Family Fun in old Quebec

I'll admit, I left you hanging after talking about the times Thomas and I had in Montreal. Let's get caught up.

The next morning I woke up about 8:15 (very comfortable bed, quiet room), puttered about a bit, and checked my email -- holy crap, I had a response on my request for a tour at Unibroue! How soon could I be there? Quick think: raining, major metro area at rush hour (but going opposite to traffic), get Thomas up and packed...10 AM! We quickly threw things together, we'd already paid for the room; grabbed a croissant and a banana from the breakfast area, stuffed everything in the Jetta (thankful for that great parking spot!), and took off for Chambly. Gray, wet weather, and grunting-slow traffic, but the GPS took us directly to the brewery, and shortly we were in the capable hands of master brewer Jerry Vietz (portrait of whom you see pouring us samples of Raftman).
 
I'll give you the short version, since I'll be selling this story elsewhere: they are obsessed with quality and consistency. We washed our shoes, there were a number of areas where we could only look in through windows, no admittance (micro lab, open fermenters). They're doing a lot of lager brewing for Sleeman (Sleeman bought Unibroue, and was shortly thereafter bought by Sapporo), but Jerry intimated that the plan was to heavily ramp up sales and production of Unibroue, to the point where the whole plant would be dedicated to the refermented ales of Unibroue.

And we drank. The Raftman was delish: much more smoke in the nose than in the palate (Jerry also gave me a fresh-bottled Raftman: keep it warm, he warned me, and so we took it in the hotel every night). We tried the Blonde as well, and it was wonderful, flowery, spicy, lively. He loaded us down with samples: Ephemere, Blonde, Eau Benite, Maudite, a big three year old magnum of Maudite, a special brewery-only Christmas beer, and a sixpack of 1837, a Quebec-release strong ale that I'm looking forward to trying. Great time, great tour: Thomas was impressed and interested on a scientific level (as was I: Vietz is juggling several major projects with skill and aplomb). And...we took off for Quebec City.

 We stopped for lunch in Trois-Rivières along the way, at a brewpub the GPS happened to come up with: Gambrinus. I had to start with coffee; I was kind of dozey. But then it was time for beer; I had a stout. It was good with my smoked meat sandwich (also good), and the place had a nice feel to it. Worth a repeat, if we're in the area.

Onward! We rolled on down the St. Lawrence (largely frozen, and awesomely large), and came to Quebec City. The outer, modern city reminded me oddly of Pittsburgh. We stayed on the edge of the old city in a very nice Best Western (hello, Priceline), with a school group full of tarted up little hotties...yeah, whatever, get out of the way, we're going sightseeing!

We headed up the hill to the Citadelle, hoping to get some view of the city, but it was misty, rainy, and...we were too late in the day. On top of that...it's an active Canadian Defence site! Who knew? We were braced at the door, told there was no admittance. Well...okay! We walked back to the Jetta, and drove into the walled part of the old city. We got up to the point, and there was a Red Bull Crashed Ice track! They were running a race that weekend...which would have been fun, but as it was, it just kind of screwed up the parking. We drove around some more, and finally stuck the Jetta in an underground lot, and went walking. We went in a medieval store (I got Cathy silver and amber earrings, Thomas looked at swords), a clothing store, didn't go in the Hello Kitty store (well, it was closed, what are you going to do), and I finally said, look, we have to get a drink!

And this is where we wound up, at the St. Alexandre Pub, where they had an astounding selection of bottled beer -- huge Belgian selection -- and good taps too. I got a St. Ambroise stout (predictable, but it was so good fresh), Thomas took my advice and got a Guinness/Smithwick's black and tan. He'd never had, and that was a good intro. He liked it. We were starting to get peckish, though, and didn't necessarily want to eat here. I pulled out the Frommer's, and we saw that one of their recommended places was a short walk from there: Ristorante il Teatro.

We had a good time, and an excellent repast: a Tuscan (meaty!) antipasto, a funghi risotto for me, and smoked duck ravioli for him. Delish, and really not a bad price. Afterwards...well, we walked back to the car (along which walk I took the picture of Thomas to the left here, hunched against the damp cold, and looking downright European), drove back to the hotel and stashed the car, and fell asleep in quite short order. We'd walked quite a bit, and it had been a short night.

