World Drinking Tour .com

2011-02-02T14:00:00.007+01:00

Quantum Qorner:
The Science of Tomorrow Applied Today

Good Allan, Bad Allan - The Enemy Within

Absinthe Teleportation Experiment creates bizarre result

Calculation error results in Double Trouble

Special Report by Science Editor Round A.Bout

(Article reprinted from The Grey Town Gazette November 2010 Issue)

Floris Garden, Brussels, Sat Sept 4th:

It's a story that's sure to become as familiar to future generations of science students as that of Schrödinger's cat.

History has shown that many of the great boundary-pushing experiments in science have been conducted by gifted amateur scientists - Darwin, Franklin, et al - and this is no exception.

An adventurous experiment in Alcohol Induced Teleportation(AIT) resulted in a bizarre outcome this weekend. Renowned bon vivant and part time quantum scientist Allan Carter bravely used himself as a human guinea pig in his quest to push the boundaries of man's understanding of alcohol-quantum phenomena by being the first person to try to attempt a controlled absinthe-induced point-to-point teleport.

It's thought that when preparing his Absinthe Allan might have added too much sugar to the fuel-alcohol mix, boosting his drink's energy level and tipping his quantum state over the Drink Horizon. When he re-materialized he was no longer a singularity....but a duality!

Apart from a little additional facial hair, probably caused by a temporal anomaly, the new Allan ('Allan B') is identical to the original ('Allan A'). Well nearly.

Observers started to realize that all was not right, that the two Allans are not quite the same. They have subtly different personalities.

The 'Monster from the id'
During the teleportation process it's believed that Sub Space turbulence caused a destabilization of his Quantum Slipstream and Allan's good side was split from his evil side. The result is a personality-duality with two halves of his id, or inner self, occupying separate but identical bodies.

But although superficially separate they cannot in fact act independently because they are bound sub-atomically as an Entangled-Pair. In this state the laws of physics mean that they are subject to Einstein's Spooky inaction at a distance, forever caught in a symbiotic causal-loop, with every action by one resulting in an equal but opposite inaction by the other: One Allan relentlessly proffering new and more exotic drinks, the other Allan downing them without hesitation and demanding more

Quantum Qonundrum
But, as is often the case with quantum science, some questions simply cannot be answered. For sure, we now have two Allans: 'Good' and 'Bad'. But the Quantum Qonundrum is: which one is which?

Background: the Science of AIT
The science of Alcohol Induced Teleportation is well established, supported by a mountain of empirical evidence. It's something all of us who live in the real world have experienced at least once: one moment you are happily downing a drink with your mates in friendly bar, then the next moment you open your eyes and find yourself lying fully dressed on your bed with the lights on. Or you might wake up in another bar, perhaps one you've never been in before. Or the back of a taxi. Or worse

In fact. controlled experiments at several monasteries across Belgium have revealed that AIT will randomly follow any one of 4 different patterns:

AIT Type-1. Bar-to-Bar
AIT Type-2. Bar-to-Car
AIT Type-3. Bar-to-Bed
AIT Type-4. Bar-to-Barfroom

This non-determinism is unavoidable. Quantum Uncertainty ensures that it is impossible to predict the type of transfer in advance*. This severely limits the usefulness of the procedure as a day-to-day transportation method, but this has not prevented a growing band of adherents practicing it as a leisure pursuit

The process is of course closely tied to the previously discussed Drink Induced Time Dialation Effect (WDT June 2006 & GTG December 2009), with the speed and distance of teleportation (STD) being proportional to the square of the Alcoholic Index (AI) of the drinks being consumed.

ie. STD = Square(AI)

Absinthe Alcohol Induced Teleportation, or Double-AIT ('Double-Eight') as it is known in quantum circles, is a special variant of AIT and is infamous in the physics community for its unpredictable results. So much so that for several decades the procedure was banned in many countries before being rehabilitated in the light of new discoveries in modern theoretical physics (and better medicare services)

The Memory Paradox
One serious question remains however. Researchers are yet to work out why AIT doesn't teleport memories and cash - they're always left behind at the bar

R.A.B.

*update: rumors are starting to circulate that it might indeed be possible to facilitate controlled teleportation. Unconfirmed research suggests that consuming tequila shots along with spicy tomato chasers allows the 'Drink Pilot' to mitigate the alcohol flow and control the jump over the Drink Horizon into sub space. The GTG staff will be putting this to peer review in the very near future.

Editorial note: the GTG would like to apologize to it's readers for the excessive use of italics in this article

Public Service Announcement - Cure for the hiccups

2010-10-08T22:44:00.001+02:00

This is a public service announcement for bartenders everywhere. Hiccups happen to the best of us. Yet it amazes me that so few people know the simple cure.

Last night I was at the Triple Rock in Berkeley, California, and a gentleman at the bar had a terrible case of the hiccups. Seeing a drinker in distress, I asked the bartender for several lemon slices. The barkeep had never heard of this simple cure, but obliged, and the hiccups disappeared after two quick bites of a lemon slice.

Maybe this cure only works if the hiccups are triggered by drink. But I can't be in every bar on every day, so I'm counting on you, Internet, to solve this epidemic once and for all. Spread the word, cure the epidemic. The hiccups you cure could be your own.

"Tell Me a Story About Chuck Norris."

2010-09-09T18:25:00.002+02:00

We've just returned from another successful World Drinking Tour Excursion, and while I'm sure there is much more to write about the entire experience I felt it important to get this one little detail down as quickly as possible.

Skippy and I were at the Delerium Café enjoying a beverage or two at an outside table in the alley. There were several empty chairs around us and, as often happens, random strangers would plop down at the table, exchange pleasantries, and then move on. But one gentleman in a particular seemed to be on a mission.

He was from Switzerland, but that's not his fault. We didn't get his name, or if we did, it was something like Wicky, or Zubriggen or Donders ... but no matter. We'll call him Montreaux (Monty for short). Monty plopped into a chair across from us and introduced himself. We did the same. Everyone was smiles and sunshine and drunkeness and laughter. But then, Monty turned serious.

"Tell me a story about Chuck Norris." he said to me, his eyes filled with a strange longing.

"What?" I replied ... as you will.

"Tell me a story about Chuck Norris." he repeated.

I was momentarily taken aback. What to do? But, the longing in his eyes to hear about Chuck Norris, combined with the fact that I was six mojitos towards the promise land, made the decison all too easy.

Here is the story I told:

Chuck Norris is in a bar getting wasted. As he sits at the bar, he pukes down the front of his shirt. Immediately he breaks out into tears sobbing "My wife is going to leave me. I'm just a miserable old drunk and now I'm going to die alone".

The bartender turns to him and says "It's not that bad. You can get out of this. Take a $10 bill and put it in your shirt pocket. When you get home, tell Mrs. Norris that you had a couple beers and a guy at the bar puked on you. Tell her that he gave you the $10 to pay for the shirt."

