Second Gen (2003-2016, 2016- )
I may not write about all of those I see…that lawn mower on a stick, the chopsicle over at the base…but they are out there. Jetsicles and their variants. Yesterday, heading towards a great new microbrewery in old Galt, I saw my first rocketsicle out by the roadside in front of a budget motel. I bet there are some missile-sicles out there, too.
If Canada has a hub of microbrewing, a very good argument could be made that it is in the cluster of smaller cities around Kitchener-Waterloo, Cambridge and Guelph about an hour west of Toronto. Off the top of my head I can think of seven or eight breweries in the area. Maybe there are more but however many there are the newest is Grand River Brewing in Cambridge’s old Galt district.
We stopped in on a two day weekend zip across the Province and were very happy we did. Although they have not been open long, they already have ten draught accounts including some with the finer beer bars of Toronto – and apparently a brisk trade in growlers if our short time at the place was any indication. The brewery is housed in an old knife factory, a long and narrow building lit by sunlight. Even on the largely grey day when we were there, there was plenty to see in the large reception hall and the adjoining brewing rooms and plenty to sample, too.
I heard about Grand River from the discussion on The Bar Towel, like this thread discussing Grand River’s Mill Race Mild. Hearing there was a mild out there to be had was reason enough to stop to check it out given all the interest in session beers as well as my own home brewing interest in milds. But when I got there I found out from one of the owners, Bob Hanenberg, that all of their four beers are under 4.7% and that these sorts of beers was to be their focus. We tried them all and, honestly, all were among the best Canadian micros I have ever tried. Even with the area’s natural hard water, the two lagers and two ales were all rich and more-ish with the mild being the favorite. At 3.5%, it had plenty of grainy and nutty texture and, frankly, it was as big in body than most micros made in Ontario of any style. I took away a number of 15.75 CND (including 5 buck deposit so a good deal) growlers of the mild as well as their rich and hoppy Plowman’s ale, a green hoppy pale ale that was also nicely rich.
I will give a more detailed review of the two brews that I brought home soon but suffice it to say that this is a brewery that is trying and achieving something new – lower alcohol, full flavoured beers with no compromise. Go find them.
Gueuze. A blend of young and old lambics. I’ve had some – a couple of sweetened ones from St. Louise and Mort Subite and Lindeman’s drier Gueuze Cuvée René. All very pleasant but these two are perhaps on the more…errr…hostile side of dry. But I am here to learn so bear with me.
Before we get there, what does gueuze mean? I’ve been asking around a bit lately. Lew was stumped…and just a tiny bit sweary Mary: “Damn, no, never knew about that. I REALLY need to read some Dutch history. I keep reading around the edges of it. Thanks for the prod in that direction.” Prof. Unger of UBC of the great books on medieval beer gave me his guess when I noted the naming of a group of 16th century Dutch rebels, the watergeuzen:
…Geuze = “beggar” is a French word that only appeared in the mid 15th century and was taken over into Dutch [Flemish] in the 16th and connected, as you say, with nobles who rebelled against the crown in 1566. There was a middle French word geus which meant throat and so came to mean hungry and my guess is that the beer type comes from that meaning. Also though I will not swear to it I think geuze is a beer type of the South, that is the southern Netherlands and which does not turn up in the Dutch Republic where, if the name were connected to the watergeuzen you would expect it to be used. I could be wrong but that is my best guess at the moment.
Ron Pattinson posts about another non-source of the meaning of gueuze with today’s post entitled “Gose” about the our beer of Leipzig stating that while the names are not related that there was “once a whole family of sour wheat beers, brewed right across the North of Germany and the Low Countries, from Brussels to Berlin and beyond.” So while it might or might not be “begger’s ale” or could be more or less directly linked to the other forms of sour beer, there is this set of sourness that speaks to a former time in some way, though one always has to be careful with claims to “authentic” and “heritage” in the world of drinks as in anything.
These beers are very similar. Cantillon’s Classic Gueuze is a 2006 bottling of blended 1, 2 and 3 year old lambics (and apparently a relabelling of their Cantillon Gueuze 100% Lambic-Bio, an Organic Gueuze) while Hanssens Oude Gueuze (the “oude” being explained on the brewer’s site that features no way to link to the actual page within the site) states on its label that it is matured for over three years in the bottle. There is more of a head with the Hanssens as I think you can see from the photo to the left with a coating white froth and rim jumping up from the slightest swirl over the amber straw ale while the addition of an ounce of the Cantillon to the wine glass quickly dissipates to a fine thin white rim over more lemon tinged straw ale.
Each give off a tart brightness when subjected to brief nosal inquiry, the Hanssens having a bit richer aroma. In the mouth, there is a clear distinction with the Hanssens being not just vinegary but also somewhat creamy with an unsweetened grapefruit white thing – slight vanilla and tiny note of lime in the middle of a sea of unsweetened white grapefruit juice. The Cantillon is a little thinner with maybe pear, citrus pith and grass under the sour white grapefruit tartosity. BAers like the Cantillon a lot and the Hanssens a tiny bit more. Both lack the barnyard funk that I found so especially pungent and a wee bit foul with Cantillon’s Bruocsella 1990 Grand Cru the reaction to which was one trigger for these sour beer studies of mine.
I paid Cantillon 7.50 USD for the 375 ml Cantillon while the Hanssens was 4.99 USD. As a result, if you are going for just one of these to try a first dry gueuze, pick up the Hanssens even though the Cantillon is probably a tiny bit less tart. Someday I will sprinkle one of these on my french fries. And bit steamed or even coconut shrimp. The big question is still “do I like these beers?” When I was a teen, I played soccer for the high school team. After daily practice, I drank a litre of white grapefruit to cut the sweat and on a hot humid day these two tart ales reminded me of that. But I still want to try them on fries. Is that so wrong?