The next morning, Thomas was still dozey, so I got up, showered, got dressed, and walked about two blocks to a bakery, La Boîte à Pain. The girl behind the counter spoke no English, so we smiled, pointed, and nodded: I picked out two loaves to take home, a spinach and feta roll, and a chocolate croissant (for Thomas). And I left my wallet at the room! Crap. I finally got it across to her, and promised to be back. Ran to the hotel, got the wallet, ran back, and collected my breadstuffs. And that spinach thang was good!
 
Anyway, we left town and drove on through flat open (wet!) country, but the day eventually cleared up, although it was still pretty damned flat! I was thinking about how to spend my Canadian money, when I saw a sign for a Fromagerie. Cool! I got off the Autoroute, and THEN the sign admitted that the cheese place was 14 klicks north. Oh well, we weren't in a rush. See that picture with the Jetta? That's what it was, miles and miles of flat muddy fields, covered in snow. Impressive. We got some cheese curds and a big block of excellent 3 year old cheddar, and cross-countried to the border on two lane roads. Fun drive, and there were these big hills that reared up out of the flat, stark and sudden; all rather enjoyable, in a scenic sense. The border crossing was quite intrusive; apparently the guy was convinced that we were coming across at this tiny post because we had something to hide. All we were doing was driving down through the Champlain islands, but no big: we had nothing to hide. He finally opened the trunk and saw the beer, and things got downright jovial after that.

We rolled on down into Burlington and had lunch at the Vermont Pub & Brewery...which is about where I left you in the post from Burlington. That was about it for the trip. We drove home on Friday, and that was that. Good trip, good time with Thomas, and some great food and beer.

Family Fun in Montreal

My son Thomas is home from Boston University on Spring Break. He and I decided to go to Quebec to get away. I'll be honest; I'm not sure how that happened, but I'm all for it.

We drove up yesterday: stopped at Brown's Brewing in Troy (formerly the Troy Brewpub, same owners), where I enjoyed my usual -- Porter! -- and Thomas had...iced tea. Quebec's only hours away, fella! We had a beautiful run up through the Adirondacks, no worries, and scooted into Plattsburgh to view the deep blue waters of Champlain (and fill up on relatively cheap diesel before entering The Dominion of Canada). The border crossing was, for a change, uneventful, and we drove north across the plains to Montreal.


We checked into Le Cartier B-and-B, a neat little place, and got the restaurant lecture for our host, Richard. The man eats out 365 days a year, he said, so we listened. Which is how we wound up going to Au Petit Extra, and had a great meal, and a great experience for the young man. Pretty Quebecois waitresses who all looked like they could be Cathy's cousins: dark hair, light complexion, slightly elfin features. We got the prix fixe dinner, which came with 6-8 choices for the first and second courses, five dessert choices/or a cheese plate, and plentiful delicious slices of baguette. The menu was all in French -- no kiddy English version -- but we managed to figure out what we wanted between Thomas's 1.5 semesters and my smattering of eating French.

We've had some glass-holding lessons since...

We ordered: for him, soup de poisson, duck confit and salad, creme brulee; for me, veal terrine in gelee, bouillabaisse, and the cheese plate, and a half liter of house red (the waitress approved of the choice of red; I felt smart for a moment). I waited to see what he'd think. Duck confit, creme brulee, the bread: thumbs up. Fish soup (a wonderful, smoky, thick thing), house red wine? Okay, but maybe not so much. My veal terrine? Definitely not for him. Not cheap, but a great experience. (My bouillabaisse and the cheese plate were very nice as well, BTW.) And we called it a day.

This morning I got some work done, as did he, and then took a cab to the Brasserie McAuslan, where master brewer Dave Brophy -- one of the original five employees -- showed me an almost fanatical devotion to quality and consistency. No wonder I've never had a disappointing McAuslan Oatmeal Stout. Fascinating comment: they contract brew Moosehead for Quebec, and Dave said that they did an extensive diacetyl rest for the lager. Then he referred to the McAuslan beers -- done in open fermentation tanks with Ringwood yeast -- and said that, of course, they have a different character; i.e., diacetyl is expected there. Well, there you are.

