Month: April 2012

Liquidity support? Support these liquids, Harper

My Fellow Inebriates,

CBC reported today that during the recession Canadian banks received $114 billion in bail-out money.

Prime Minister Stephen Harper using a kitten to elicit your empathy—the way I'll get page views by tagging this post "cute pictures of kittens."

Of course we don’t call it “bail-out money” in Canada. We call it “liquidity support,” and it amounted to $3,400 for every man, woman, and child in Canada. Whereas 436 U.S. banks went under during the recession, liquidity support kept all of Canada’s lending institutions out of the shit, supplying—at times—more than 150% of those institutions’ worth.

Getting to the bottom of these numbers will take more than the efforts of a drunken bear.

Despite applications for full disclosure under the Freedom of Information Act, the Bank of Canada refuses to release its accounting. Details of today’s report came from the U.S. Federal Reserve, which publicly released data on a U.S. program into which Canadian banks had dipped (in addition to taking their Canadian handout)—Canadian banks that ultimately posted combined profits of $27 billion when all was said and done.

Gimme that beer.

Meanwhile, little knowing how far underwater Canadian banks had sunk, we all continued to pay usurious credit card interest, got bilked on monthly “service” charges at institutions where the so-called services had long since been fully automated, saw the removal of services in return for said service charges, endured who knows how many dinner-time insurance sales calls, and—for the privilege of taking out a mortgage with one of these stable lenders—ponied up $20K in insurance money to insure not our risk but the bank’s. Oh yeah.

If the kids asked what a “bank” was we’d say it was a place to save money—a place where your money is safer than it would be under the mattress. Canadians often crow about the safety of their banking, but as it turns out, we pay dearly for that security.

So to you, Stephen Harper, with your selectively socialist impulse, bite me. I want my $3,400 back. I have a bar to stock, and you’ll be getting my shopping list.

Lucky me, I have a conservative MP to whom I can address my concerns.

WHISTLER BREWING COMPANY PARADISE VALLEY GRAPEFRUIT ALE—Pony up for something different

They’re under 40 inches tall and they’re running the show. By the smaller-is-more-powerful logic I, at 7”, should be Supreme Dictator at LBHQ, able to demand tequila, crème de bananes, Everclear, Bacardi 151, limitless vodka and whatever else takes my fancy.

Instead the budget is being blown on Goldfish crackers, apple sauce, shoes that get outgrown every two months, and—OMG! ponies.

When I last reported on the pony situation there were 21 My Filly ponies available, each with its own vapid biography.

Hidden in one of the “blind bags” that package these 21 available ponies is the ultra-rare Princess Crystal, whose crown contains “CRYSTALLIZED™ Swarovski Elements”—which is to say this one coveted pony may actually be worth its $2.99 price. The other ones we just have to call “priceless” for the joy they bring they bring the kids.

But seriously, pursuing Princess Crystal and all the other not-yet-obtained ponies in the pony family tree (they’re inbred like characters in a Russian novel) could take a million years and bankrupt us. If the girls remain obsessive about acquiring the precious Swarovski jewel, they’ll be returning weekly to Toy Traders years from now when their peers are spending their allowances on crystal meth. To date the equivalent of two cases of beer has been invested in ponies.

For a while we thought the pony preoccupation was ending. The kids have at least 15 now, which means—since they come in an opaque foil bag and you can’t tell what you’re buying—they’re starting to get doubles. What started out as a feel-good Saturday activity has become potentially disappointing; the kids feel burned when a bag contains a duplicate. Enough doubles and we could be out of this pony business and on to something else.

But the My Filly outfit is way ahead of us. Not wanting to let go of their captive little obsessive-compulsives, they made the sort of marketing move that makes any parent in thrall to kid-targeted marketing bullshit say, “Oh, fuck.” They multiplied the pony selection, creating four color schemes for each of the 21 characters, reinvigorating every little girl’s impossible quest to complete the set—without bothering to design new characters, create new molds, or otherwise incur any investment aside from a bit of dye. Now we have 85 to collect (Princess Crystal still being one-of-a-kind). Our finances will be ransomed to these bloody ponies.

I was quite upset at this exponential pony growth. But after fretting about the beer money involved in buying 85 ponies ($284.75 with tax if you’re lucky enough never to get a double), I realized what a common marketing move My Filly had made. In fact, it’s no different from the strategies employed by companies such as Absolut with its 13 vodka varieties.

As I keep telling my dad, having a complete bar matters. If we stock our bar with every vodka we can think of, and then Smirnoff introduces marshmallow-flavored vodka, we have to get it. Likewise, Bacardi…I have no idea how many flavors they’re marketing but we need them all so we can feel part of this great…alcoholic wonderland. And if another wacky spirit comes out—Bakon vodka, for example—we need that too.