Chuck Norris looks disbelievingly at him and says "That just might work. Thank you."

Chuck goes straight home. When he walks through the front door, his wife is waiting for him and she is irate. She takes one look at him and screams "I can't believe it. You're drunk. I warned you but you just don't care. I'm moving out."

Chuck says, "Stop honey. Let me explain. True I did have a couple beers but I'm not drunk."
She says "Look at you! You puked down the front of your shirt."

Chuck Norris says "I didn't do this. A drunk guy next to me puked on me. He put a $10 bill in my shirt pocket to pay for the cleaning. You can see for yourself."

Chuck’s wife reaches into his pocket and pulls out some money. She looks at it, then to him and says "This is a $20 bill?"

Chuck Norris looks at her and says "Oh I forgot. He shit in my pants too".

Monty seemed satisfied. he nodded knowingly, shook our hands and then stumbled away into the night. It's a shame he left so soon. I was hoping he would tell me a story about Renée Zellweger.

2010 Belgian Hop Harvest Declared A Total Loss

2010-08-19T15:59:00.004+02:00

Devastating news out of Belgium today as Belgian Beer Association president Monsieur Lapin Drole declared the 2010 Belgian Hop Harvest a complete and total loss. "Devastation of this magnitude is unprecedented. The Belgian Beer industry can never recover," sobbed Monsieur Lapin at a hastily arranged press conference on Tuesday.

While scientific authorities have not yet released their report on the massive crop failure, Belgian Beer Blogs are reporting that the following image is to blame.

The photo clearly shows an unidentified Sasquatch type creature running naked through the hop fields of Belgium.

And once this photo has been seen, it cannot be unseen.

Try as you might, and oh yes, you will try, but it will haunt you for the rest of your days.

"The image is burned into my retinas," stated Fesses Velu, noted Belgian Beer Snob and Hop Farmer from Wallonia. "I can never look at a hop field the same way again, or drink a hoppy malt beverage without reliving this horror. It burns my eyes like a venereal disease. Not even the English would buy these hops now."

In related business news, Belgian breweries are being sold at fire sale prices. Belgian brewery Delirium Tremens was reportedly sold to Barry and LeVon for $240 worth of pudding.

$240 Worth of Pudding - watch more funny videos

World Drinking Tour 2010: "The Gathering "

2010-08-06T20:37:00.008+02:00

As the 2010 gathering of the now infamous World Drinking Tour draws near, I felt it was high time to reflect on the past and to attempt - possibly with the utmost futility - to make sense of it all. As is my way, rather than compose an original hypothesis, I’ve decided to do what I do best and boil everything in life down to an obscure pop culture reference. I’m the Ellen Page of 40 year old drunk guys.

So yes, I referred to our upcoming European drunkfest as a “gathering” with a very intentional nod to “Highlander: The Gathering” from 1992. For the uninformed I’d usually spend a few lines here describing Highlander, getting you up to speed, and filling in the gaps where you’ve chosen to shun media references and stock up on “book learnin”. But, too bad for you It’s 2010 so Google it.

The real point is that there are many frightening parallels between the Highlander “Gathering” and ours.

In Highlander, wise immortal, Juan Sánchez Villa-Lobos Ramírez (played by Sean Connery), describes the Gathering to Connor MacLeod in this way: "When only a few of us are left, we will feel an irresistible pull towards a far away land, to fight for the Prize."

Interesting.

Indeed, there are only a few of us left and getting fewer each year. Thankfully none have been pulled away by “The Big Last Call”. No, we’re all still alive. But, some have chosen to abstain for personal reasons, family commitments, budget constraints or the debilitating time zone change between the UK and Belgium … all completely reasonable excuses and all perfectly unacceptable. When you get the call you HEED it. Regret, boredom and the possibility of a longer life to suffer these things are the only reward for not doing so.

You see, the WDTourists, like the Immortals, do not live as a united people, but are scattered around the world and across history. The singular bond between all of us is a set of unwritten guidelines called “the Rules” which are transmitted from teacher to student.

The Highlander Rules are:

• Never fight on Holy Ground.
• Once a battle has begun, another Immortal may not interfere.
• In the end, there can be only one.

Taken as a body of work one could easily transpose the Highlander rules to accommodate the WDT, with a few notable exceptions.

Rule 1: Hmmm, tough one. At our “Gathering” drinking on holy ground is not only acceptable but actively pursued. Some of the best beer on Earth is made by monks in close proximity to monasteries. We not only drink on holy ground, we sin on a biblical scale. There’s certainly Lust (you feel it on the long cab ride to St. Sixtus) and Gluttony is a given. Greed shows up as you relentlessly try to hoard 3 or 4 Westvleteren 12’s in front of you. Laziness is once again implied. Wrath – only rarely, but will often rear its ugly head at last call. And finally, Envy. Ah, who among us has not peered across the table at a proud WDT’er and his perfectly lined up goblets of liquid gold and not wanted a piece of that action?

Rule 2: When a group of us have entrenched ourselves firmly at the bar and have settled in for the long haul - something I like to call “parking the brain” - it is not only against the rules but ill advised for another member of the clan to interfere. If you have to leave - do it quietly. It is okay to leave the game (we all have a wall and we all find it at top speed from time to time) but never to cause its demise. If you want to go buy Dutch hip hop at 2am that is fine too. But when two or more participants are locked in cup combat they are to be left … even encouraged … to see it to the inevitable, horrifying, “I don’t remember eating that” conclusion.

Rule 3: In the end, there can be only one. Well, this isn’t technically a rule in the WDT world but more a statement of fact. Inevitably the group whittles down to a small core of frighteningly food and sleep deprived sociopaths who simply can’t be bothered to, well, stop it. It’s usually 6am or later and as 5 drinkers slips to 4, sloshes to 3 and stumbles to 2 someone eventually has to throw in that final towel. It can be as innocent as a “well, I’ve had enough.” followed by an unskilled slalom back to your room. Or, it can be as complicated as “How am I going to carry this big bastard six blocks across the Leidseplein and still get a funnel of frites?”

A further Highlander/WDT comparison is a phenomenon known as “the Quickening”.

In Highlander, when an Immortal is beheaded, there is a powerful energy release from their body called a Quickening. Actor Adrian Paul explains, "The Quickening is the receiving of all the power and knowledge another immortal has obtained throughout his/her life. It is like the receiving of a sacrament or a massive orgasm.” God help the one of us who “beheads’ Keith.

In our world this “quickening” comes as you put down that last glass of the evening (or early morning) and realize that you have made it to the end of a rigorous session. The WDT Quickening can certainly manifest itself as a feeling of elation, but more often than not it is a strong urge to pass out, throw up, or both … hopefully in an order that doesn’t kill you. Very rarely does it end as a “massive orgasm” and when it does, well … ewwwww.

