drinking

SMITHWICK’S ALE—What to buy with that government cheque

My Fellow Inebriates,

It came completely as news to me today that the Canadian government does not and has never had any plans to subsidize my drinking.

My parents were characteristically insensitive about the whole thing.


I was talking about the hundred bucks per child my mum gets each month in the mail. Little did I know, the money in question represents not a small beer fund provided to keep Canadians happy, but in fact the government’s laughable and deliberately blinkered estimate of what monthly child care might cost. The $100-per-child benefit is sent to all Canadian families with a child under 6, to help them “balance work and family life by supporting their child care choices through direct financial support.”

As of January, the cheque has been halved because only one of the kids is under 6.

I just assumed the money was for beer because such a paltry sum couldn’t make more than a 15% dent in child care costs. I figured most parents received the cheque, snickered at it, snickered at the government, then cashed it and headed for the liquor store.

Okay, so it would be a bit of a departure from the norm if my mum took the cheque and bought, say, eight six-packs of SMITHWICK’S ALE. But even if she were willing—how sad it is that, thanks to Miss P attaining 6 years of age, it would cover only eight and not sixteen half-sacks!

My dad has enjoyed SMITHWICK’S for years, although he occasionally opts for GUINNESS instead. My mum doesn’t mind it, and probably gives it a bit more allegiance than it deserves because she has some Irish genes, but finds it less interesting than other ales and a bit too hop-forward than it needs to be.

As you can guess, I love SMITHWICK’S. It pours a nice rich amber with lovely foam and a slightly earthy but mostly malty aroma. On the palate it is crisp and refreshing with a longish, hoppy finish. It’s a bit of a cross-over between a lager and an ale, which makes it perfect all year—refreshing in summer but heavy enough for fireside imbibing in winter.

Once you’ve been drinking SMITHWICK’S for a while, its lingering bittersweetness becomes an acquired taste. It’s true—we’ve had SMITHWICK’S more than any other beer in the house over the years and I do find myself desiring its refreshing hoppiness every single day.

I was only joking when I suggested 6-year-old Miss P should earn some money. She doesn’t even really like doing her homework, and is otherwise such an absurdly happy kid that I wouldn’t want to introduce her to the wicked work force too soon. That and the fact that they don’t hire kids to sweep chimneys any more…because to do so would be demonstrably more archaic than supposing that $100 can buy anything meaningful in the way of child care.

But I do think my mum should get cracking and find a way to replace Miss P’s monthly $100 government largesse so we can stay properly hammered while we’re helping her with her homework.

Think abstaining will make you live longer? Guess again!

In a quest to find philosophically compatible scientific studies, I’ve learned the following:

Teetotalers are more likely to die than moderate drinkers.

Just say "no." Oh wait, I'm dead.

Yes, my fellow inebriates, it’s true! Scientists at Virginia Tech conducted a five-year study and found that lifetime abstainers were 19% more likely than regular drinkers (one or two drinks, three or more times a week) to die.

And get this—the same study found that teetotalers were 56% more likely to experience coronary heart disease than average drinkers. OMG! And lest you think this was a small study, the data came from half a million North Americans.

This is exactly the sort of data I was seeking when I embarked on a short Internet search this morning. I probably should have stopped reading right there but instead I foolishly continued to the ad absurdum conclusion:

Heavy drinking is more detrimental to health than abstinence. (But not by a lot! Boozers still have better cardiac profiles than abstainers.) Perhaps the health detriments they ascribe to drinking involve wandering in front of buses, etc.—it’s probably a catch-all collection of hazards that drunks like myself blindly embrace.

So how does the study define “heavy drinking”? Well, the definition is actually pretty strict: three drinks, three or more times a week. Which sounds like breakfast. Thinking this definition seemed assholish, I decided to contact the study’s authors, but I couldn’t find the actual study—just the Men’s Health distillation of it from which I cobbled this post.

So is there an actual study, or is the alcohol industry behind it all, and if so, why does the study not promote my lifestyle, which would sell the most booze? If there is a study, it certainly has some potential haters:

The upshot? Feel good about drinking here and there; it’s beneficial. For those of you sharing the dark side with this alcoholic bear, just make sure you use the crosswalk 😉

BR COHN MENDOCINO COUNTY BARBERA (2009)

Big question among my search terms this morning: “Does meth look like a blue jolly rancher”?

I would have no idea how to answer this question if it weren’t for Breaking Bad, a show so intense that I can watch only one episode at a time or my fur is affected. In Breaking Bad a chemistry teacher (Bryan Cranston) diagnosed with lung cancer decides to manufacture methamphetamine to make some quick, substantial cash so his family will be taken care of when he kicks the bucket.