Thomas contemplates the menu at Saint-Bock; brewery is in the far background

Back to the room (cabbing it so as not to lose our parking space), and Thomas was about ready to go. We walked to Le Saint-Bock for lunch. I ordered an Encensoir, which was a nice 5% smoked lager; Thomas got an iced tea. About two minutes later it hits him: DOH! He could have had a beer! At which point he grabs my rauchbier, sips it, and says he'll have one of those. Good man! And he finished it, too.

After that, we slipped down into "The Underground City." Not really an attraction, much as it sounds it. Came up and headed up St. Laurent. There are lots of hipster clothing stores there, I told Thomas (and I can get to Schwartz's, I told myself). And you know, it worked out. We walked all the way up, he got to shop, and then we went to Schwartz's and got smoked meat sammiches and Cott's black cherry soda, a weirdly wonderful combo. Then we walked over to St. Denis, stopped in a Converse/Doc Marten store, and then had a great time in a Quebec artisanal store, talking bear teeth and gypsy swing with the owner while the "annual" anti-police protest marched loudly by outside.

And...that's when I realized I'd left my debit card in the ATM that morning. So we walked down to L'amère à boire to regroup and get info to cancel the card. I had the current Projet Elephant beer, a 3.6% Tmavé dark lager, wonderfully session. Thomas had a pilsner. I got the info I needed, canceled the card...and Thomas realized he'd left a shirt he'd bought at Schwartz's. So back up St. Laurent, and whattayaknow, they had it for him! Bravo, Schwartz's!

Dinnertime. Okay, beer time. Reservoir is practically around the corner, so we went, and I got a big glass of Noire, the dry stout that I swear is the best thing they make. We also had grilled cheese: raclette and sweated onions on grilled baguette. Nummy.

We were beat. Yes, beer geekerie: no Dieu du Ciel. I've been; it's great, but it's a long way off, and to be honest, I'd rather have spent much of the day drinking the Elephant beer, or even going to Benelux. Or maybe I'm just ornery. Anyway, we split a poutine, one more Montreal thing for the boy to experience, and called it a day. And now I'm going to bed. Good night!

One more video...

Sorry to be deluging you with videos this week, but this one's short, and well-worth watching. It's Ontario Premier Dalton McGuinty -- who has his own YouTube channel --responding to a constituent's question about conditions at The Beer Stores. McGuinty points out that they are not a government function (the confusion is understandable; TBS is damned near a sanctioned monopoly, and Ontario's wine and spirits monopoly, the LCBO, is government-owned), but then he adds that one of the things he would "encourage you to do -- encourage everybody -- is to seek out some of those really interesting and tasty craft beers that are being brewed right here in Ontario."

Really. He does, and seems genuinely enthused about it. Nice. It's less than a minute; check it out. Because, you know, I'd encourage you to do the same thing!

It's a Beautiful Day in Montreal

And I'm here, but I've got to run. Got a pub crawl to catch up with! Blessings on the Mondial staff: my room's stocked with Dieu du Ciel! Aphrodisiaque, St. Ambroise Oatmeal Stout, Boreale Rousse, and mustard. And some kind of emu pate...God bless Quebec.

Talk to you in a bit, and tell you about my michigan madness in Plattsburgh; a real Geno's/Pat's moment.

Mondial

I leave for Montreal tomorrow morning, judging and presenting a seminar (on what else?) at the Mondial de la Biere. Looking forward to a pub crawl tomorrow and Thursday (the latter of which includes Steve Beaumont's threat to make sure I'm not at my best for my 9:15 AM presentation on Friday), the judging (always like that), wonderful weather, new beers, great food, and -- speaking of that -- stopping in Plattsburgh for michigans on the way up and back. I'll do what I can about blogging. When I'm not drinking, walking, or sleeping. Au revoir!

Scotch whisky market tightens in weird ways

Just got news that Diageo is pulling Johnnie Walker, Bell's Extra Special and J&B Rare, along with eight single malts (Glenkinchie, Dalwhinnie, Talisker, Cragganmore, Oban, Lagavulin, Brora, and Clynelish) off the shelves in New Brunswick.