I think I’ve made my point - as meaningless and oddly irrelevant as it may be - that there is a deeper meaning to what we do each year. Sure, we leave our jobs unfinished, our families angry and bewildered, and we sit for hours on flights to places most people couldn’t find on a map with Waldo in the center. We pack our gear light (it’s an iPod and a bottle of Extra Strength Excedrin for me) but leave a lot of room for the “what ifs” and “what will bes”.

True, we die a little each trip, both from the inevitability of time and also liver damage, but time is not on our side. There are only so many visits to the Café Belgique left. There are a limited number of long nights at Café Delerium Tremons remaining. And, each time we go, we have one less. Think about that.

So as we Highlander wannabes … or “Beerlanders” if you will, gear up for another “Gathering” I’m inclined to once again quote the immortal Ramirez:

“You have the manners of a goat. And you smell like a dung-heap! And you have no knowledge whatsoever of your potential!”

I can’t wait for the 2010 “Gathering” to begin.

The Lodge Craft Beer Bar on Hilton Head Island

2010-02-27T16:52:00.001+01:00

I'm not going to lie to you. Hilton Head Island, South Carolina is not a beer mecca. That fact might skew my review slightly, because The Lodge is so badly needed here.

That said, I do think The Lodge holds it's own as a top quality beer bar. Currently there are 36 taps and about 100 bottled choices (not to mention the cans from Oskar Blues).

What makes this place standout for me is the quality of the taps. Mega tap bars usually bore me, but I enjoyed exploring the selection here. Selling samples is a good idea, and a great way to try out some top quality brews. In the future I'd recommend they sell 5 or 6 samples at a discount, as I think it would further encourage sampling.

I hope they can continue the top quality of their tap selection (and see no reason why they won't, but yesterday was the first day of their reopening as a craft beer bar). I was also tempted by some old favorites on the bottle list, but I resisted because I wanted to focus on beers that were new to me.

Standouts in the current tap list are Foothills' Sexual Chocolate and Coast's Cascade American Pale. In fact I had to take a growler of the Coast home with me. Growlers are another great option here and I expect that will go over very well with vacationers who love good beer.

I loved seeing a variety of Stone beers on tap and in bottle, and I know I'll enjoy them in at the Lodge in the future. And Bell's...I could drink Two Hearted Ale for hours at end...and the Hopslam that Tony opened for a few of us to share really rocked. But I really like their eclectic SC/NC/GA selection...beers you can't find in bottles.

Kudos to Coast Brewing for producing the best beer brewed in South Carolina. Folks in the bar thought I was a Coast rep the way I was talking it up ladt night...and I think the Cascade Pale is going to be a big seller here. I thought their Harold stout was only average (sorry but Terrapin's Wake N Bake wax significantly better and Sexual Chocolate rocked my world...whatever the hell that means).

I also have to give a shout out for Coast Kolsch. As a style, I've always thought Kolsch to be a waste of time. Let's be honest, if you're drinking Kolsch it usually means you're 40 kilometers away from the Alt beer that you'd rather be drinking. That said, the Coast Kolsch tasted pretty good to me last night, so now I can only imagine how good an Alt would taste. I mean I'm starting to obsess about it. I've started scheming to figure out how I'm going to manage another
trip to Dusseldorf. Who's with me? Save me Coast...don't tease me with your Kolsch and leave me lusting for an Alt!! I can't book a trip to Dusseldorf every time I have one of your beers!!!

But I digress...The Lodge is easily the best place for good beer on Hilton Head. Tony seems to be working hard to bring in quality beer, and it is an extremely impressive start. The bar staff, especially Troy, seem to know their beer. Plus it's a great environment for drinking beer...and meeting interesting people. I look forward to my next visit.

Note...the kitchen is not open yet, so I can't comment on the food yet. That said, the Sexual Chocolate does drink like a meal.

Give a hand to my band, Sexual Chocolate.

Skippy has left the building...with a growler.

2009-10-17T07:24:00.001+02:00

2009 Drinking Tour Update: The apéritifs are sorted

2009-07-30T17:13:00.004+02:00

There's some buzz in the UK this week about the release of the UK's strongest beer.

Clocking in at 18.2%, the BBC points out that a single bottle contains twice the recommended daily limit.

Ah ... to live in a nanny state and have both the state and people like the Auntie Beeb looking out for you.

Truth is, we know that BrewDog is just using this as a publicity stunt, and that's good enough for us. We need a first official drink to start off this year's festivities, and it's got to be BrewDog Tokyo.

Arrangements are being made to get enough BrewDog Tokyo to Poperinge for those who are making the whole trip. If it's complete crap, at least there will be 100 different beers to wash away the after taste...

Thanks Keith!!!

World Drinking Tour 2009 - Poperinge, Westvleteren and Brussels

2009-07-10T16:56:00.006+02:00

Yeah, I've done a pretty crap job at keeping this blog up-to-date. I can't believe I didn't file a trip report about the Belgian beer bar in Grenoble (Freres Berthom) ... or the 2009 tour planning session at the PorterHouse earlier this year. For that matter, where's the report on the late spring scouting trip to Brussels, where we've identified a few more great bars to go to when the Delirium and Floris are overrun during the beer festival?

But I'm here to make up for all that. After all, who wants to hear about things after the fact?

This year's Belgian Beer trip will be one for the ages.

Next week, Keef turns 60.

And you know what that means ... yes, that's right, it gives us an excuse to justify another Belgian Beer Weekend trip to Brussels.

We're calling this year's trip, 60 Beers for 60 Years. September 2 - 7, 2009.

But it's more that that. We're talking about Keef here ... the man, the myth, the legend ...

The man who slept in a bunker on the golf course outside of the Skimmington Castle.

The man who drank 14 Westmalle Tripels and was still able to get up the next morning and supervise the unpacking of a trade show booth.

The man who drank the lifetime limit of Kasteel Blondes in a single evening and still made the trip to St. Sixtus at Westvleteren the next afternoon. (In case you're curious, it is only possible to drink 12 Kasteel Blondes in a single lifetime. Beyond that your body will simply not accept any more. I've watched Keith try on several occasions, but it always ends up a nasty mess. You have to admire his determination though.)

To belatedly celebrate Keef's 60th birthday in September, it is only fitting that we pay a visit to the St. Sixtus Monastery in Westvleteren, Belgium. (And I believe St. Sixtus is the patron saint of sixty plus year old beer drinkers.) With enough participants, it should be easy enough for the group to enjoy at least 60 beers at St. Sixtus ... after all, I was there with Keef, Dale and Allan several years ago when the four of us ordered 14 in a single round. That was the night we broke the sofa in Keef's room and almost burned down a hotel in Bruges ... so this time we should probably stay in Poperinge.

I've gotten a little ahead of myself ... but here's the plan ... in honor of Keef's birthday, you have 5 days to enjoy 60 quality Belgian beers with Keef.