You might decide to watch Breaking Bad because you’re a fan of Malcolm in the Middle, in which Cranston plays a bumbling, lovable dad and husband. You might decide to sit the whole family down to watch Breaking Bad because you liked that character so much. But OMG, don’t, unless you want your kiddies to see drug pushers liquefied by bathtubs full of acid or—perhaps worse—Cranston running through the desert in his tighty-whities.

I adore Breaking Bad. It is well-thought-out, well-paced, well-written and—the key thing—suspenseful without resorting to cheap teases or obvious foreshadowing. It is nuanced, cadenced, intelligent, rife with subtle social commentary, and completely absorbing.

So I have decided to start watching it sober.

This is a big step—a step you could almost call a slippery slope. If I could find six other television shows I liked as much, I might stay sober every night to really understand the plotlines. This would change my life immeasurably, save the household money, and leave people like Julia Gale of Broker’s Gin without a bear to share alcohol-related pleasantries with.

Fortunately television is full of shit, so I’ll have finished Netflix’s trove of Breaking Bad episodes before I ever discover anything as good. Not only is it urging me toward a dry path; it’s convinced me to avoid crystal meth.

Not that there’s any meth around here. My mum’s not a very precise cook, so I doubt she could make meth without blowing up the house, although it would be funny to watch her try (but not if she does it in her skivvies like Bryan Cranston). My dad’s better at measuring stuff but not so good at timing things, so he too would probably blow up the house (and I don’t want to see his ginch either). But I can tell you from watching Breaking Bad that meth does not look like Jolly Ranchers; it looks more like Herkimer crystals, and the kind Bryan Cranston makes in the show is indeed blue. With his chemistry knowledge he knows how to make an ultra-refined product that can out-compete the tainted cookery of meth-head street punks.

Much the way an exceptional vintner crafts wine that outcompetes the lesser viticultural market players.

Here at LBHQ we are firmly in the <$20 wine range (the competent street meth level, if you will). Our exposure to boutique wines is pretty limited, but occasionally we luck out. A few months ago my good friend Pixie gave us me a delightful chardonnay, and at Christmas my dad’s parents gave us me a bottle they bought on a Californian vineyard tour: BR COHN MENDOCINO COUNTY BARBERA (2009).

We knew before decanting this wine that it might be special. Nana and Papa (they don’t know I call them that) indicated they intended my parents me to enjoy it on a special occasion. They told us it came from a Sonoma County boutique winery owned by Bruce Cohn, manager of the Doobie Brothers, and that it had been well reviewed.

With philistines like my parents that sort of set-up can skew a wine tasting unfairly. Knowing a wine costs more money than their usual plonk or that it comes from a specialty winery skews their objectivity. This is why they need a bear to help them taste wine properly.

In the glass BR COHN MENDOCINO COUNTY BARBERA is a deep garnet color with generous legs. The aroma is lush, redolent of raspberries and cherries and almost imperceptible vanilla bean.

On the palate the wine delivers on these fruit-forward essences, dry and warming despite the ripe fruit profile. Medium- to full-bodied with low tannins and good balance, the wine concentrates the fruit to the front of the palate, finishing memorably with cedar and vanilla, but only moderate length.

BR Cohn Tasting Room

The wine is an unusual Californian offering made with 100% Barbera grapes and aged in oak for 18 months. Although it is recommended as a great pairing wine, I think food would distract from the experience of tasting it properly rather than enhance its characteristics.

This wine is an example of what a vintner can do with enough viticultural depth. And indeed Bruce Cohn grew up on a farm, learning about wine at a young age when he wasn’t milking goats and dreaming of musical fame. The MENDOCINO COUNTY BARBERA is no street-punk-quality table wine—it is crafted with experience and depth. Just the way Bryan Cranston makes crystal meth on Breaking Bad—he cares about making a sublime end product.

Not that crystal meth is sublime! You should really not ever do crystal meth, especially if you like having teeth, a job, and freedom from incarceration. But if you ever do decide to start cooking, you might want to be a chemistry teacher.

My mum thinks I’m overdoing it with the analogy, which essentially means she’s not going to take me to the UVIN to make our own wine—mainly because it would end up being the cheap-and-nasty street-punk budget version, and only I would tolerate drinking it. (Which was my plan.)

Finding good booze is a lot like finding a beloved television show. There are zillions of bottles on the liquor store shelves, most or even all of which I’d truthfully drink, but considerably fewer bottles that are special. BR COHN MENDOCINO COUNTY BARBERA (which isn’t even on my liquor store shelves) is definitely a special wine.