How I almost got strip-searched in Canada (and why it would totally have been worth it, anyway)



Thing o' beauty, isn't it? (image borrowed... or
outright stolen... from  A Good Beer Blog)

 Post payday weekend at my house often means a trip to CJ's in Potsdam to try out another craft brew selection. While they may not have the gigantic selection of stores in more metro areas, the variety of local and micro brews makes it well worth braving the occasional group of hipster douchebags from the local college.

When I got there last night, I was thinking IPA.  There were a couple black IPAs I had wanted to try out, and was examining bottles when my wandering eyes saw a familiar logo.

Could it be? It was! A 1.9 pint of Hobgoblin from Wychwood Breweries. I looked over to the left, and to my delight, found an entire 6-pack (and a half: one of the nice things about CJ's is that you can mix and match to try out new brews). Granted, the import was a bit pricier than one of the local brews... but you know, I don't actually indulge all that often, and by golly, it was the Hobgoblin. 

Sure, I COULD have just taken
this picture myself. But I didn't.

A little smokey, with notes of chocolate and toffee, this is a deep ruby ale that pours with a thick, creamy head.  It's also as smooth -- and heavy -- as Guinness. A pint will fill you, but you won't notice it until you get there. 

It's also an excellent accompaniment for various meat dishes like Bangers and Mash - which is how I was first introduced to the brew.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.  I actually discovered this beer as a happy accident, after a long, drawn out ordeal, and a last minute decision.

Going to Canada

When my friend Randy (that he and I share the same name will become important to this story) told me he was flying from Colorado to Upstate New York to umpire a Little League Tournament in Cooperstown, we immediately made plans to meet. 

Fellow political bloggers at the time (we've both since begun our road to recovery, and are one another's sponsors in Politics Anonymous), we'd never actually met in person.  And, though he was something of a world traveller (he'd been everywhere from Italy to Japan as part of his job - and again, this is kind of important), he'd never actually been to Canada.  As a resident of Northern New York, and working at a radio station serving a market that spans both Northern New York and Eastern Ontario, Parts of Canada's Seaway are practically my backyard; but I'd never gotten the chance to just tour around and appreciate the area. Plus, we both kind of wanted a Cuban cigar.



The Ogdensburg-Prescott International Bridge
Go here.


After several calls, the cigar thing was kind of turning into a bust, but we decided to cross over anyway. I had my passport card; Randy had his stamped-up passport, and we were good to go.  We crossed the bridge in the late afternoon, and it was then, as we waited in line for Customs, that I started piecing together our predicament. 

"Y'know," I said, "I've never actually been pulled into Canadian Customs before."

"Is anyone?" Actually, it was a valid question.

"We're about to be,"

It had occurred to me that we were two guys, about 20 years apart in age, with almost the same first name. In fact, our names are slightly different in spelling (my "Randall" has two 'l's to his one). It wasn't much, I thought, but taken as a part of the whole picture, it could be an issue.  On top of that, he was, as I mentioned previously, from Colorado, and had a passport full of fun and interesting stamps.  Stamps from places like Malaysia. 


Plus, I was wearing a shirt
similar to this one.

 Sure enough, it didn't take many questions before the guard at the window nicely asked us to pull the car over and come inside. FYI: as much as I will always champion honesty as the best policy, the correct answer to "how do you know each other" is apparently NOT "the internet."

At least we could honestly tell them we weren't coming to meet anyone. I'm also extremely happy we had presence of mind to say, when asked, that we were coming over to hang out and hit a bar with decent beer, and NOT to that we wanted to get Cuban cigars.

Fortunately, since Canada customs almost never brings people in (they rarely need to: by the time you leave the booth, they already know whether you've ever committed a crime, the last time you were in Canada, and how long it's been since you've had sex), we didn't have to wait long before being called to the desk. While officials ran our passports through an alphabet of national and international agencies (and possibly our parents), we were treated to live entertainment in the form of an impromptu Q&A session to determine our continued presence in the country.