And if you've never met Keef before, what better way to make his acquaintance.

The first part of the trip is an excursion out to the Westvleteren monastery where we'll debate the merits of the Westvleteren 12 against the under appreciated Westvleteren Blond. Then we'll convene in Brussels for the Belgian Beer Weekend (http://www.belgianbeerweekend.be/). Hopefully you can make the whole trip ... but if you can't ... consider joining us at least for the beer festival in Brussels.

The tour starts in Poperinge on the evening of Wednesday, September 2. Some of us will be meeting at the Brussels Airport to catch the 15.30 train that will deposit us in Poperinge at 18.00.

There are two bars in Poperinge that have over 100 beers ... Café de la Paix on the Grote Markt (http://www.cafedelapaix.be/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=23&Itemid=7&lang=en), conveniently just a few doors down from the hotel ... and the bar in the Hotel Palace (http://www.hotelpalace.be/index2.php?page=bar) which seems to have the reputation as being the best beer bar in Poperinge ... I look forward to comparing them for myself!

We plan to spend Thursday, September 3 at the In de Vrede Café, across the street from the Westvleteren monastery (http://indevrede.be/languagee/index.htm). Join us in the café and wallow in the Westvleteren 12 and Blond ... be a glutton ... order them 4 at a time if you're so moved (seriously, the service is a little slow, so you might at least want to double up ... even if you don’t double up the double ups).

I can almost taste the Westvleteren 12 right now. http://beeradvocate.com/beer/profile/313/1545

Actually I might start with the Westvleteren Blond ... what could quite possibly be the best summer beer ... http://beeradvocate.com/beer/profile/313/1808 (ignore the reviews that don't rate the Blond that high ... it does not travel as well as the 12 ... the 12 improves with a little age ... the Blond should be drank fresh).

My day is shot now ... I can't concentrate any more.

At the end of the day, taxi back to Poperinge ... have a meal ... maybe forget that you just had a meal ... and have another one. You're on vacation (quite possibly a mental vacation at that), so it's your option.

On Friday, September 4, we'll train back to Brussels for the weekend.

The plan is to arrive in Brussels early enough to pay a visit to the Cantillon Brewery (http://www.cantillon.be). They close at 17.00, so we're going to try to make it by around 15.00 or 15.30.

Then it's time for another Belgian Beer Weekend (www.belgianbeerweekend.be) on the Grand Place in Brussels.

As usual, we'll stay at the Ibis Off Grand Place ... be sure to make a reservation! (www.ibishotel.com).

We've done a research mission and found a few great alternative destinations for those times when the Delirium Café and Floris Bar are too crowded.

Of course, if you've yet to make this trip, the Delirium Café and Floris Bar will be your new home away from home. (Well, actually some days it can be a challenge to get out of the Hotel Ibis bar, a true home away from home.)

To whet your appetite, here are some past trip reports:

h ttp://worlddrinkingtour.blogspot.com/2007/09/briliant-brussels.html

http://worlddrinkingtour.blogspot.com/2007/08/remembering-belgian-beer-weekend-2006.html

Friends of the World Drinking Tour ... if you want to join up with us, leave a comment ...

Belikin Stout ... The World Needs more Summer Stout

2009-06-23T06:36:00.001+02:00

Maybe my taste buds are feeling deprived. Actually no maybe about
it...Belize is not a beer tourist destination.

However, it is a great and diverse country with many sites to
see...from its coral reefs to its caves to its Mayan ruins. But we're
not here to talk about that...we're here to talk beer.

Belize has a virtual beer monopoly with one brewer that controls the
market with local brews and some international brews under contract.
Most are forgettable ... another bland tropical lager that quenches
thirst ...

Maybe 9 days of drinking Belikin Stout has clouded my judgment, but
it's actually a pretty nice beer. I'm not sure it's a stout...my
favorite stouts are the bottle conditioned Cooper's Stout from
Australia and for draft the PorterHouse brews out of Ireland (proudly
served at their branch in London Covent Garden). I like a good draft
Guinness...but if I'm in Dublin I hit every PorterHouse before
returning to the hotel bar for the Guin. Oh ... and don't get me started on imperial stouts ... that would be a nice nightcap right now as I sit on the beach.

Anyway, the Belikin Stout is a lighter stout but has some depth to the
flavor...I question whether or not it is a true stout, but let's call
it a summer stout. A darker beer that drinks well under the hot
sun...the world needs more beers like that. I'd gladly drink a Belikin
Stout back home by the pool.

America needs a good summer stout ... Belikin has done something
right ...

The world needs Belikin Stout

2009-06-23T06:17:00.001+02:00

What I learned while drinking in Aruba

2009-03-30T16:30:00.009+02:00

Aruba is not exactly what you'd call a beer destination. Like other Caribbean destinations, it's the land of fruity drinks and bland lagers.

But that's ok. The local beer, Balashi, tastes pretty good when you're sitting on the beach. If you're going to have a couple of beers, I always recommend drinking local, so be sure to have a couple of Balashis. On the other hand, if you're going to have 11 or 12, then I'd recommend the Heineken (usually not my first choice ... but Heineken does encourage you to enjoy Heineken responsibly, which I think means that you can keep drinking it until you accidentally spill one)...

What else did I learn?

I learned about heretofore little known and mythical religions of the Indian subcontinent. Then again, perhaps the religion was not native to India, and had only been outsourced there ... that doesn't make it any less significant to the people who lost their religion because of this outsourcing, but I digress.

What was I talking about again?

The Drinking String. An inspiring relgious tradition.

A group of young Indian men approached the hot tub, and one had a long string draped over his shoulder.

Naturally we inquired about the string, and it was explained that it was of religious significance.

The young man's religion did not allow him to buy alcoholic drinks. However, when he wore the drinking string, we was able to accept drinks purchased by others.

Yeah ... I don't think he got too many free drinks that way, but it was a religion that intrigued me.

I also learned that Springfield Missouri is the capital for "eggs and kegs". Apparently it's not just for St. Patrick's Day any more, but a regular weekend ritual in Springfield Missouri. Bored from years and years of pouring beer on their corn flakes ... morning after morning ... more Springfield residents prefer a hot breakfast with their cold beer these days, and I salute them for their effort. (And I guess it is better than warm beer with a cold breakfast, although the latter is a lot easier to prepare with a hangover.)

I also learned a few things about Aruba that are useful for the beer drinking tourist.

The supermarkets do have some limited Belgian beer offerings. I picked up some Hoegaarden Grand Cru at one shop and a friend found some La Trappe (Dutch trappists from just over the Belgian border) at another.

And to prove that I can find a Belgian bar anywhere ...