New Brunswick, Canada, that is, not New Brunswick, New Jersey. I know most of my readers are Americans, but there's a significant Canadian contingent out there too. If you're wondering who's next, well, you're right: these brands will most likely be disappearing from shelves across the Dominion soon, probably in January. (Update, 11/6: "Johnnie Walker Green Label, Black & White Blended Scotch Whisky and Bell's Scotch Whisky will no longer be available in LCBO outlets once current supplies are gone, probably by year end, a spokesman confirmed yesterday.") They'll be replaced by Ballantines, Teachers, Famous Grouse (and the Black and 30 Year Old), Dewar's, Chivas, and Grant's. Some of those are nothing to sneeze at -- I don't mind a dram of Teachers -- but...why?

BRIC, in a word. In four words: Brazil, Russian, India, China. Hot markets all, and clamoring for Scotch whisky in rapidly-increasing amounts. More so than Canada can consume, so your supplies are getting shipped elsewhere. Welcome to globalization.

We've got a piece on this shuffling in the last issue of Malt Advocate -- about how new expressions are being created to fill the gaps -- and another coming up in the next issue, about where the whisky's going now (and where the smart aficionado can find it). The world whisky market may be looking over its shoulder, but it continues to grow, and major distillers -- Diageo, Wm. Grant & Son, Beam -- are putting a lot of money into distillery expansion.

Yesterday in Toronto

Cathy and I drove up to Toronto Thursday afternoon, and after a horrible experience with downtown traffic (due largely to, of all things, a Buffalo Bills game a block from our hotel), we finally got settled in and walked up to Volo for a restorative session. I had two pints of the Durham XXX on cask -- quite nice, a bit of alefruit, mostly malt -- and a pint of Grand River Mill Race Mild -- very tasty, with a good edge from the dark malts used -- along with our pasta dinners. We headed back for some well-earned sleep.

So, anyway, as I said, yesterday we slowly woke up (after a couple amusing/disturbing dreams I had about beer writers) and I took Cathy out on a walk down along Front Street. We passed the Hockey Hall of Fame and then got to our first destination, the wonderful St. Lawrence Market. As before, the market was almost overwhelmingly appealing, and terribly disappointing...in that we couldn't do anything with this bounty of fresh fish, beautifully fresh sausages, and the stunning array of vegetables, because we didn't have a kitchen!

I thoroughly envy the people in the area for this rich source of healthy eats-preparation...but we made do by getting a peameal sammich from the Carousel Bakery, and lord above, was it hot, juicy, and porkificently great. ("Peameal" is "Canadian bacon"... which is like explaining that DeuS is "beer.") I also got plenty of Kozlik's mustards (three jars of the Russians) and a pricey but excellent pack of "Indian candy": maple-cured salmon.

After we stopped drooling, we set out down to the Distillery district, grabbing a cup of joe at Second Cup on the way...and promptly hit Balzac's in the Distillery for more. Then it was down to Mill Street Brewery for some beer -- finally! I got an IPA that was ... hmmm, a moment and I'll come back to it; Cathy got a small Wit ("A halfwit," I chuckled/she groaned). Enjoyable atmosphere though the service was a bit slow, and the space is great: high ceilings, glass, nice fittings. The beer, though, was dull-edged, more bitter than hoppy, and just...lacking in the verve that I expect from an IPA. More about this shortly.

But for now, we had to run: Amy and John Hansell were coming in at the airport, and I'd volunteered to run out and pick them up. That was a hellride: it started pissing down rain about the time we called down to whistle up the Passat, and didn't let up. The Gardiner Expressway was slow and nasty from the heavy rain, and then it started frickin' hailing, stuff the size of small marbles! Sheesh. Things cleared up nicely, though, and soon we had them on-board, and headed back to Mill Street.

Sorry to say it was disappointing. The beer didn't get a lot better, though my Cobblestone Stout was pretty damned good, and the Coffee Porter was well done. But the Stock Ale -- sweet, and that's about it -- IPA -- "like homebrew," John said -- and ESB -- not very much differentiated from the IPA -- were ho-hummers. Kind of made me think of what I speculated about Canadian brewing after Mondiale: behind the curve. Food was only so-so too, though the service was quite a bit better this time.