"You met on the internet?"
"Yes."
"On a website for political activists."
(crap.)
"Where are you from?"

"New York"
"Colorado"

"Have you always lived there?"
"Yes."
"No."
"Crap! Neither have I!"

The interview was over. We waited.

This waiting has interesting effects on people. I knew darn well I didn't have anything on me that would be illegal or get me in any kind of trouble. Yet, I still had to stop myself from checking. At least in front of the guy. I'm pretty sure I checked my pockets when he turned his head, though.

We get on with it

The check came back. We were deemed harmless. We went on our way. After that was pretty uneventful. We drove through downtown Prescott, ON, continued up King Street, left Prescott, went through various towns with "welcome" signs informing you that, if you fail to change the battery on your smoke detector, you are sure to die a fiery, suffocating death. Evidently this is a real problem, and if I may, I'd like to take this opportunity to suggest that Canadians consider not only batteries, but also to stop building their houses out of match heads and gasoline. At some point, we landed in Brockville.



This is what it looks like. Find it as fast as you can.

 For various reasons, largely having to do with my not knowing my way around and unwillingness to look at a map, the cigar thing was indeed a bust, so we parked and walked downtown Brockville looking for a place to eat. My companion had his heart set on fish and chips, and I was determined to find good beer. What we found was an English Style Pub called The Georgian Dragon. Fish and Chips? Why, yes.  Yes there was.

A tiny little place with a mostly brick interior and friendly staff, The Georgian Dragon ("The Dragon?" I should ask the locals what they call it for short. Or is it too cool to shorten?) is the perfect place for a quiet drink and excellent food.

And yes, the food is excellent. My friend got his fish, and I asked the waiter what he recommended. He said Bangers and Mash, and I took him up on it.  For drinks, my friend asked for and received something local: a pale ale, I believe. I asked for something dark.



While you can google pics of
Bangers and Mash, they're made
a little different everywhere... and
nothing on Google does them justice.

 "You want the Hobgoblin," the waiter said.

And yes. Yes, I did.

I've visited many restaurants, pubs, taverns and bars. I've found something to enjoy about each of them. But for the overall atmosphere, the ambiance, the food (my Heavens, the fricking food!), and the beer selection, The Georgian Dragon may well be my new favorite place.  The fact that they also introduced me to a new favorite beer doesn't hurt either.

Sad, when it comes right down to it, that I haven't been back since. But I'm looking for an excuse. So, you know, if you're ever in the area, and need somebody to show you around...

Bottle Collecting

In the next couple of weeks, I hope to be working on my Mr. Beer Irish Stout -- that being the second of the two cans of prepared wort extract my wife bought me for my birthday.  In the meantime, I'm working on collecting brown bottles for the end game.

The Mr. Beer kit bottles are useful, particularly for
carbonating. The plastic does provide for an easier test
for carbonation. But there are drawbacks, too.

The kit my wife bought came with several bottles -- 1-liter plastic -- which are excellent for home use.  But if you want to share, well... let's just say I don't like to let finite resources out of the house, when I can help it.  Plus, while anytime I open a standard bottle, I know I'm going to finish it, the same cannot be said for the liter. Sometimes, I'm just not in the mood for that much (this is what happens when you drink for taste rather than drunkenness) at a time, which means the liter has to be recapped and stored in the fridge for later.  In theory, there's no problem with this, I just don't like having less than a single glass left over... which happens a lot.

So all of that's a roundabout way to say that, simply for the sake of convenience, I'm switching to glass 12-oz bottles.

Of course, as with anything worth doing, there's more than one way to go about it.  In this case, I do have the option of buying a case of bottles from the supplier.  On the other hand, I could go to a local beer store (like CJ's in Potsdam) and buy the bottles there.  Either way they need to be recapped.  This second method is a bit more expensive per bottle, but then, as these more expensive bottles also come with beer inside them, there are definitely compensations.

I didn't take this picture.