More sour beer studies here.
Amongst all the insane middle-of-the-night thunder and lightning – again – I turned on the radio and heard that the Yankees were tied at six in the 6th inning in Detroit…because, due to rain delay, they only started at 11 pm and finished in extra innings around 3:30 am. Smile and back to sleep.
I wake to find the Yankees lost. The Yaa-aaa-aaa-aaa-kees lost. Which means they are 6.5 back as the Sox swept the Sox in a double header on the road for the first time since the time of the dinosaurs and grass that looks like tiny little palm trees.
And so off to find a growler of mild in old Galt.
Don’t expect much from me today. What a thunder storm. Like the 1812 Symphony without the orchestra: boom, blam, whammo. What with the many mouths a wailing, not a lot of sleep. I almost wrote “flat chest” up there. One more week in August and therefore in summer. Summer really ends around here in October compared to the Maritimes but you know what I mean:
Wouldn’t it be crazy if they were undercover protesters pretending to be police officers pretending to be protesters? That would be the ultimate…Or wouldn’t it be weird…if they were police who wanted to be involved in the protest? Maybe their overwhelming zeal was too much for some of the more moderate protesters on the line. This is a good story.
Cheeky monkey. Far more entertaining that the scoffing one dimensional left wing bloggers
Andy met someone he recognised. It turned out to be Dan Shelton and his wife. He was making a documentary about Bamberg or something. I wasn’t concentrating that much on the conversation. I was in my beer zone. Feeling the warm glow of contentment that comes after a morning’s drinking. Very tall. I can remember that. Dan Shelton’s very tall. And annoyingly skinny for someone who works with beer.
That is it. Not caffeine in the brain yet.
I know I go on but all this digital stuff is a bit depressing. Just look at these British stats:
The average Briton now spends 50 hours per week on the phone, using the net, watching TV or listening to the radio. However, the mix of how much time is spent on each one has changed radically over the last few years. Daily mobile phone use is up 58% on 2002 and, over the same period, net use has grown 158%. By contrast Britons spend far less time watching TV, listening to the radio or chatting on a fixed line phone.
But what else are they not doing? Talking to people face to face? Playing games? Planting giant vegetables? With the collapse of content in favour of Web 2.0 flashing lights and curved edges, it is getting harder and harder to see any societal shifts or any new generation as empowering so much as distracting and that reminds me of one thing – the fall of Rome. Sure you can compare the fall of Rome to just about anything but that does not mean I can’t pull out the old chestnut for present purposes. So a few questions:
There you go. Pure brilliance once again in the seven minutes before I have to rush out the door.
That whole feeling good about baseball thing, that not judging until the facts are known thing…that may be about to end.
I just hope Coco is clean. I have his t-shirt.
Much in the news about the Soviet era bombers again floating around international airspace. Apparently all that windfall oil revenue that is floating into Alberta is also floating into Russia – mention that next time a Calgarian gives you the lecture on the moralnomic superiority of western Canadians – allowing them to spend spend spend on expeditions to claim the Arctic, on joint military exercises with China and send out the long-range bombers. Excellent. So 1975. A reminder that there are scarier things than wingnuts with dirty bombs.
As a lad near the Greenwood air force base, the local military newspaper (was it called The Argus after the submarine hunter?) often had close up pictures on the front page of the Soviet bomber crews waving to their Canadian escorts on the front page. There is even a Russia-Canada hockey series this fall – note all Canadian games are played out west. Expect the minders and “cultural officials” to be taking note of oil well infrastructure locations.
Like most Yankees individually, I have a lot of respect for Mike Mussina who may have pitched his worst game in his worst year last night:
Mussina lasted one and two-thirds innings, giving up seven runs. At the outset, Mussina could not throw strikes. Then he started throwing strikes and got bludgeoned.
The Red Sox won but, as portland would note, it was only the Rays. You sit there and think “don’t put in Gagne” – then you wonder when they are ever going to put him in. Willi Mo’s player to be named later has never played in the majors.
And, yes, the Angels are clearly so much better than either the Sox or the Yankees.
So why do the Tampa Bay Devil Rays call themselves just the “Rays” and not the “Devils” as New Jersey’s hockey team does? Dopey and pandering. Who else would a real athlete fear to face more than the Prince of Darkness. Apparently one knuckleballer with his game on:
With Tim Wakefield’s security blanket on the shelf for the first time in more than 15 months, it appeared early on at Tropicana Field last night that Kevin Cash’s attempt to act as a substitute would provide no comfort for the Red Sox knuckleballer. Cash, who was called up from Triple-A Pawtucket when Doug Mirabelli landed on the disabled list with a strained calf on Friday, failed to catch five of the first 11 pitches thrown to him in the opening inning.
“After the first inning, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little rattled with what was going on because I hadn’t done that in the minor leagues,” Cash said. “I didn’t know what was going on.” Everything changed in the second, however, and from that point on, the only ones who got rattled were the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, who again couldn’t touch Wakefield in the Sox’ 6-0 victory.
It was magnificent. At one point a perfectly respectable batter swung and then just stopped a bit past mid-swing when the ball he thought was going to be waist high hit the dirt about two feet in front of the plate. A knuckleball is a beautiful thing. Plus the Yankees lost. Five up again with ten days to September.