The cynical cookie-cutter marketing of flavored spirits is a model for companies such as My Filly who seek to enlarge market share without really creating anything new. Whereas wine tends to be marketed with the opposite philosophy (individuality being the hallmark of higher-end wine), spirit manufacturers keep yours truly on the hook for every trendy new permutation while barely moving a muscle. Or at least they would if my parents indulged me and stocked our bar.

And what about beer? Brewers have probably done the most marketplace maneuvering of any liquor-manufacturing group, especially over the last three decades. When my parents sneaked their first sips from their parents’ beer bottles back in the ‘70s, those bottles were stubbies containing one of probably four lagers (think Black Label or Carling Pilsner). And when they tasted these entry-level beers, they said aaaahhhh! because there wasn’t anything else. Nobody was making their own. The microbrewing explosion hadn’t happened yet. There weren’t any dickhead neighbors brandishing a craft beer to envy. Options to macro brews didn’t exist. Back then, you drank your Black Label and loved it.

Enter the 1980s. With the proliferation of microbreweries came a disdain among beer drinkers for the metallic blandness of macro brews. As small-time competition ramped up, macro breweries thrashed about for new marketing gimmicks, introducing ice beer (ingeniously frozen to skim off extra water and thereby increase the alcohol concentration) and extra-strong beer—tweaks to ABV without much attention to taste. Meanwhile brew pubs (which are still illegal in some Canadian provinces) upped the ante, crafting beers with character and inserting their market presence into bars and restaurants—creating the demand that would finally enable them to carve out substantial territory on liquor-store beer shelves. Macro beer fought back with unbeatable pricing, half-naked swimsuit models, and massive bulk packaging. But the genie was out of the bottle—people wanted micro beer. They wanted distinctive flavors and characteristics. Just the way Malcolm Gladwell describes consumers wanting dozens of varieties of spaghetti sauce, people wanted variety in beer.

And yet…

People want variety, but not too much variety. Gladwell notably points out a study in which people were asked what characteristics they like in coffee. Interviewees said they appreciate a full, rich, dark roast. But the reality is that most people enjoy a thin, watery, light roast purchased at a place like Tim Horton’s. They like the idea of all those rich qualities, but their actual tastes are on a different page.

And beer companies have realized this is true of their market too. People say they want rich, malty, hoppy craft beers with lots of flavor going on, but in reality they often prefer a bland, fizzy, metallic macro lager. They identify with the former product but in the final analysis prefer the latter.

This isn’t everybody of course, but if you were marketing beer and you realized this schizophrenic aspect to the market, you’d want to cast as wide a net as possible. The result is a multiplicity of product in what used to be the beer aisle and is now a full third of the liquor store.

The safest way to promote a less-than-mainstream beer seems to be to package it with three other beers in a sampler pack. We’ve purchased a few of these variety packs lately—mostly so I’ll have something to review and you won’t have to read me going off about ponies or hemorrhoids versus asteroids.

Invariably a sampler pack represents a compromise. My dad doesn’t really go for IPAs and my mum isn’t crazy about fruity flavors. Neither of them gravitates to a standard lager—and yet one is always included in a sampler pack for the sake of wide appeal. Typically a sampler pack contains an ale, a couple of lagers, and something weird. How freaking weird that fourth item is depends on the bravery or marketplace complacency of the brewer. With an established popular base you can presumably do anything.

Which was my first thought when my Nana and Papa brought us a Whistler Brewing Company Travel Pack containing two lagers, and ale, and PARADISE VALLEY GRAPEFRUIT ALE. Holy shit! I thought—who would combine grapefruit and beer? WTF? How well-established and complacent must the Whistler Brewing Company be that it can marry such bizarrely different flavors?

There was nothing for it but to crack one of the damn things.

Billed as a summer ale, PARADISE VALLEY GRAPEFRUIT ALE has a malty blonde base with grapefruit zest and coriander. This sounded really gross but intriguing nonetheless. We poured it into a tumbler where it sat orangely and opaquely with about 1/3 of a paw of head. It was leering at us, daring us to try it in its grapefruity way.

The citrus aroma is unmistakable, but whereas a lemon beer hits you with sourness and a candy tartness, PARADISE VALLEY GRAPEFRUIT ALE is all about zesty bitterness. Whistler Brewing has incorporated the dry depth of grapefruit zest without the tanginess—amazing! The grapefruit notes play nicely with the other malty, bready aromas.

