Bewitched by Witchshark and friends

I drank deeply of her beauty before I brought her to my lips. She was so enchanting I thought it must be sorcery, until I realized that at nine per cent ABV, she had a bite that I had to respect.

I was in love with a beer, as well as with a brewery. But even more with friends, both old and new.

The occasion was a visit to the Bellwoods Brewery on Ossington Avenue in Toronto, home of Witchshark double IPA, a brew that has already soared to the top of my must-have list. The friends were my college buddy Don, he of the Brew Ha Ha blog and his new found expertise in all things beery, and my new friend, the lovely Cat.

We had been talking for a while about doing a brewery tour – especially after I had missed Cat and Don’s Most Excellent Amsterdam Adventure – and we settled on Bellwoods, largely on the strength of three IPAs on the menu. Three? Damn, I was excited at the prospect and besides, it was my idea.

So on Saturday I headed to the Big Smoke and after almost pulling a Don (I missed my exit, as opposed to getting lost entirely) I made it the brewery and found a place to park on the permanently snow-bound side streets. (How can they plow it if the cars never leave?)

The meet-n-greet was outside, as we all arrived at about the same time, and other than a minor faux pas of extending a hand to Cat (her choice – the better one – was a warm embrace), was uneventful.

But inside, I saw what the fuss was about. Cozy (a lineup started soon after our arrival near the opening bell of 2) with a great country kitchen vibe (as long as your country kitchen contained massive beer-making machinery), the bar was dominated by a huge board with dozens of offerings from the brewery, as well as some ‘guest’ taps.

There were plenty of IPAs, so I was ready.

“One Roman Candle, please,” said I. “I’m sorry,” said our server. “We’re all out. We blew the keg.”

Don and Cat had some fun withy the sexual innuendos that were ripe for the picking, but I was devastated. No Roman Candle?

“But we have it at the bottle shop,” continued our server, witness to the look on my face. “So no worries.”

All righty then.

I had the Catherine Wheel first, a Belgian IPA that was a must-drink for Cat for almost obvious reasons (and a must-drink for Don and I if we knew what was good for us) and I was suitably impressed. I wasn’t bowled over, but bonus points to Bellwoods for making a very strong beer (7.3 per cent ABV) taste like a session brew.

Next up was Wizard Wolf, a true session pale ale at 4.8 per cent. Not bad. Not bad at all.

After sampling the guest tap IPA (Half Nelson, from Great Lakes: excellent!), the Witchshark appeared, and I was in love.

Deep copper colour, great head (hey! I passed on the last innuendo opportunity) and absolutely huge hops. Citrusy (Grapefruit? Don’t take my word for it – I’m a rookie at this) and overall, just an awesome beer. It jumped right to the top of my list with Rogue Brutal and Smashbomb and is my undisputed number one double IPA.

We had a great afternoon trading stories  - I almost forgot to mention that it was our mutual friend and fellow craft beer geek Steve's birthday (he couldn't make it from New Zealand for the visit) and it was Don's the day before, so we had a lot to celebrate. All good things, unfortunatly,  must eventually come to an end – we all had to drive and I had to work. Actually, I was more than two hours late for my shift when I left but I have an … understanding boss, so it was all good.

We hit the bottle shop before we left and I finally got my hands on the Roman Candle, as well as a couple of bottles of the Witchshark.

Cat and Don, spoiled as they are, got to bring their bottle shop buys home and start (re-start?) drinking. But as I had to work, my drinking would have to wait.

So there I was, three hours and a bit after I left Bellwoods, finally at home with a Roman Candle poured in front of me. And I took a few sips (“s’right, nothing special”) and promptly fell asleep.

I can make excuses – up since 4 am, aching back, blah blah – but still: I left a quality beer on the table. I am so sorry, Bellwoods.

Two hours later I awoke, but I’m not fit for drinking, and my bedtime comes early. So I put my Roman Candle – already poured in a glass – in the fridge.

Now I didn’t let that beer go to waste the next day – for shame if you thought that for a second – but the true test was delayed until the next evening. Cold and poured in my bestest glass, I finally got to sampling Roman Candle at its best.

S’right. Nothing special.

I still had two bottles of the Witchshark left, however, which I savoured over two days and each bottle was better than the last.

True love, mate. With a great beer, a great brewery and great friends, old and new.

Smashbombed on Craft Beer

Smashbomb. Boneshaker. Brutal. Mad Tom. Ten Bitter Years.

If the names were meant to intimidate they failed miserably. Instead, they intrigued and made me thirst for more.

Even the warnings from an old friend didn’t faze me. “I think you should start slow,” said Don, who I hold responsible for my current predicament. “Baby steps, man – all those hops will be too much for you!”

Too late now, Don. I’m hooked on the hops and now I have to admit it: I am a craft beer addict.

