beer

POWDER MOUNTAIN LAGER—Refreshment for a cruel world

I had a rare ride-along with Miss V today after while her sister was in school. These outings take ages; V likes to examine everything minutely and scatter every dandelion in sight. Nothing escapes her notice.

About halfway home she stopped to watch a centipede being attacked by ten or so ants. Completely beset, the victim struggled to wriggle away from its tormenters, which were presumably trying to incapacitate it, eat it, and/or take it to their queen.

Watching that centipede thrash helplessly from belly to back was pretty gross. I wondered how long the battle would last. Were the ants biting it? Would it eventually pass out in agony or remain unconscious while they vivisected it? The process seemed extraordinarily cruel and drawn out—and for animals with short lifespans, I wondered morbidly, is there a time-dilation effect? Does a day feel like a month to a centipede, being such a large percentage of its lifetime compared to ours? How protracted, then, is its perceived suffering?

V said she hoped the ants would win. She watched intently as the belly-up centipede failed to right itself while the ants went at it mercilessly. There was no help for it.

Only when V remembered she’d been promised a cookie at Save-On Foods did she, still rooting for the ants, acquiesce to leave the inundated creature.

You almost have to have a four-year-old tour guide to notice stuff like this. The insect world teems below us in unfathomable populations. For every ant-on-centipede onslaught above ground there must be trillions below—uncountable insect cruelty and indifference. For every beleaguered arthropod or unenviable piece of spider prey there must be further infinities of predation, pain, and suffering.

I suddenly felt very small and overwhelmed. The whole planet seemed churning with barbarism, mostly going on unnoticed.

OMG!

And the hard reality dawned on me:

If the whole world—universe even—can remain indifferent to the excruciating death throes of one small creature, how can I expect anyone to give me a beer just to assuage a few tremors?

The thought swept me up like a bus full of evolutionary biologists. Not only did I feel very small; I felt very alone.

In a world of impassivity toward suffering, who would even think to give me a beer?

It wouldn’t even have to be a special beer. Whistler Brewing Company’s POWDER MOUNTAIN LAGER, one of the four offerings in its Travel Pack, would do just fine.

Pale straw-gold with bright white foam and firework effervescence (think Pop Rocks), this lager was an unlikely beer in our fridge. My parents never buy lagers except when they’re part of exciting mixer packs, and invariably those lagers get drunk last. But they’re certainly welcome at LBHQ, particularly as Langley enters earth-scorching season and the sun proceeds indifferently to flash-fry earthworms on the ground.

POWDER MOUNTAIN LAGER has a light and slightly hoppy aroma with a touch of background sweetness, all of which is practically unnoticeable amid a refreshing carbonation frenzy. It’s a party in the mouth, this lager, berserk with fizz, but unlike some lagers and particularly some other Whistler Brewing Company products, it has a surprisingly substantial mouthfeel yet finishes cleanly.

There are plenty of unsatisfying lagers on the market offering simple CO2 pyrotechnics as a fill-in for flavor, but POWDER MOUNTAIN LAGER deserves credit for being a bit more. I bet a crisp, icy-cold glass right now would alleviate my anxieties about being a small bear in a big, cold universe, plus it would take care of my DTs.

I did propose this to my mum, who said, unfeelingly:

“Get a grip, LB, it’s 9:00 a.m.”

WHISTLER BREWING COMPANY BEAR PAW HONEY LAGER—Unembarrassing, even if it won’t put hair on your chest

My dad has stopped tucking me in at night.

Now wait, you say. How many adult males tuck little bears into bed at night? Well, my dad for one. At least until last week.

Waiting to be tucked in

I wouldn’t be worried if he hadn’t omitted to do it four nights in a row. One’s not atypical; sometimes he falls asleep on the couch and then drags himself into bed without remembering. I get that. But four nights in a row? WTF, Dad??

So what difference does it make? you well may ask.

On lucky nights I’m too looped to notice. Other nights we’ve just watched something on TV—maybe a crystal meth dealer’s body being liquefied in an acid bath or some similar violent shit—in which case I stare at the wall all night afterwards, traumatized.

Up until last week, my dad used to get me settled for bed with the other bears he likes (plus Fluffy, who’s somehow gotten himself included). He used to make sure we were all comfortable and not too squished, then he’d put a blanket over us.

I’M NOT SAYING HE SINGS ME A LULLABY OR ANYTHING. HE DOESN’T FEEL MY FOREHEAD OR CHECK TO MAKE SURE MY NOSE IS MOIST. HE JUST USED TO TUCK ME IN!!

So what the hell, Dad?

Maybe running his own business lent itself to the sort of maverick mentality that says, I do what I want. Sure I tuck bears into bed—what’s it to you, mofo? And now he’s got this new corporate gig, he’s probably more like, I model and demonstrate best practices to help build accountability. His new coworkers play golf and video games while talking about their stereos.

Perhaps my dad is reassessing the machismo of tucking bears into bed.

But does this mean we’ll be buying more beer? I certainly hope so, and I’d be willing to trade my beddy-byes ritual for an extra case here and there. Perhaps another Whistler Brewing Company Travel Pack would be sufficiently manly for my dad. The four beers it contains are pretty mainstream (PARADISE VALLEY GRAPEFRUIT ALE being the one weird but good exception) and, while none of them will put a clump of hair on your chest, the collection is solid.