There's also a small Belgian bar/restaurant called Taste of Belgium that has 8 or 9 Belgian beers, great frites, and some of the better food that I had on the trip. It's in a shopping mall across from the Holiday Inn ... otherwise known as the mall with the movie theaters. Not the biggest selection of Belgian beers, but when your palate has tired of Heineken and Balashi, a Westmalle Double, Kwak and Duvel all taste pretty good. The restaurant tables are out in the mall, which provides a bit of entertainment for tourist watching ... and there's also a small bar area that you can go into if you're just interested in a beer.

Last, but not least, if you're in Aruba, you might as well ride the Kukoo Kunuku party bus one night. Where else will they take you to a bar where they still play "Where the f#*$ is Alice"?

Stone Sour Fest - Escondido, California USA

2008-07-25T04:13:00.002+02:00

Fate smiled upon me.

Last Sunday I had the good fortune to find myself on the road between Los Angeles and San Diego. I was in LA for a friend's wedding, and turning the trip into a long weekend with a couple of days in San Diego sounded like a good idea.

I hadn't planned on including any beer excursions on this trip. Oh, yes, of course, I had done my homework and had contingency plans for beer ... I ALWAYS have a contingency plan that involves beer ... but honestly, that plan was just a contingency.

The wedding was in Manhattan Beach, just a couple of miles south of LAX airport, and one of my contingency plans found me at the Manhattan Beach Brewing Company on Friday afternoon. Alas, to say that the beer was uninspiring would be an understatement. At least the porter was drinkable enough to merit a pint after the sampler. But it's kind of sad to say that the soft pretzel was the best offering on the bar menu.

After that less than stellar experience, I figured that I'd spare my wife from any more brewpub visits on the trip. But as I was driving down I-5, with my wife asleep in the passenger seat, I thought about Stone Ruination IPA. I don't get to drink it very often, but I figured I could at least pick some up at a package store in the San Diego area, and enjoy it later on the beach.

By the time we got to Oceanside, the thirst was driving me crazy. I was about to tell my wife about the purple gargoyles, but she would see them soon enough...

I knew that the Stone World Bistro was about a 15 to 20 mile detour inland, and I had seen so many great reviews of this out-of-the-way establishment ... how could I let this opportunity pass me by?

The GPS was already programmed with its new destination coordinates by the time my wife woke up from her nap, and she acquiesced to yet another brewpub lunch stop.

The GPS was a little bit off in finding the exact location of the brewery, but the smell of the hops, and an extremely strong beer magnet steered us into the brewery on auto-pilot.

There was a 45 minute wait for a table, which seemed like a good opportunity to sample a beer or two at the bar.

Then I noticed the green wristbands. Something was going on at the outside bar.
The Second Annual Stone Sour Fest.

30+ lambics and mostly Belgian style sour beers on draft ... and another 30+ in bottles?

At this point, I figure that my wife is going to think that it was not just a spur of the moment decision that led me to the Stone World Bistro that afternoon. In fact, she's probably figuring that I somehow convinced my friend to have his wedding that weekend. (Not true ... if it were, I would have made sure that he and some other friends were with us at Stone.)

As I'm already quite familiar with the Belgian lambics, I mostly stuck to trying American craft beer offerings. Valley Brewing had a strong sour, their Grand Cru, that was pretty awesome. Another standout was an American lambic that was a collaboration between Lost Abbey and the brewmasters from Avery and Dogfish Head (among others) which was very nice, I believe they called it the Isabelle Proximus.

I also tried a few that weren't so great. So I have to admit, I couldn't stay away from the Rodenbach Grand Cru, which was the most satisfying sour beer of the afternoon. Zotezuur was also very nice.

I found it quite interesting that Stone would host this event, when they didn't have a single beer included in the festival. I couldn't leave without sampling at least one Stone beer fresh on tap ... so I had the Cali-Belgique IPA, which is a style that I'd really like to see in Belgium. The mix of flavors is fantastic, just think of a richer (maltier than Westmalle) tripel with a heavy hop infusion. 21st Amendment in San Francisco does an occasional Double Tripel IPA as a seasonal, but Stone's is hoppier, and was awesome with lunch. While I love Belgian beer, one thing that is missing is a truly hoppy Belgian beer.

I wish I had been better prepared with luggage that could handle taking some back to the east coast. But alas, beer doesn't travel well in a garment bag. So for take away, I settled on a six of Ruination and 2 big bottles of the Stone 12th Anniversary Ale ... a bitter chocolate oatmeal stout.
Stone Ruination Ale is always a treat. But I really enjoyed the anniversary beer ... while it had some hops, it used bitter chocolate as its primary bittering agent, and it was a pretty bitter stout.

Now comes the challenging part ... working out the logistics to get a contingent from the World Drinking Tour to Escondido, California.

Actually, the bigger challenge would be getting them to leave.

The Cali-Belgique IPA that I enjoyed with lunch reminded me very much of the Westvleteren Blond. It's a constant debate that several of us have ... which is better, the Westvleteren Blond or the Westvleteren 12? When given the opportunity, I usually opt for a 60% to 40% split of rounds favoring the 12 over the blond. Stone's Cali-Belgique IPA was like a stronger version of the Westvleteren Blond ... no wonder I enjoyed it so much.

As I sipped the Cali-Belgique IPA, looking out over Stone World Bistro's garden area, I couldn't help but think of similarities between this beer mecca and the In de Vrede Cafe in Westvleteren. I could imagine Keef wanting to pitch a tent and simply live in the garden area. I wonder if they'd let him fish in the koi pond? If so, I suspect he'll pass on his fishing club's trip to France next year ...

There's no doubt, Stone is world class. And while the Stone Sour Fest was great ... I look forward to a future visit where I can enjoy an afternoon and evening sticking only to the Stone brews.

Belgium annexes La Trappe, 800 Greenwich Street, San Francisco

2008-06-14T21:19:00.001+02:00

It pains me to write this review.

Yes, I use sites like Beer Advocate, and I scour the web for details about bars and breweries in places that I am traveling to. But I've also seen how a lot of the great places become overwhelmed with crowds and become a less appealing destination.

I don't want that to happen to La Trappe.

I want them to be successful, so that they are around for me to enjoy for a long time ... but not too successful, if you know what I mean.

That said, La Trappe is simply one of the best Belgian beer bars in the world. And I've been to a lot of them. Bruges t' Biertje. Kulminator. In de Vrede. Beer Circus Croydon (RIP). Belgo Zuid (RIP ... the only Belgo that ever really mattered). Brewer's Art in Baltimore. The Trappist in Oakland. In de Wildeman. The Gollem. Academie de la Biere (Paris), Delirium Cafe and Tap Room. I could go on, but off the top of my head that's a good top 10 list. And not to mention countless others with vast beer selections that were not necessarily Belgian focused.

La Trappe in San Francisco is less than a year old, but it is well on its way to establishing itself as one of the best Belgian bars in the United States ... or for that matter, the world.

Indeed, it is almost as if Belgium has annexed 800 Greenwich Street.

Why do I give La Trappe such high marks?