Yesterday's supply of bottles came with Lake Placid Brewing's India Pale Ale in them, a slightly darker brew, with a very hoppy taste and citric aftertaste.  A couple years ago, I'd have scoffed at the very idea of India Pale Ale, but this was from ignorance rather than experience.  A friend of mine (also, coincidentally, named Randy) was the first to suggest that I may find the style enjoyable.  Actually, this same friend is the one with whom I discovered one of my favorite craft brews.  That's a good story -- remind me to tell it some time.

The point being that, in beer -- as in life (or anything else worth pursuing) -- it never hurts to open your mind.  You may well find that your prejudices and predilections have more to do with your own misinformed perceptions than anything resembling reality.    Case in point, my beer horizons have expanded pretty dramatically since my days in college, when I enjoyed my Killians and Sam Adams and Guinness.  I no longer go straight for the red ales and stouts when I'm looking for a good beer -- I now find I'm always on the lookout for a good IPA.

And on that note, the Lake Placid India Pale Ale is one that will always find a home in my refrigerator.  It's strong enough to make its point, and smooth (and flavorful) enough to make me get a second.  As a matter of fact, I do believe it may go very well with this evening's fireworks...

Sometimes, I love the heck out of my job: Ontario craft beer edition

The crew and I left work early today so we could do a couple remote broadcasts in Eastern Ontario.  Today's stops: Kemptville Ribfest and Thousand Islands Wine and Food fest.  Which, to me, meant two basic things: award-winning ribs and local craft beers.  Excellent food was eaten.  Several coasters were collected (a weird obsession I developed at last year's Wine and Food fest), and much beer was tested (or revisited.  Often). 

And so, because this blog is, at least partially, about beer, I figured I'd run down some of my favorites from the event.  Sadly, I wasn't able to taste every offering from every brewer: samples were purchased with tickets, and I just didn't have enough to sample every flavor.  Instead, I went with my personal tastes, and chose based on what seemed like would fit those tastes. So, that said, let's start with my favorite of the night, and work down.

Best beer of the event goes to a new brewer, Gananoque Brewing Co., with their Train Wreck Strong Ale.  The rep from the brewer called this the Charlie Sheen of beers, and while I don't expect it to start dating hookers and go on a whirlwind tour of trashtalk, it is a little more than you bargained for.  Train Wreck is a dark and hoppy ale with a bitter kick you don't quite expect.

The exhibitors offered their samples alongside free samples of a chili made from the beer.  The two complimented one another perfectly.  While you don't need the beefy chili to enjoy the ale, I do sincerely hope they start packaging the beer with the recipe.  It made the presentation that much better, and really set them apart from the other brewers. 

Coming in a close second, Mill St. Brewery, with their Tankhouse Ale. Already gaining popularity, there were more Mill St. cups left lying around than any other brewer's.  And this is their first year at the festival.  That has to say something.  The Tankhouse is brewed from five different malts, pours a deep copper, and blends the yeast and hops into aromatic magic. 

Mill St. also offered samples for a single ticket, which practically ensured repeat visits.  And yes, I went back.

I won't pretend I know enough of the terminology to sound like an experienced brewer: I don't.  So, I can't tell you about notes or nose... or really much beyond color and how it tasted to me.  It'll come with time.  In the meantime, I'm certainly planning a return trip to Ontario... I understand the ICBO keeps the Tankhouse in stock. 

At number three, Creemore Springs.  I was introduced to Creemore last summer and became an instant fan of their delightful Kellerbier.  A German-style, unfiltered beer, Kellerbier is hoppy and flavorful, with a citrus aroma.  I was surprised to find that this beer is canned, rather than bottled, which I suspect to be more about presentation than any practical usage.  When your only exposure to canned beer is your uncle's Whatever-was-cheap, it's hard to let go of those instant prejudices.  But this cloudy, golden beer is well worth getting rid of those preconceived notions. 