Naturally the BEAR PAW HONEY LAGER has extra appeal. Beer and organic honey make a win-win combo, even if their synergy occurs at only 5% alcohol.

The lager pours a crystal-clear copper with light foam that quickly dissipates. Honey is immediately apparent to the nose along with breadiness and faint hops. Taste follows smell without much surprise, supplying the expected honey along with some caramel notes and minimal hoppiness.

With a light-to-medium mouthfeel and reasonable carbonation, BEAR PAW HONEY LAGER is moderately refreshing but perhaps too sweet to pound endlessly (although I would without complaining). It has an unexpectedly long and dry finish, especially given its tendency to cloy at the front of the palate.

This would be an easy beer to disparage as too commonplace. It’s true the market is inundated with honey brews, but only because honey is such a delightful note to find in one’s beer. I’ve certainly experienced better versions of honey lager, but this one’s not bad at all. It’s certainly nothing for Whistler Brewing Company to be embarrassed of—not that anyone should be embarrassed of anything. Including my dad.

ASTROLIQUOR for May 4-10—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Aries, deep down you really want to fall in love. Luckily for you the stars are lining up to grant your wish. Sometime between now and June you’ll fall head over heels in a sickening, poetry-writing, gooey romance. Of course ouzo and vodka will be involved, but it’s still the real deal! So get ready to tell your spouse about it and lawyer up.

Taurus, although you’re good at putting friends and family to work, you have trouble accepting help from strangers. This week you have to go outside your comfort zone, however, and recruit a colleague for an important task. Although this person has historically been a dick to you, he/she can be loosened up with some Red Bull and rum. Don’t think of it as taking advantage—you’re building karma for your coworker, so pass the flask.

Those psychiatric sessions are paying off, Gemini, balancing your emotions and turning you into something of a charmer. On your habitual drunken early-bird visit to a garage sale you discover that both an Aries and an Aquarius are taken with you. What a lovely dilemma! Make sure you follow your heart—when your head is full of cognac and vodka it’s too easy to pick randomly.

You’re in good spirits this week, Cancer, having solved a few nagging mental problems and discovered unknown inner strengths. You’re learning not to compare yourself to others, and to appreciate Canadian Club even when your neighbor is reeling around his yard with Crown Royal. You’ll have a nice flirtation with someone this week, but I’d leave that neighbor alone.

Leo, look carefully at your text messages and emails this week. Every communique, no matter how terse, contains subtext. Understandably subtext gets lost when you’ve spent the day sipping from a jug of Bailey’s, Goldschlager, and creme de menthe, but try to pay attention. In particular a colleague may be seeking your approval. It’s just good politics to play along.

You have a thing for an Aries, Virgo, even though you don’t actually like this person. This bad situation gains unfortunate traction from an ever-present travel mug of amaretto-and-Bailey’s coffee that you replenish furtively from a makeshift bar under your cubicle desk. Perhaps you should get some air before you decide to visit the supply closet with your Aries friend. No car keys for you!

Libra, you’re contemplating a self-improvement program featuring long walks. Not only will this make your body fit; your brain will benefit as well. Pickled as you’ve been all winter, you should gain some clarity pretty fast! It’s a new dawn for you, being sober throughout the day, but don’t forget to reward yourself later with some Irish cream and butterscotch schnapps.

Fear and hope take turns swooping in on you this week, Scorpio. You don’t have the funds to bail you out if your current business plan goes pear-shaped, but what the hell—you’re used to living this way. Not too many people have the stomach to hang with you, and that’s not a bad thing. Gambling looks dangerous this week, so stay inside and mix something up:

  • 2 oz bourbon
  • 2 oz vodka
  • 2 oz Tia Maria
  • 2 oz grapefruit juice

Sagittarius, the world looks very pretty this week. Your positive energy is at a peak, so how about a joyful blender drink?

  • 3 oz peach schnapps
  • 3 oz raspberry liqueur
  • 3 oz Frangelico
  • 3 oz cream
  • 1.5 cups vanilla ice cream
  • 4 oz raspberry jam

Puree that business up and let it cool your brain. You may need a walk afterwards, but the world will still be pretty—just spinning too.

Impetuous you’re not, Capricorn—at least not usually, but there are some weird stars in your chart causing you to be extra-gregarious and generally unprofessional. For instance, any cube farm worker knows vodka makes the best odor-free flask drink. So why is yours full of brandy and creme de menthe? Nobody’s gonna believe you just brushed your teeth. Watch out or you’ll need a box for all your stuff!

Aquarius, you normally enjoy risk and danger but sadly you’re having trouble finding it. Superfluous energy torments you, causing you to hit on drunken Geminis at early-morning garage sales and generally bother people of all star signs. Meanwhile, a Sagittarius is bothering you, out-talking you even and making you uncomfortable. Chill out and avoid a fight. Cherry brandy for you.

Pisces, people think you’re pretty down-to-earth. But this week you go nuts and freak out at your family. It might be an intervention or some such gathering where emotions tend to run high. Then again, it might be a wedding or a funeral. Whatever the event is, expect to be escorted away from it quite forcefully, perhaps while vomiting vodka.