Well, of course, the beer comes first. Their growing beer list has over 200 beers ... mostly Belgian, with a few interesting Belgian inspired American offerings, such as Jolly Pumpkin La Roja. 15 rotating taps, including my new favorite, Zoetzuur.

Second, there's the atmosphere. When you first walk into La Trappe, it doesn't impress you all that much. You're going to think that you're in the wrong place, a simple neighborhood eatery. Look for the steps leading downstairs if the kitchen staff doesn't point you in that direction. The steps take you down into the beer cave ... a.k.a., the Trappist Lounge ... where beer nirvana awaits.

If you're there with a group ... or a date ... what a great place to hang out.

If you're flying solo ... definitely hang at the bar. I've met some really interesting people there, and some very bizarre people as well. The Irish guy whose job is transporting federal prisoners was a real hoot ... I don't know how much of what he said was real, and how much was delusional, but it doesn't really matter.

This should be enough information to get you to pay a visit to La Trappe ... but wait, there's more.

How about some authentic Belgian food?

Yeah, it's a restaurant too. The moules and frites over coconut jalapeno rice rocks. I have a hard time ordering anything else. There are other traditional moule pots as well ... waterzooi ... oysters on the half shell.

And their fish soup is the best that you'll find west of Bruges. Well, it will be. That is the only thing missing. So when you visit, be sure to ask Michael about the fish soup. Once that's added to the menu, the perfect Belgian bar and restaurant will finally exist.

It pains me to know that the next time I visit La Trappe, it'll probably be hard to get a seat at the bar. But on the other hand, if fish soup is on the menu, that's a small price to pay.

Beer and Loafing in Las Vegas

2008-04-23T00:03:00.002+02:00

Las Vegas is not what you'd call a beer town. It's a cocktail town. So what's a beer guy to do in Vegas? More than you would think.

I've long been a fan of the Gordon Biersch Brewpub in Las Vegas. It's not too far from the Hard Rock Casino. Yeah, Gordon Biersch is a chain, and one is pretty much like another. And while the beer is not outstanding, I have to say that it is pretty good and it is consistent. Better yet, the food is always great. Since I'm usually in Vegas for a convention, I try to stay somewhere near GB, which is an ok walk to and from the convention center. And there's a Starbucks right across the parking lot from GB ... what more do you need? You can almost forget you're in Vegas ... good beer, great food ... stumbling distance to your hotel ... coffee in the morning. Life is good.

The Freakin' Frog is another venue I always visit while in Vegas. It seems like it used to be the only place you could get a decent IPA in town. And you could usually count on Chimay Tripel on draft and some other interesting beers. But it's a little out of the way, over by the university. The Freakin' Frog has an extensive selection of beer in bottles ... but a lot of the prices are pretty ridiculous (with many of the beers just listed as "market" for the price). I still like visiting the Frog, but it's hard for me to take the bottled beer list seriously as so much of the prices are outrageous. Still, when I was there a couple of weeks ago, Sierra Nevada Bigfoot was on the bottle list for $4. Not a bad bar price at all. I don't remember how many I had, but I'm thankful I woke up the next morning in my own hotel room.

For a better beer experience, I have to say that this time I enjoyed the Burger Bar at Mandalay Place. It seemed a little odd at first, a hamburger restaurant in small shopping mall with mostly upscale clothing shops, with a video constantly playing on the TV with their master chef appearing on PBS making his gourmet hamburgers. But when I sat down and ordered my first pint of Stone Ruination IPA, I knew I was in love. The Burger Bar has some other interesting taps (such as the obligatory Chimay Tripel), and it has a small, but good, reserve beer list. They had a Stone Anniversary Black IPA that I enjoyed with my burger. Since we don't see Stone that much in the southeast USA, I was quite intrigued by their beers.

While in town, I also made a point to check out the Triple 777 Casino Brewery in the Main Street Hotel, down near the Fremont Street Experience. It was maybe a little better than you might expect from a "casino brewery", but not much. It did have one redeeming grace, however ... the beer was pretty cheap ... and the food was pretty reasonable too. I wouldn't necessarily go out of my way to visit here again, but if you're down near Fremont Street, and you could use a Pale Ale, the price to quality ratio is pretty good here.

Enjoy Vegas. If you find yourself in need of a decent beer, I hope this short report helps you out!

Three Steps to Heaven

2008-01-04T14:50:00.000+01:00

or, don't waste time...get wasted!

Step 1: Belgo's Centraal

Well.... what can I add to Skippy's concise and informative report on that enjoyable venue?... except to post a couple more photos capturing some of the afternoon's frolics:

Step 2: The Porterhouse

By evening it was time to move on and after a lucky near miss (where we narrowly managed to avoid entering the designated nightclub on our prearranged schedule) we decided to join the queue for The Porterhouse. It was a trifle busy. Eventually we gained entry and were each allocated 6 square inches of standing room. Actually there was only room to stand on one leg, flamingo fashion, and buying a round involved a fourteen hour hop to the bar. Our Man from Reigate did the honors and we enjoyed a stout each. But we were starting to get concerned we might die of dehydration so we made an urgent decision to relocate somewhere better able to satisfy our cravings. Ignoring BJ's protestations about the potential cost, we decided it would have to be Zaika.

Step 3: Zaika

Phew! - a good choice. Not only sitting (slouching) room, but a prompt and continuous supply of food and drink. Spoilt for choice, yours truly decided to order one of everything from the bar food menu so perhaps BJ's concerns were about to come true...but nothing was wasted....except perhaps for us at the end of the evening. Numerous Stolichnaya Vodka Martinis were consumed. To be honest, your corespondent can't remember all the details (no doubt suffering from some kind of seasonal virus) but does recall wearing a loud shirt!

Cheers,

R.A.B.

Christmas at Belgo

2007-12-14T17:35:00.000+01:00

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Orlando: Look what the mouse dragged in ...

2007-12-09T22:47:00.000+01:00

Orlando. It's not exactly known as a beer mecca. In fact, it's one of the most challenging places to find a bar or restaurant with good beer.

I met up with Mr. Wilson in Orlando recently to see guitar wunderkind Joe Bonamassa at the Hard Rock Live.

Before the show, on a tip, we ventured to the tap house at Orlando Brewing (www.orlandobrewing.com). If you venture there by taxi, be sure to print out a copy of the map from the Orlando Brewing web site. While it is close to downtown (a little south of downtown proper, a few miles north of Universal Studios), the brewery itself is in an industrial area, so it is not exactly a popular tourist destination.

But for the beer lover who happens to find him or herself in Orlando, it is a godsend.

The house beers aren't particularly special ... although I do give 3-1/2 stars to the Old Pelican EPA which is a nice full bodied pale ale. The rest of the line up is fine session quality, and better than what you'll find in most other Orlando bars ... but the guest taps are the real highlight here. I enjoyed a couple of beers from La Chouffe, a Chimay Cinq Cents, a Laguinitas IPA, and wished that I had the time to explore some of the other taps. But alas, we were on to the Hard Rock Live where the best they had to offer was Michelob Amber Bock ...

