weeks, I'd say that everybody's pretty sick of hearing about how great my Hawaiian vacay was. Well, here's the good news crab-bukkits, I'm back and I'm as grumpy, wet, cold and miserable as the rest of you. I just have a few more freckles is all.

At least, I hope that's why there's been a bit of a dip in readership. It could be that this is a backlash to my Czechvar diss, which seemed to inflame quite a few passions (I know, I know: I'm an idiot), or maybe the novelty of the Post-it Sou'wester has run its course. I hope not.

Brendan: "Well, I think I'll blog about a beer I like."

The Plain People Of The Internet: "Not good enough. Eat an entire baconjam-smeared honey ham now. Make a top hat out of butter and shoe-polish!"

Brendan: "Uh...actually, that doesn't sound like very much fun..."

The Plain People Of The Internet: "Drink five Singularities! Do a Battle Royale of Drano vs. Clorox! Drink toenail-clipping homebrew!"

Brendan: "Well, I'd really rather not, but..."

The Plain People Of The Internet: "WE DEMAND ENTERTAINMENT!! DANCE, MONKEY!!!"

Brendan: *dancing*

The Plain People Of The Internet: "What a crappy dancer. Let's go download pictures of the Molson Girls instead."

However, I'm choosing to believe that you're all just bored of sunny pictures, and would rather I get down to drinking some good local beer. Well, fine.

One of the things I was really excited to get back and try was Driftwood's Cuvee D'Hiver. I admit it, my French is a little rusty, but I've successfully translated this to mean: "Cuvee D'Hiver." It's a tasty little brew, crisp as anything, and I could really see drinking one after hauling a bloody stupid heavy-looking rake around all day in the Belgian sun. Is Belgium sunny? Well, whatever.

Hey Driftwood! Let's get a cask of this over in Victoria. You've shipped about five of them over to the big smoke, and while it's good to see craft beer making the rounds, let's not forget your loyal supporters down at the Beagle. Trust me guys, you don't want the Plain People riled up.

The other beer I was happy to get home to try is this.

It's another outta-the-park for Howe Sound Brewing, a big fat hoppy Imperial Ale. I love the lolburgers name (it even has "Turn around bright eyes!" in the side comments), but I love the chewy, nutty taste too, especially when you let it warm up a little. The little orange guy expresses it best.

I also have a Rockfish Red, but I'll crack that another day with a fishy-themed post.

Just one more thing here. Driftwood and Howe Sound are great breweries, right? Oh, I'm sorry. According to some random idiot, only one of them rates among the top 10 BC Breweries. Phillips? Nope, not on the list. R&B? No chance. CAMRA Gold-medallist Central City Brewing? Duuurrr, I din't know Surrey wuz in B.C.!

I'm not going to make a top-10 list. Quite frankly, I hate them. Part of the great fun of being a beerthusiast is the sheer variety of stuff there is to choose from. And what would you base the top 10 on? Number of different styles? Overall sales?

If pressed, let me just say that you couldn't put together any proper BC Brewery list without both Howe Sound and Driftwood, and putting Fernie Brewing on a list instead of Phillips or Crannog or Fat Cat or Central City or any number of others makes you a micro-brained, non-beer-drinking hack. And that's no slight against Fernie either. "Try 'em all, big and small" is what I'm saying. Worst case scenario: you'll get an Untappd badge out of it.

The Best Damn Hawaiian Beers and Grinds

It's our last day here, and about time too: I've exhausted the local beer supply. Well, not exhausted precisely, but I've been power-levelling in Untappd like a WOW nerd on an IV drip.

But before winging my way home in a metal sausage, crammed cheek-by-jowl with what Nietzsche would call, "the botched and the bungled," it's time to sum up my trip with the best of the best, le creme de la creme, el supremo nacho grande, the proverbial big kahuna.

If you are possessed of a pair of legs, git yo' ass down to 4Kings for ono local grinds. Seriously, we hit this place twice in three days, and I forget why we didn't go three times. Probably because we were doing something boring like climbing a mountain.

If/when you're in Honolulu, hit the place up and order yourself something called "the not your normal loco." It's a fresh mahi-mahi patty topped by two eggs and smothered in shiitake mushroom gravy, brown rice and salad on the side. You can see it in the background on Katie's plate, but I didn't get a shot from the time I went because the food disappeared down my throat like my last name was Dyson. I think I ate part of the plate.

But you're not in Hawaii now. You're in Vancouver, or Surrey, or (God have mercy on your soul) Chilliwack. If so, you could care less about a hole-in-the-wall that's four thousand kilometres away. But that's just because you haven't eaten there. Yet.