If my constantly faulty memory serves correctly, I've also tried Creemore Springs' Pilsner and urBock (I believe they had a bottle or two left, for those who were daring).  Like many local brewers, Creemore doesn't make a bad beer.  But if you've never tried a traditional unfiltered beer, the Creemore Kellerbier makes a darned fine introduction.

I'm still new enough to all of this that I'm not really ever sure what to expect of a brewer's flagship offering.  I guess I'm having trouble getting used to the fact that craft brewers don't seem to have an interest in competing with the watered-down stuff you find at the convenience store.  People who want that, want it.  People who have tried a decent craft beer, I've found, will rarely go back to the corporate brewers.  And that brings us to our number four, Beau's Lug Tread Lagered Ale. 

The first time I saw the Lug Tread, images instantly came to mind of the standard canned fare that kept me away from American corporate beer for my entire life.  I should explain that, as a rather pretentious college student, I had no desire to drink the same watered-down stuff fed to the proles.  I was convinced that dark ales and stouts were of more literary stock.  Were more worthy.  Because of this, pale and golden ales held no interest for me.  And then I saw it's beautiful hue, sunshine gold, with just a whisp of white foam.  I saw the sweat on the plastic cup, and licked my lips, wondering why I'd never tried such a wonderful-looking brew. 

Put simply, Lug Tread is not your standard 6-pack fare.  The Lagered Ale, the flagship beer of Beau's, is crafted to quench thirst, but to do it in a way more memorable and pleasing than the stuff in the refrigerated section at 7-11.  The logo of Beau's is a tractor -- an acknowledgement that this is a beer for the hard worker.  The guy coming in out of the sun.  It's best served cold, as an acknowledgement of the refreshing flavors worked into the brew, and all-in-all, it's a darned good beer.  The reason -- the only reason -- it didn't end up higher on my personal list is that, for me, it's a beer I have to be in the mood for.  Though it's crafted as an everyday beer -- and probably is exactly that for many -- it's simply not the sort of thing I'd take out of the fridge at any given time.  Maybe it's because I still favor the heavier, darker ales, and the Lug Tread is so light.  But whatever the reason is, I also know that, when I do have that urge to pull the stopper on the long bottle, and to poor it into a chilled glass, I will enjoy the Lug Tread with all the gusto of a life-long fan.


Yes, by the way: I did notice that I spent more words on each beer, the lower it was on my list.  I suppose that with beer, like people (and food), my first tendency is to simply enjoy it.  And if I enjoy it less than another, then I suppose it is that, and not my original enjoyment, which must be justified.

It's a Beer!

I meant to post the other day, but it is indeed official: Houston, we have beer! 

Isn't it glorious?

After about an hour's worth of work (total) and several weeks of pacing around, I have unbottled a beautiful pale ale.  For a first effort, it's not bad, if I do say so myself.  To be sure, it wasn't a perfect brew: it may well have benefited from using purer water in the first steps, for example.  Bottles that were bottled earlier in the process are also a bit more carbonated than the first bottle (wondering if, perhaps, I should have leveled off those scoops of sugar before putting them in the bottles).  But the bitterness is about right and, though it sits a little heavy (I have yet to finish more than a single glass in a sitting), it is pleasantly flavored. 

Of course, little of that, except the mistakes, has much to do with me.  So far.

I mentioned in an earlier post that brewing and writing had similarities.  One such similarity is in learning the craft.  With the brewing, I'm learning first by using Mr. Beer's pre-packaged kits. The kits include everything you need to create the malt -- ultimately the heart and soul of your beer.  Once I've nailed down the basic processes, I'll start adding things to the malts to create flavors, and then, finally (hopefully), gain the confidence and understanding necessary to start from scratch and create brews completely my own.

Anyone who is writing with any success will immediately note the similarities.  You don't start out writing like Longfellow.  You learn the basics: syntax, word usage, grammar.  Then you begin to sprinkle your own personality in as you learn and, ultimately, you're building your very own stories. 

Actually, anything worth doing in life tends to work the exact same way.  Impatience can be its own kind of instructor, but you skip the learning at your peril.