As I know that fate will lead me back to Orlando again, I know that I'll be finding my way back to Orlando Brewing Company again and again ...

Marathon Training (for beer drinkers)

2007-11-27T22:49:00.000+01:00

Over the past year, I've learned a little bit about marathon training. And there's a lot of similarity between running 26.2 miles, and an all night drinking binge.

Well, maybe not that much similarity. But training and conditioning is important.

And that's why ... when I received the special VIP Invitation e-mail from Delirium Cafe in Brussels, announcing the new Delirium Tap Room, I knew I had to make a pilgrammage to Brussels before the end of the year. What better way to celebrate having completed a running marathon than an all night drinking marathon at the new Delirium Tap Room in Brussels, co-located with the Delirium Cafe, Floris Bar and Floris Garden.

According to the e-mail, the Delirium Tap Room opens with 25 unusual and unique tap brews on Friday, December 7. Alas, my schedule doesn't work for December 7, but I'll be in London the following week, so I'm working on a plan to take the Eurostar to Brussels on the afternoon of the 14th, and then back on the first train Saturday morning so that I can catch my flight back to the states.

For this all night drinking marathon, I'm wondering if I'll see some of the strange characters that I saw at the running marathon that I just completed? come to think of it, I think I have seen these folks at the Floris Bar drinking absinthe...

Skimmington Castle 2.0

2007-09-25T21:19:00.000+02:00

Friends of the World Drinking Tour know the Skimmington Castle as a legendary site for tales from the drink.

Founding tour member Keef introduced me to "The Skim" (as it is better known) over 10 years ago. As we drove up Bonnys Road in Reigate, he pointed to a sand trap on the golf course and simply stated, "I slept in that bunker one night."

Indeed, one of the best things about The Skim is the convenient discount lodging at the nearby bunker ... although the early morning checkout time, and wake-up call with a golf ball, can be a minor inconvenience.

You can read more about our tales from The Skim at our sister web site, http://www.theskim.com/ or http://www.skimmingtoncastle.com/ ... the web sites that eventually led to the creation of this blog.

But alas, it's been a rough year for The Skim. Long time publicans John and Naomi called it a day in September 2006, and a new tenant landlord was brought in. They still have Addlestone's Cloudy Cider on tap, but the food ... which was always consistent ... if not high-quality, extremely good quality ... country pub food ... has gone downhill. And the public has noticed, as the pub is not nearly as crowded as it used to be.

In early August, on a Sunday afternoon visit to The Skim, I had run into John at the bar. He had popped in for a quick pint, but then joined me and my friends on the new back deck at The Skim to catch up on things. Turns out that he and Naomi had just wanted to take some time off, but they were soon to be taking over the Black Horse in Reigate, which was less than a mile down the road.

As fate would have it, my next visit to Reigate was Thursday, September 20, 2007. Keef and I thought that we'd check out The Black Horse, see if John had taken over yet, and if they had Addlestone's ... then maybe pay another visit to The Skim.

Turns out that it was John's first night at The Black Horse. No Addlestone's yet, but we had a pint and decided that the food menu was definitely worth returning for ... after a quick trip to The Skim. Popping round The Skim for a few pints of Addlestone's is always a good idea ... but it's an especially good idea if you're flying long haul out of Gatwick the next day (preferably with a flight around noon).

After four or five pints of Addlestone's, we arranged transport with our designated driver Brian to pick us up at The Skim and head down to the Black Horse for a meal.

The food at the Black Horse was excellent ... and while there was some decent beer, we decided to transition to the Hoegaarden, as that seemed more compatible with the Addlestone's that was already in our system. And I'm proud to have been there to close down The Black Horse on John's first night (which probably reminds him why he had wanted to take some time off in the first place).

Thankfully, the Black Horse has a comfy sitting area so that the designated driver can take a kip, while his mates take pictures and make a general nuisance of themselves.

I look forward to returning to The Black Horse, which we jokingly refer to as The Skim 2.0.

But I also hope that changes will be forthcoming for The Original Skim, so that it can return to its past days of glory and legend.

Give that man a drink!

2007-09-19T16:06:00.001+02:00

'Nuff said, 'eh Gumby?

Brian Jackson suffers the consequences after yet again refusing to go drinking with his mates, as extreme dehydration sets in.

If Steve left, why is he still here?

2007-09-18T20:12:00.000+02:00

So I missed Steve's going away party at the Beer Circus. I'm at the
Beer Circus and so is Steve, minus the onion breasts (thankfully).

Brilliant Brussels

2007-09-09T21:27:00.000+02:00

Belgium Revisited....and not a moment too soon!

Well it doesn't seem like a year since we were last there, but despite that I think we left it too long before revisiting.

Sure, those of us lucky enough not to live in South Carolina can buy most Belgian beers at our local supermarket, but that's just not the same. You have to be there to fully enjoy the beer...drinking it at mid day in Grand Plas in the sunshine, or washing down shrimp croquets, tucking into the stomp, or even scoffing an occasional horse steak!

Anyhow, your corespondent has found a new favorite beer - Maredsous Triple. Its up there in the same league as Westvleteren 12.

Having discovered something so pleasant (and effective) it took great will power to to even consider trying other beers.

But my sense of duty prevailed and I tried a few other varieties, only returning to the Maredsous 2 or 3 times a day.

We also found some new friends...a contingent of similar minded guys from The Netherlands.

We got on so well we didn't need to learn each others names....or maybe the beer just killed those brain cells... Whatever, the camera didn't forget.

Of course we are all health conscious individuals and so in the evenings we took care to make sure we got our daily dose of fruit and vegetables.

Luckily the new Floris Garden serves magnificent mojitos.....rich in anti-oxidants they're the ideal "detox" drink, clearing the pallet and readying one for the next round of beers.

The bar was out of jugs and so kindly served us the cocktails in pint glasses. What service! (antique phone provided to show scale).

The weekend passed all to soon. Time to start planing the next visit!

R.A.B.

Remembering Belgian Beer Weekend 2006

2007-08-27T15:29:00.000+02:00

I can't believe that almost a year has passed, and not a word has been written about last year's trip to Brussels for Belgian Beer Weekend 2006.

ColoniAL dutifully reported on the Amsterdam leg of the tour, but not a word was written about those 4 nights in Brussels.

For this reporter, I can only say that any attempt to describe the trip with words just seemed to take away from the magic.

I did take some notes at the beginning of the trip. So I know that it all began with an Orval in the lobby bar of the Ibis, as we waited to meet up with some of the early arrivals. A Westmalle Tripel followed (the selection at the Ibis lobby bar isn't the most extensive, but in any other town it would be nothing to complain about).

Then a small contingent wandered in search of La Lunette for a lunchtime session. I remember enjoying a liter of Rodenbach, followed by at least one additional liter.