We toddled about the Distillery a bit more, then I drove us back to the hotel, and we went up to the room, read a bit, got dressed up, and went out to Steve and Maggie Beaumont's wedding party. Which is why we were in Toronto. We had a good time, everyone did. And now we're getting ready to go out again, on Saturday morning. Not sure where we'll wind up, but there's a big get-together dinner planned for this evening at beerbistro...which is nice.

(Oh! I forgot to mention that we actually drove up to the Rochester area on Wednesday to drop off the kids with my wife's family, and to hand over our couch to my bro-in-law -- we just got a new one. On the way up, the serpentine belt broke on the minivan, and we limped into Binghamton. We stuffed everything into the Passat and kept rolling; the van's fixed and we're picking it up tomorrow. As you can see, the damage to the van probably resulted from letting Penderyn drive. Corgis are notoriously hard on cars.)

Top Ten: Favorite Cities

The monthly not-usually-drink-related Lew's Top Ten. This month, a truly off-the-top-of-my-head list of the cities and towns I most like to visit or have most enjoyed on a single visit. Thoroughly me-centric, and I'm not anywhere near as well-traveled as I'd like to be...but it's what I've got. As always, the list is unranked, in the order I happened to write them down, and as I've done in the past, I cheated a little by shoving some close cities together.

1. Portland, Maine. The first time I drove into Portland, it was 72°, blue sky with a few clouds, and I bought a paper and looked at the want ads. Just a marvelous city, surrounded by water, fed by the water (and B&M Beans), and blessed with some solid beer joints. A little gem.




2. Chicago. Cathy and I have been enjoying the blazes out of Chicago for quite a few years now, thanks to WhiskyFest Chicago and our good friends, George and Sue Sarmiento, both Chicago natives who have shown us some of the fun to be had there (and Frank E., and Terry and Monica Sullivan...yeah, all you guys). Great museums, the Lake, the German joints (and Polish joints, and Ukrainian joints, and Swedish joints, and Irish joints...), and some truly excellent beer spots. A great city to walk around in, to dine in, to have a hell of a time in.

3. San Francisco. Simply gorgeous, in a way most cities only hope for. The Bay's a wonderful window on the world (and Oakland), the bridges are inspiring, and there are bars here that have been serving for well over a century. The people are very interesting and friendly (friendlier than I remember from the 1980s, actually), the food is outstanding, and the romance is palpable.
4. Portland, Oregon. Only been once, can't wait to return. Portland has a smaller beauty, and an intense desire to better itself that is much more appealing than it sounds. One of the best beer scenes in the world, of course (although believe me, guys...we know you know...), and a happy worn-in attitude about it.

5. Bamberg. How can you not like a town with so many good breweries, so much history and preserved architecture, walkable and beautiful? I'd go back every year if I could.






6. Toronto. Good beer in excellent places, great transit, old buildings, the St. Lawrence Market, and vibe just shimmering off it. And of course, The Lake, right there, which Toronto makes the most of. Love visiting this town, any month of the year.








7. Düsseldorf/Köln. I picked both to avoid the arguments, yes. Hate to disappoint the folks who told me to skip Köln (and kölsch) and just stay in D-dorf and drink altbier: I love both, and I particularly love the places they're served. Actually, if I were going to go on where they're served, Köln might have a slight edge, if only because of numbers. But truly, both wonderful places, -- not just for beer, for people and architecture and setting and history -- and I'm hoping to make them a yearly visit.




8. Ghent. I really am picking Ghent over Brussels, after only one visit to each. It may be because I was a bit overwhelmed by Brussels (may be that I was a bit over-served there...), but mostly it's the canals and the look of Ghent. I'm a sucker for water, and Ghent has so much of it. It's also of a more manageable size than Brussels for a first-time visit. My opinion may well change (especially after I get to Brugge), but for now: top ten.


9. Madison. Spectacular lake setting, and when it's really on, it's beautiful here. The people are wonderful, the beer culture is the closest thing to Germany I've encounted in the U.S., and the brewpubs rock. Another town I'd re-locate to in a heartbeat.