Two months or so ago I was happy to buy a few Bravas now and then and occasionally splurge on a little Gibson’s Finest. Brava hasn’t darkened my fridge door since then and I still have half a bottle of rye from Christmas. Craft beer, meanwhile, has crowded my fridge to the point that I have to do some renovations.

(I don’t really need mustard, ketchup or pickles, do I?)

It’s not as if I have embraced all craft beers. I’ve tried a few porters and stouts, a bunch of pleasant pale ales and even an excellent wheat beer or two.

My passion, however, is reserved for IPAs.

IPAs, or India Pale Ales, are the extra strong (usually six to seven per cent alcohol), extra-hoppy ales first brewed by the English in the 1800s to ensure that beer shipped to the troops in India would arrive fresh and the troops, overdressed for the tropical heat in typical British fashion, would stay too drunk to revolt.

The Americans (and later we Canadians, along with Australians, New Zealanders and a few other nations) then took that recipe to another level in the early 1900s and now produce most of the world’s best IPAs, with the epicenter of the craft beer explosion on the west coast, from San Diego to Vancouver.

And I want to try them all.

I now spend more time on the LCBO website, searching for hard-to-find IPAs in local liquor stores, than I ever spent on … those other web sites I used to frequent. I’ve driven to every store in Durham Region on the hunt for the latest prize, and cried like a baby when the beer was not to be found, despite the all-mighty internet telling me it would be.

I dream about IPAs. I plan my day around how I get IPAs. The first thing I do some mornings – before I go on Facebook to see if my fellow beer geeks have anything important to say – is jump on the LCBO site to source out where I’m going after work.

Then I spend my day hoping I can work until at least 10 so I don’t have to wait to buy my treasure.

I once drove to Brooklin to find West Coast IPA, a San Diego ale that was pumped up as the bomb in Don’s beer blog, and turned around and travelled east to Bowmanville when it was a no-show. Struck out there, too.

The next day I hit up the Whitby LCBO on the way home from work, only to be defeated once again. So I ordered the damn thing and a week later I was seeing for myself if all that driving was worth it.

It was. Third best beer EVER.

The real scary thing about this addiction is my reliance on Don for advice. He’s been like my mentor on my transformation and I can tell you that Don and mentor are rarely seen together in the same sentence.

This excerpt from one of his Brew Ha Ha blogs, in which he tries to offer praise for a not-quite-up-to-snuff ale, probably best describes his philosophy on beer and beer drinking:

“It’s a decent little beer, not an IPA but still good enough to get the job done. But I would also wanna know what the guy on the floor had been drinking so I could try that, too.”

Yah. My mentor.

To be fair, there are other people who have helped take me down this dark (well, a deep copper colour, usually) path. There’s Steve, another college chum from J-School, who now calls New Zealand home.

Steve, who is also a certified wino, is forever raving about the craft beer scene Down Under and is forever boring us with tales of perfect weather, perfect pubs and perfectly free accommodation (at his pad, natch) in New Zealand’s capital.

He also writes about beer, wine and that dreary stuff about how awesome his adopted home of Wellington is in his blog, Five Foot 19.

There’s also the lovely Cat, who I will meet for the first time Saturday when we invade the Bellwoods brewpub in Toronto to sample their awesome ales.

Cat is always to quick to offer sage advice – “why don’t you call first instead of wasting all that gas?” – was her wisdom after I posted about my hunt for West Coast IPA. She was also quick to offer kind words after I gushed about a Smashbomb Atomic IPA (my second favourite beer EVER) I was enjoying in the early morning.

“You dear, sweet man. Most of us start with coffee.”

(In my defense, I had been working all night, so it was a before-bed nightcap, not breakfast. But if it gets me a “dear, sweet man” comment from a woman I hadn’t yet met, we can call it breakfast. Or whatever she wants.)

You see? Craft beer is already improving my sex appeal.

It’s also giving me hope for the future: I’m already making plans to visit a California brewery next February for the annual unveiling of a Triple-IPA called Pliny the Younger - that’s right, I said triple - that has enthusiasts lining up for up to eight hours just for a taste of what many call the best beer in the world.

Don’s in – “buh-RING it!” was his response, and Cat has purred her approval as well: “Oh yes …hello California!” If we can talk Steve into taking a slow boat across the Pacific, we got us a party.

I know, right? I got it bad.

My fridge now contains a few Smashbombs, a couple of West Coasts, a half-dozen Hop Circle IPAs,  a bottle of Brutal IPA – best beer EVER – and two double IPAs I’m itching to try.

That should do until the weekend visit to Bellwoods (home of Witchshark, a double IPA that scored 99 on the Rate Beer scale), when the quest for the perfect IPA resumes.

Now there may be friends who question my new love affair with beer, but I’m still maintaining my most excellent parenting standards – the J Man doesn’t appear to suspect a thing – and besides, passion is passion and I’m glad I found one.

Besides, it has got me writing again, and that’s a great thing. This blog is my first since Shwa Stories went on hiatus in September.

I’ll drink to that.