occult

PIPER’S PALE ALE—better without bagpipes

So apparently my mum is an expert on what evil spirits do when they are haunting a house or inhabiting a teddy bear for their own mysterious purposes. She said my latest accusation against Fluffy was the “most stupid thing” she’d ever heard and that I was obviously desperate for blogging ideas. This was a low blow coming from someone who’s been stagnating over the same dead novel for six years and doesn’t even have her own blog.

I said she wasn’t even properly caught up—Fluffy has been up to much more mischief since he plugged the toilet yesterday. His latest exploit? Making a mess on the kids’ bathroom mirror. You should see it, my fellow inebriates, it looks like he used Anti-Windex on it. I don’t know why he would do that! He deliberately put soapy streaks all over the mirror, which isn’t exactly a progression in evil from stuffing the toilet with TP.

My mum asked if I had considered that the kids had decided to “wash” the mirror for fun?

I had to admit that this hadn’t occurred to me, but it does beg the question: why isn’t my mother curtailing this behavior? She claims she can’t be everywhere at once (read: isn’t Facebook compelling?) and that it must have happened during Saturday’s dinner party when the kids took their little cousins upstairs to wash their hands.

I said: “What about Fluffy? No one knows what Fluffy was doing then.”

My mother: “He was probably staring at the wall.”

!!!

As if to suggest Fluffy is inanimate. Yes, he’s semi-comatose, but inanimate? Oh no. If Fluffy were simply fluff, we wouldn’t have a Fluffy Problem.

But is Fluffy evil, or is he just trying to get out attention? “You should know,” my mother told me, “since both apply to you.”

The truth is, I don’t have much experience with demonic possession or golems or even spoon bending. But if something like a Care Bear can exist, surely evil knows no limit.

My two brain cells were having difficulty, so I made a chart:

Evil Not Evil
Causes cold spots

Moves objects; causes noise

Turns on lights

Plugs toilet with TP

Took my girlfriend

Makes kids frightened

 Is very fluffy

Is catatonic

Eyes don’t glow

But doesn’t leave No. 2 in it

Doesn’t realize she exists

Does not take our beer

I agree, it’s inconclusive. I don’t want to think he’s evil, because he was Granny’s bear, after all, and she was nice.

So is it safe to get drunk with an entity like Fluffy in the house? Although my mother says the point is moot, my inclination is to say yes. So why didn’t we, last night, once the kids were tucked in? The Vancouver Island Brewery Pod Pack beckoned, including two beers we’d never even tried yet. But my mum, who can be quite domineering, cracked just one beer: PIPER’S PALE ALE.

PIPER’S gets its name from Bagpiper James C. Richardson, who lost his life in the Battle of the Somme in the First World War. This dude used to play his pipes in the trenches, inspiring—or inducing psychosis in, for those who aren’t bagpipe fans—his fellow soldiers to give ‘er in battle. He actually died going back for his bagpipes after assisting a wounded comrade to safety, earning himself a posthumous Victoria Cross. It must have seemed fitting to name a beer after this hero who so bravely served his country yet seemingly lacked a little in the judgment department.

My mum used to live in Victoria, where she had plenty of PIPER’S PALE ALE back in the day, so last night’s single bottle was a partial blast from the past—partial because we didn’t drink to the point of blacking out.

PIPER’S is a clear golden copper with a quickly dissipating white head. The flavor is friendly: malty and caramel-touched with a satisfying hoppiness. Richer than the SPYHOPPER we tried a couple of nights ago, PIPER’S has a bigger mouthfeel—nice weight with slight breadiness. With its malty beginning and hoppy finish, it makes a lovely arc from sweet to bitter, proving its reputation as one of the better pale ales local to Vancouver Island.

One of the best things about tasting PIPER’S was that no one was playing the bagpipes while we drank it. My mum got nostalgic and remembered there was this guy who always played the pipes at the Victoria Legislature—one tune, relentlessly—and she had a coworker who was actively campaigning to remove him. Much the way, she pointed out, I seem to be campaigning to remove Fluffy.

See, if Fluffy took up the bagpipes, it would make it so easy. Then I’d know he’s evil.

REMY PANNIER SAUVIGNON BLANC (2010)—raising Fluffy’s ire

My Fellow Inebriates,

This time Fluffy left a big wad of toilet paper in the en suite toilet. I had no idea he would do something like that—I was so busy watching the lights and the oven to make sure he didn’t burn down the house that it didn’t occur to me that he would sabotage our plumbing.

Consider the facts:

  • There are three toilets in the house.
  • Of the three, the en suite one is only the second most likely to plug.
  • However, it is the least used by the kids, which means it hasn’t been force-fed any goldfish or Barbie clothes.
  • Ages ago we ran out of the pink breast cancer awareness toilet paper (which the kids loved so much they fed it straight into the bowl, half a roll at a time, exhausting their interest in the toilet).
  • In fact, my parents bought the kids some birdseed so they could feed actual animals instead of appealing to the toilet’s appetite with random objects.
  • I didn’t do anything to it; I am scared of the toilet.
  • My dad is away on a business trip, which means the toilet is not enjoying any half-hour marathon usage this week.

Which means there’s no reason for a mess of toilet paper to be swimming in it this morning! OMG! Is there nothing Fluffy won’t do to get our attention?