On the palate grapefruit comes through clearly but doesn’t upstage the beer. Yes, this is a beer first and foremost—and although it has some serious bitter fruit to it, it doesn’t let you forget it’s a beer. The bitterness of the zest and the hops have a sophisticated interplay that wisely takes a backseat to the wheat backbone.

With moderate carbonation and a reasonable 5% alcohol, PARADISE VALLEY GRAPEFRUIT ALE is both refreshing and unusual. It’s definitely worth seeking out either in the bottle or on tap.

A six-pack is worth about four ponies, so you might have to wrestle a little girl for the money. Again, well worth it.

PHILLIPS LONGBOAT CHOCOLATE PORTER—Chocolate art

Dan Lacey—Male Nude with Madchen

Today this Dan Lacey painting’s ebay price exceeded the funds in my PayPal account, at which point my dad said, “Why that one?”

I said I like the way the cat is staring directly out from the painting, the way cats do—sort of accusingly. I wouldn’t mind having a cat like that, except the whole household would be wheezing with allergies.

Despite my dad’s obvious discomfort about having a nude self-portrait of the artist with his cat on our wall, he’s made some progress toward appreciating Dan Lacey. Out of the blue one day he said something backhanded, like “He actually captures a good likeness,” or “I actually like some of Dan Lacey’s paintings.” He always qualifies with the word “actually,” as if to say the majority of Lacey art is not his thing.

But why?

Take this painting of Mitt Romney, the bidding on which has climbed to $76.00 following a plug by Jimmy Fallon.

Dan Lacey—Mitt Romney and Jimmy Fallon Engaged In A Game Of Nude Beer Pong: The Painting

Even though Mitt Romney’s not Canada’s problem, I like to keep an eye on him, so this painting could grow on me—but not my dad! My dad says it’s all wrong.

Luckily for him, I have less than $5 in my PayPal account.

My dad recoiled from this one too.

Dan Lacey—Mitt Romney in the Nude

Again it’s just my dad’s luck I have so little money—the bidding’s at $122 and climbing. The eyes are creepy, as though Romney’s considering who the biggest possible whackjob might be for a running mate. The way he stares out like that cat, he’s almost asking, Are you crazy enough? Because I need your vote.

My dad may be unwilling to invest in my art collection, but he did spring for a few onesies in the beer aisle a while back, including the almost unmentionable FRÜLI and—fortunately—several other better choices. Slightly on the weird side but not unacceptably so, PHILLIPS LONGBOAT CHOCOLATE PORTER caught his attention. In fact, he’d been looking for it since he tasted it (without me) on tap at a restaurant.

Chocolate porters are springing up everywhere these days and even being drunk by people who don’t usually like beer. Much the way people who avoid James Bond’s idea of a martini will down a chocolate one, those who dislike hoppy beers are sometimes amenable to rich, chocolatey beers that almost bridge the gap between flavored mixed drinks and straight beer. Almost.

If you are a fan of hops and malt, tastes like chocolate and espresso can be unwelcome. As a beer fan, you’re part of a choir that doesn’t need preaching to—you enjoy the standard spectrum of beer flavors and, while you might also enjoy a morning latte, you don’t necessarily feel compelled to combine the two drinks. I always thought my parents fell into this camp, but lately my dad’s been getting more open-minded.

We split the 650mL bottle between two Reidel glasses (egregious but true: I don’t ever get my own glass; I have to sip from one or both of my parents’). Lovely dark cola brown with an opaque white head, LONGBOAT CHOCOLATE PORTER makes no bones about being chocolatey—dark chocolate notes predominate overwhelmingly on both the nose and the palate. The mouthfeel is rich and creamy without being cloying and ends with just a hint of bitterness.

I see why my dad sought LONGBOAT CHOCOLATE PORTER out after trying it on tap. It’s nicely balanced and offers some unusual but still harmonious flavors. My mum (because she is boring) wasn’t taken with it, which was great, because I found myself with my own glass after she abandoned it. This is how things should be at LBHQ—me and my dad sitting around knocking back beers, heedless of his wife’s criticisms about chocolate having no place in beer. Yeah! I got my own glass and it was awesome.

LONGBOAT CHOCOLATE PORTER is only 5.2% alcohol, but when a small bear consumes 300mL of it, that small bear passes out. I got annihilated. And that’s why I ended up looking at paintings of Mitt Romney this morning—I thought it would help me throw up.

But as is usual with Dan Lacey’s art, his mastery overcomes the subject matter. Rather than yakking all over the floor, I found myself online trying to acquire another painting. Sadly for me, these ones are out of my financial reach, people, so you might have to get on ebay yourselves if you want any of them.