I've got more bad news. Since coming here, I figure I've sampled near two dozen local brews. I've checked, and you can't get any of them here. Yet.

There were wheatbeers and hoppy IPAs and coffee-infused porters; ice-cold lager after a hot day's hike, a cascadia-hopped ale on a breezy marina. But of all the deliciousness that eased many a long afternoon, there's only one clear winner.

This is Maui Brewing Company's Coconut Porter, and the tagline at the bottom of the can reads "...like hot chicks on the beach," by which I assumed they mean, "thing that you've developed perfect 20/20 peripheral vision for." So that's a little confusing, but I'll run with it.

Coffee is a natural pairing for the dark roasted malts of stouts and porters. Coconut, toasted coconut in particular, is a little more subtle, but it adds length to the taste and hint of exotica to the nose. Now here's the good news: head south of the border as far as Seattle, WA, and you'll find these little four-pack jewels hidden in cold beer and wine stores. It's far and away the best the Islands have to offer.

Now, I'm headed back to local beers and rain rain rain. First stop, Cook St. Liquor Store!

Hot Damn of the Week: Kona Brewing

In many ways, BC gets some of the best beer in the world. Our local brewers produce knockout Imperials, kickass IPAs, big-bosomed Belgians and stuff that can be described by no other adjective than baconjam.

But there's 24 hours in every day, and those Untappd badges ain't gonna earn themselves. Meaning being, sometimes you've got to drink outside the box, and when it comes to playing the field, our brothers to the South make the yardsticks by which our Canadian beers are measured by. Although generally we whip those Yankee bastards *cough-golden-goal-cough*.

However, as apparent from previous posts, I'm on holiday in the US and A, and that means I'm very excite to have access to beers that I won't be able to get at home. Sometimes those beers are Pabst Blue Ribbon, and I could give a fu- I could care less. But sometimes those beers are from the premier brewery on the Hawaiian Islands.

While my pick for visiting haole remains Maui Brewing Company's Coconut Porter, if you're a beerthusiast the Island's pride and joy is the Kona Brewing Company. Think of it as the Granville Island Brewing Co. except with surfboards instead of craft pottery. Today we were lucky enough to visit a Hawaii Kai based branch brewpub.

With 14 beers in all, that's a lot of suds that don't drift over to our section of the Pacific. That might not be such a tragedy if it was just Longboard Lager that we were deprived of, but wouldn't you welcome a pint of Coco Loco, or Pipeline Porter? I know I would.

After the taster, I settled for a Cascadia Ale (the irony in flying all this way to drink beer hopped from home practically clangs) whereas Katie, the queen of beer mixology, decided on something dubbed an Almond Joy: Kona-coffee flavoured porter mixed with coconut-infused dark ale. Frankly, it's delicious.

What else was on tap? Three porters, a steam lager, a solar-produced golden ale, two wheat-beers, several mixed ales, and they'd just run out of an IPA.

You can get Longboard and Pipeline across the border in WA. Here's hoping somebody brings it northward of the 49th ASAP. As a side note, should you find yourself in Waikiki, make your way down to 4Kings Kitchen, and order yourself either the Loco or the Mochiko Chicken. It's worth the entire flight.

A Word About Light Beer

First, let's mollify a few people. Fancy a popsicle?

Delicious. Everybody else, try a bite of this penis. I mean sausage.

Now that we're all comfortably settled with our Freudian slippers on, let me get out the ol' soapbox.

I'm all for the idea of session beers. They make perfect sense to me, as best exemplified by Moon Under Water where the pub is a buzzing social hub, rather than the place where everybody forgets your name because they're on their eighth IPA. Being able to pop in for a weekday pint without worrying overmuch about the residual effects of dissolving a large portion of your frontal cortex come next morning is a delight.

But good session beers are not supposed as thin and characterless and forgettable as Paris Hilton. They're supposed to be rich and tan and have around a 4% alcohol-by-volume content. Like Paris Hilton.

Here's my quantum theory of lite: "Whereas any product is available in regular or light formats, be it determined that the descriptor 'light' is interchangeable with 'crappy'."

Thus, mayonnaise-type dressing is an affront to mankind, diet soft-drinks taste like pH balancer for the hot-tub, and "light-beer" is the biggest oxymoron since "BC Liberals". I find the cutesy "lite" appellation particularly offensive, as though cartoonizing the spelling makes it any less galling to swallow preservative-laden, artificially-engineered, hyper-chemical pseudo-food.

It's kind of like what McDonald's has done with their oatmeal; it should just be oats, milk and fruit, and somehow they've managed to create the worst oats-related thing since "Private Eyes".

Drink better. Drink less. Run More.