10. Washington/Baltimore. I hate the heat, I despise humidity. These towns can be miserable with it. But I love them; DC for the bustle, the international character and attractions of such a relatively small city, the Smithsonian, the embassies, and all the goings-on. Baltimore is special for its real personality, a town that has as much individual character as Boston or New York, some great beer bars and brewpubs, a gorgeous ballpark, and the whole harborside thing, and the exceptional seafood. Always happy to visit these towns; need to do that again soon.

Fun in Montreal: me and Jack at the Mondial

I took an opportunity to visit the Mondial de la Biere last week, and I traveled there with Uncle Jack Curtin (as Uncle Jack has been recounting -- more or less truthfully -- recently). Credit to UJ, actually, because it was his idea. I called him to see if he wanted to go to Pittsburgh to check out the wonderful new places that have opened there recently (the Rivertowne Pourhouse, Point Brugge (new to me; I keep trying to get in, and keep hitting it when it's closed, terribly frustrating), Bocktown Grill, a new D's, Marzoni's West, the new beer engine at Piper's Pub, and a new breakfast joint run by an old friend of ours, the Hot Metal Diner (most of which I do intend to visit in about 10 days on the way to Kentucky...)). There was a bit of malice in the invite, since Jack was apparently traumatized by our last road trip to Pittsburgh (page down, it's there, and worth a couple chuckles), the great weenie, but I did want to go.

But Jack said, no, what he really wanted to do was go to the Mondial. Good idea! Even better, I had a lecture lined up for Wednesday of that week in New Paltz, with a room and a fee that would easily cover my costs for the trip to Mondial. Perfect became perfecter when Jack found lodgings in Montreal that were a 15 minute walk from the fest, clean, secure, and only $45 a night. (Nice work, Jack.) We were on.

Getting over to the Beer Yard to pick up Jack was a traffic horror, getting through NJ was almost as bad, and when I found myself happy to be paying $4.69 a gallon for diesel, I knew things were screwed. As it turned out, I was wrong. The lecture went smoothly, and we also fit in a quick visit to the Gilded Otter brewpub in New Paltz (excellent alt, as always; a bit overly chocolatey to be classic, but not a problem when it comes to good drinking), the Tuthilltown Spirits distillery (more on that in another post...maybe, because I might be able to sell that one -- meanwhile, that's a picture of the stillhouse on the right.), and an excellent -- huge -- German dinner at the Mountain Brauhaus (highly recommended, great German fare and beers). Things got even better when I forced a visit to the Miss Albany Diner for breakfast, one of my top ten breakfast spots, a classic Silk City diner with house-made sausage and a MAD assortment of specialty omelettes and waffles (the Irish whiskey waffle is just nuts).

Okay, enough prelim. We slid up through the Adirondacks (sedately; I've discovered the zen of mileage, and got 43 mpg over the whole trip (I think Jack was somewhat chagrined by the calmness of my driving)), smoothed down onto the flats outside of Plattsburgh, and just before the border, yes, I did realize that my cell plan was stupid expensive in Canada, and called my family and asked them to only call me for emergencies (something Jack would twist cruelly at every occasion into "He told his family to stop calling him."). Onward to the border, only...

Jack and I got stopped at Customs. We were detained. After a long chat with the woman in the booth, who seemed quite pleasant, she suddenly started asking questions. Did we have any firearms? Did we have any firearms at home? (I do, one antique shotgun that was my grandfather's, but why that's a concern of Canadians -- or any of their business -- is beyond me.) Where else have you lived? (A fairly long list of different states for me.) Do you have any alcohol? (A flask of whiskey for personal use only.) Jack wisely said "No" to most of these questions, but I just couldn't help being truthful.

And she gave us a yellow card and told us to go park in the detainee lot and give our passports to Immigration. This didn't sound good. But it was just hand over the passports, watch the woman we gave them to stand around doing nothing while holding them, and then her calling Jack -- I'm sorry, John Curtin, and who the hell is that? -- up, and giving the passports back, along with a secret code number (*4050, and I'll probably never get into Canada again now) to get out of the parking lot. Stupid silliness; I can't imagine what 'profile' me and Jack Curtin headed to Montreal for two days would fit. It really pisses me off when government folks pull this screwing with you and never saying why crap. Ah, me.