With a sinister presence like Fluffy in the house, I can’t even get comfortably drunk. Last night, for instance, we had guests over and I had the opportunity to get into some REMY PANNIER SAUVIGNON BLANC (2010). Before I committed myself to getting gooned, I had to ascertain that my mother wouldn’t. That way she could keep an eye on Fluffy.

Luckily she was feeling responsible, what with two small kids to get to bed, a party to host, and with Dad out of town—and I realized I could trust her and get plastered myself.

This was the wine my mum bought the other day. Since she’d had no idea how to choose a sauvignon blanc, our booze store consultant recommended REMY PANNIER, describing it as opposite to chardonnay on the white wine spectrum. As you know, I’d been exhorting my mother to purchase chardonnay specifically to placate the unrestful spirit inhabiting Fluffy who, we have reason to suspect, is looking for chardonnay. I’d like to be kinder than to suggest that my mum is an idiot; rather, she is recklessly continuing a pattern of doing exactly the opposite of what her mother (my Granny, presumably trapped inside Fluffy) would want. Now, Granny was pretty easygoing, so she’d probably be okay with this REMY PANNIER offering, but Fluffy is a different matter. Fluffy is showing distinct signs of being evil, and I thought it was important to provide chardonnay as a peace offering. BUT the wine consultant won my mother over with the pretty sauvignon blanc bottle.

Varietals notwithstanding, I had a bad-ass jones for some wine, so we opened it and poured. REMY PANNIER is a lovely light straw color in the glass, but what’s more striking is its aroma—ahhh! Such delicate fruit! Apricots, citrus, spring grass—all generously wafting from the glass.

But how does it taste?

Ahhh! REMY PANNIER delivers on those scents. It is zingy yet delicate, citrusy yet balanced, light and dry. I loved it, people.

At 12% alcohol and shared between several humans plus one animal, this sauvignon blanc couldn’t get anyone wasted. But that’s really its only downside. If you’re a white wine drinker who falls into the anti-chardonnay camp, it will especially appeal to you with its zesty, light character and zingy high notes.

But if you strongly prefer chardonnay, you might want to avoid REMY PANNIER SAUVIGNON BLANC and seek out something with heaviness and oak.

And if you are a freaky golem like Fluffy, apparently REMY PANNIER SAUVIGNON BLANC will anger you and prompt you to stuff the upstairs toilet full of Charmin.

VANCOUVER ISLAND BREWERY SPYHOPPER HONEY BROWN

My dad looks awfully weird on Skype. I’m not used to his head being twice its normal size, but I put up with it because I had some questions about the trade show he’s attending in Toronto.

What is there to drink in Toronto? Will there be liquor items coming back? To me?

My dad said he went to an Irish pub for supper and ate fish and chips with his boss. My dad is totally boring.

Are there strippers and hookers there? Or both?

My dad said he’s at an electronics trade show and that therefore it’s full of geeks. I interpreted this to mean there would be both strippers and hookers. My dad said, “Actually, no,” at which I winked. The kids were sitting right beside me, after all.

Does my dad know that Fluffy turned the oven on while Mum was driving him to the airport?

My dad said he must have accidentally jostled the switch while he was pouring his coffee. (I don’t think so. My mum is at least a class-B OCD nutjob and she would have checked that before leaving the house.)

Does my dad think that Fluffy might burn down the house?

No. My dad commented (to my mum, right in front of me!) that I’m paranoid.

I asked whether my dad knew that we had purchased a 12-beer sampler from Vancouver Island and that it was all going to be finished before his return on Wednesday along with several bottles of wine.

He said he was really trying to Skype with the kids, if I didn’t mind (!)

It turned out to be untrue anyway. Yes, we did buy The Vancouver Island Brewery Pod Pack, but—because my mum is totally boring—we opened only one bottle: SPYHOPPER HONEY BROWN. It pours a lovely clear gold and has a very pleasant aroma—honey, hops, nuts, and some very mild floral notes—quite a complex nose for a honey brown ale. The bees who supply the honey make it from wildflowers local to Vancouver Island, contributing a delicate subtlety that I haven’t found before with this type of ale.

There’s some real achievement in the balance between scent and taste here. Floral essences can be tantalizing to the nose but intrude on the flavor. SPYHOPPER manages to suggest flowers to the olfactory department but withhold them from the tongue, instead bringing forth malt, honey, and hops and extending those flavors with crisp carbonation and a satisfying finish. The mouthfeel is a little on the thin side, but this is only a winter criticism—SPYHOPPER would be an unbelievably refreshing summer beer, that special kind you can pound or sip.

Lighter body makes SPYHOPPER a more middle-of-the-road drinking experience than most honey ales. It was very satisfying, and I would certainly get it again. In fact, if we can pound all of it before my dad comes back, then we’ll need to buy some more so he doesn’t feel left out.

That is, if the house is still standing. Last night Fluffy didn’t turn on the stove. (He wouldn’t dare! We’re watching for that!) But he turned on one light—the downstairs kitchen light, and the one my mum would be least likely to leave on (because of the time the kids flooded the bathroom just above it and sent water pouring through the ceiling where that light attaches). But in the morning, that light was on.

I don’t know what to think. Fluffy was my Granny’s bear, and my Granny was nice. So if Fluffy is housing her restless soul, shouldn’t he be doing nice things? Or NO THINGS AT ALL??