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.

More Saints at the Grey Lodge

I whimpered a bit to Scoats that while he was celebrating saint's days -- St. Patrick's Day (of course), St. George's Day, and St. Andrew's Day -- he was missing -- in this very Welsh region -- St. David's Day. There are Welsh beers available, after all, and the Welsh whisky -- excuse me, wisgi -- Penderyn. (Which is an excuse to run a picture of my good Welsh boy.)

Well, not only did Scoats agree that March 1 of next year would see a St. David's Day celebration at the Grey Lodge, he one-upped me. This Wednesday, June 24th, will be St. Jean-Baptiste Day (hell, I didn't know there was a Grey Lodge blog!) at the Grey Lodge, a celebration of the patron saint of Quebec.

There will be a bunch of Unibroue beers -- always cause for a celebration -- and authentic poutine: 'authentic' meaning the fries are the G-Lodge's fresh-cut double-cooked fries, the cheese curds are real cheese curds, and -- again, that one-upmanship! -- the brown gravy is made with Unibroue Don de Dieu. French-speaking gravy! If you thought the whole "freedom fries" thing was absolutely ridiculous, this is your chance to get some seriously French fries. No Montreal smoked meat, unfortunately -- next year, Scoats says -- but they will have smoked pork with maple onions, and pork and beans: homeboy Quebecois food, I guess.

Je me souviens! I will remember this, Scoats: see you in March, and maybe on Wednesday, too. Sante!

Out on the town in Montreal

As is always the case when I get rolling in a fest mode, some blog backtracking is in order. So...here's what happened when I hit Montreal Tuesday afternoon. After pushing through some rush hour traffic, I dropped the Passat off with the doorman at the Queen Elizabeth and got ready for the pub crawl planned for early arrivers by Mirella Amato. Josh Rubin, the beer columnist for the Toronto Star, had very nicely asked me to join the group, and I did, as did Glenn Payne (another seminar presenter, and a very fun guy to go crawling with). I walked up to Sherbrooke and hiked across the hill to Benelux.

I spotted a likely group and asked them if they were with the Mondial. Yes! I quickly met Mirella, Jorgen Hasselqvist (owner of Oliver Twist, the celebrated Stockholm beer bar), Ken Woods (president of Black Oak Brewing ("They don't let me brew," he lamented. "I'm just an accountant.")), and Martin Jordan (head of sales for J. Cipelli Wine & Spirits in Toronto) (Arnis, I know you were there too, but I didn't get your card!). It was a lively group.


I got a Magnum, a pilsner hopped with (you got it) Magnum hops, and it was real drinkable. Could have been a bit crisper, but brewer Ben Mercier didn't stint on the hops. (He joined us as we traipsed about, and seemed to enjoy getting away from work for a change. That's him in the picture, at our table at Benelux.) Next up was a Cuda, a west coast IPA that was stinky and sticky with Simcoe and Amarillo hops; wicked bitter but still dry enough to drink easy. Nicely done beer.

Mirella chivvied us out the door and walked on down Sherbrooke (I would end up walking about 5 and a quarter miles that night), then right on rue St. Denis to L'amere a Boire. Mirella tried bravely to explain the French pun represented by the name, but I never did get it. I'm dense, just ask Tony "Moose" Forder. Anyway, L'AaB was essentially the first lager craft brewer in Montreal, and proved it by their very nicely crafted Cerna Hora, a true-to-style Czech pils.
What sold me, though, was Projet Elephant, a series of lower alcohol beers they've been doing. The current one is a 10P version of Cerna Hora, weighing in at only 3.6%, and very tasty indeed. The Projet Elephant beers pour through a brass elephant with a tap fitted into its trunk: quite fun.

L'AaB was a nice place, conducive to hanging out -- lower light, lots of smooth wood, a nice terrace out back, cool staff -- so of course Mirella would have none of it and chased us out the door to Cheval Blanc. Cheval Blanc was cool, in a chic kind of way -- low chairs, metal trim, hip staff -- but it was too nightclubby for my tastes. I didn't really love the beer, either. The stout was watery and astringent, the "India Noire," a dark IPA, was flatly bitter, and had a vegetal character to it that was not pleasant. The Maibock was fruity -- I questioned its lagerhood -- though it did dry out nicely at the end. The Bitter was the best of the bunch, drinkable and hoppy. Not a place I'd rush back to, I'm afraid.

It was the place where I ran out of money, though. I traipsed down the street to a gas station, but found the same thing I always do in Canada: I gotta use a real bank ATM. They always work (they did later that night), the little plastic numbers in gas stations and restaurants never do. Dammit. So I may still owe Mirella $10; I'm going to settle that tomorrow. Anyway...we walked again, a lot, which was keeping me more sober than I would have been, to Reservoir.

Reservoir was tiny, with a tiny cobbled-together brewing system (Mirella explained that there was a man who put these cheap but effective systems together; his trademark was a heat exchanger made from copper tubing and a hose, and sure enough, Reservoir had one), tucked away on a side street in a quiet neighborhood (at least, it was quiet on a Tuesday evening). We settled in, sitting in old armchairs around a substantial low table. I had a big oatmeal stout that was plenty drinkable (Ken said the dunkel weizen was 'brilliant'), but it was the food that was awesome. I had a pork BBQ that was full of peppers, excellent fries; Ken raved about his grilled cheese (it did look good; raclette in crunchy-grilled bread with lots of butter); Mirella let me try her grilled octopus and it was almost perfect...very nice.

The group was pushing on to Dieu du Ciel, but I'd had enough; four hours of sleep and 8 hours of driving was finally catching up with me. I walked back, a little over a mile and a half, but mostly downhill. I slept well.



*I have total sympathy for her actions, by the way: I know exactly how she was feeling. You have the desire for everyone to have a good time, but you still know that they would really like the next place, and they should see it because it's important and wonderful and offers things other places don't...so you try to see everything. Believe me, I know about it. Nice job, Mirella. A little more walking than we suspected, maybe, but a great time.

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!