So we headed up the AUT 15 with me in a somewhat foul mood, but the beautiful day soon got me over it. Things are pretty flat in this part of Quebec, which only makes the rearing backdrop of the Mont Royal all the more striking. My GPS was practically useless in Canada, so I'd fired up the laptop with Streets & Trips, and Jack was balancing it on his knee as we tried to figure out where to go.

The expressway part was easy, but once we got onto the surface grid, things were moving too quickly, and the street names on the screen were too small to read fast in the bright sunlight. I beat the directions into some kind of usable thing and found our lodgings...and then took about 10 minutes trying to get pulled over in front of the building so Jack could go in and find out where we were supposed to park (at least Canadians drive on the right side of the road...mostly). We did that, checked in, and headed down the Boulevard René-Lévesque to the Mondial.


It was a breezy mile and a quarter walk, and we bobbled around a bit finding it, but it was quite the thing once we did. It's an indoor-outdoor fest in a large restored train station and the outdoor courtyard. It's big, and fun, and free admission/pay for beer (which got expensive at times and stupid cheap at others: $2 for a big 12 oz. pour of St. Ambroise Oatmeal Stout -- yum -- but $3 for a niggardly 4 oz. pour of La Route des Indes IPA from Au Maître-Brasseur that tasted nasty and off). It was a thoroughly enjoyable festival, with cider and cheese and spirits to boot, which of course would be illegal as hell in most of the U.S., God help me.

I'll leave Jack to give the blow-by-blow (except to add my admiration for the drop-dead beauty and friendliness of the Unibroue serving women and their cute as hell lace-up vests) and move on to overall impressions. There were some absolutely outstanding beers at the Mondial, Canadian, French, and the usual American suspects (the "Petit Pub" had a wide assortment of non-represented beers, including some Sly Fox that Jack was quite exercised about). I had my first Unibroue Eau Benite in way too long, and it was exquisite, as were pretty much every beer I had from Dieu du Ciel, (where Jack and I would retire for a long, very enjoyable session that evening), Ferme Brasserie Schoune (where we were led by Tony Forder to meet the brewer and Tom Peters, who was already arranging for them to do a beer dinner at Monk's), and Benelux-Brasserie.

But I was struck by the number of inferior beers I also got. We've pretty much gotten used to the idea that beer festivals in the U.S., craft brewers in the U.S., have reached a certain level of competence. I remember ten years ago sampling beers at fests and remarking to friends that the brewers must not be sampling them, because they were all too obviously flawed and often infected. That's gone away, and I have not had a flawed beer in quite a while at a U.S. fest. I had at least three dumpers at Mondial.

I don't really think this is attributable to anything but the atmosphere and culture. Canadian brewing/drinking seems even more dominated by big breweries -- MolBatt, the Canadian equivalent of American beer geeks' BMC -- than America, and the impediments to cross-provincial beer sales haven't helped. It's not chance that the very best Canadian breweries seem to be either brewpubs, breweries with strong export sales, or new. There is acceptance of craft beer in Canada, but it seems to be behind the curve a bit.

I'd say it's rapidly catching up, though, and the experimental stuff, like the hibiscus amber at Dieu de Ciel, is equivalent to the stuff American brewers are doing, with its own direction. Canadian brewers, and particularly Quebecois brewers, explore things with less fear of having the results labeled as "girly beers," and I think that's a very good thing. There seemed to be less of the embrace of the EXtrEme beer, which I also think is a good thing.

That was about it, except, yes, I did go to Hard Rock Cafe Montreal. I'd never ever been to one, and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. To be honest, I still don't know. It was perfunctory service, all MolsonCoors beers (the Molson Export I was served almost brought me to tears: I drank a lot of Ex in the 1980s, and this was a pale, sweet shadow of that beer), and stiff prices ($6.50 for a shaker pint of mass-market beer seemed extreme (please note my stupidity...I've since realized that this was NOT a shaker pint, it was actually a larger beer; my apologies)...especially since Jack and I both left 2/3 of our beers sitting on the bar (he'd got a Rickard's Red, which he repeatedly said was the worst non-infected beer he'd ever had). I guess I just don't understand what most people want from an evening out. Which is okay with me; I know what I want, and usually see that I get it.