I remember many nights sitting at the tables in the alley between the Delirium Cafe and the Floris Bar. Hanging out at those bars was really the highlight of the trip. The inside of the Delirium Cafe was too crowded, but the alley way was great ... as were the late nights inside the Floris Bar, where we did our best to clear their shelves of absinthe. I remember the water dispenser dripping over the sugar cube for absinthe in the French style ... and I remember the flaming black absinthe. I also remember Joel, the owner of Delirium Cafe and Floris Bar giving a hand signal to the barman late one night ... early one morning ... initially we thought he was cutting us off, but we were pleased to learn that instead the next couple of rounds were on the house.

I remember meeting Tom Peters from Monk's Cafe in Philadelphia at the bar in Delirium Cafe. Earlier in the day we had been enjoying a few bottles of Cantillon at the Cantillon Brewery ... and we watched as the folks at Cantillon gave special attention and treatment to an American. We didn't know who the guy was, but as they offered him samples in one room, the good folks at Cantillon would bring the left overs from the big bottles over to our table and explain to us what we were sampling. When I saw Tom at Delirium Cafe later in the day and saw his Monk's Cafe shirt, I put two and two together ... Tom is the person who convinced Cantillon to make their Gueuze available on draft for his bar in Philly. A great man indeed, and we enjoyed finishing off the samples that he was offered at Cantillon.

I remember meeting a bartender from the Poechenellekelder who had stopped in at the Delirium to meet up with a bartender from another Brussels bar after their establishments had closed. He bought me a St. Bernadus 12, encouraging me to give it another try. I had written off St. Bernadus 12 a couple of years back, when I had a bottle that was just way to sweet for my taste. But he was right ... with Westvleteren 12 so hard to find these days ... St. Bernadus 12, while not a perfect substitute (it is too highly carbonated), does help alleviate the craving at least a little bit. We need to make it to the Poechenellekelder this trip ... it's probably a better lunch time stop on the first day than La Lunette.

I remember the beer festival itself on the Grand Place. It was a great location from such a festival, if a bit crowded. I remember the Irish guy who was hitting on Rosie ... or maybe he was hitting on Dale ... I remember he kept talking about how his friends sometimes wondered if he was gay as he was the only unmarried one among his group of Irish friends who had made their way to the beer festival. I think he was trying to hit on Rosie, but he might have been distracted by Dale's bulging biceps ...

I remember Bill guarding the table full of Westvleteren Blonds that he had ordered on our behalf when he was the first one to arrive at the festival on Saturday afternoon. I remember Harrison being elected mayor of Brussels (or at least if the election was held that day, and only people at the beer festival, Delirium Cafe and Floris Bar could vote, he'd have won by a landslide).

It was a great time ... a lot of serious Belgian beer drinking ... and I'm sure if I thought long and hard enough, a humorous anecdote or two ... but I'd rather not think about it too much. I'd rather just sit back and smile ...

And now the time comes from for a return trip ... Belgian Beer Weekend 2007 ... Brussels be warned, here we come!!!

Another Great Evening at the Beer Circus in Croydon

2007-08-23T21:42:00.000+02:00

Another great evening at the Beer Circus in Croydon ... and I may not be there to partake, but my spy camera did capture the following disturbing image ...

Young Steve is about to embark on a year long move to Paris, and he's been catching up on the latest fashion trends. Unfortunately, his fashion consultant is Grandpa Simpson:

"We can’t bust heads like we used to, but we have our ways. One trick is to tell 'em stories that don’t go anywhere—like the time I caught the ferry over to Shelbyville. I needed a new heel for my shoe, so, I decided to go to Morganville, which is what they called Shelbyville in those days. So I tied an onion to my belt, which was the style at the time. Now, to take the ferry cost a nickel, and in those days, nickels had pictures of bumblebees on 'em. 'Give me five bees for a quarter,' you’d say. Now where were we? Oh yeah—the important thing was that I had an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time. They didn’t have white onions because of the war. The only thing you could get was those big yellow ones..."

The onion necklace is a 21st century variation of the style ... and I understand it is taking Paris by storm.

Good luck in Paris Steve, it looks like you're going to need it!

Beer Tsunami

2007-08-20T16:56:00.000+02:00

How many Pints do you need to see beyond the Event Horizon?

Having been hibernating for the last 12 or so months your correspondent was lucky enough to wake up just in time for the Great British Beer Festival 2007.

Our group converged from exotic places far and wide - South Carolina, North and South Croydon, Redhill....

There was a fine selection of 300 or more beers and we were determined to down a sample pint or two of most of them. The pasties were good too!

Things were going well, but by 8pm the Alcohol Induced Time Dilation Effect was already starting to kick in. Not only that, but we were witness to another stranger-than-reality quantum event...it happened like this.....

It was mid evening and having downed only 6 or 7 pints we were obviously still at the height of our observational powers when suddenly a colleague shouted that someone had stolen my beer! Outrageous! We leapt to our feet and gave chase...we caught the hapless suspect but he didn't have a clue what we were talking about! Strange....very strange! Then imagine our surprise when we returned to our table only to find the beer glass - and contents - right there in front of us! Spooky! How could that have happened?

Of course, the only possible explanation is that the glass must have been temporarily sucked in and out of a micro worm hole (they're getting quite common in West London, especially near bars). The virtual thief, seen by my reliable friend, was obviously some kind of phantom artifact at the event horizon. Luckily we had had enough beer to calm our nerves and we decided to carry on drinking regardless. That's the true blitz spirit!

Next adventure: Brussels 31st August (preceded by a limbering-up session at the Beer Circus, Croydon, 23rd August).

R.A.B.

P.S. if a half drunk pint of English bitter should happen to spontaneously appear in front of you you know where it came from....don't worry, just blink and it will be gone.

Beer. Is There Anything it Can't Do?

2007-05-03T17:17:00.000+02:00

Since there’s been nary a post to this blog in quite some time I can only assume that one of three things has happened:

1. Everyone who used to post here has given up the drink and is now politely typing away on the Competitive Scrapbooking Blog.

2. In what can best be described as a freak occurrence, everyone has simultaneously drank their collective foot off. Police insist that the incidents are “unrelated”.

3. My dear friends and beer guzzling compatriots have FINALLY modeled there lives after Jack Nobrains and are comfortably secured within their mansions watching Brokeback Mountain over and over while trying to figure out how the Xbox 360 controller works.

Regardless of the reasons I have decided to post a cautionary tale. This, my dear friends, is what can happen if the drink speaks louder than reason. A few weeks ago, the boys in ASOF got together and had a pint or six. At some point during that conversation the fateful words “Wouldn’t it be funny if …” started a sentence … but it also started a whole lot more.

My sad, disillusioned singer decided that it would be a good idea to create the world’s only Punk Rock Britney Spears Tribute Band. And yes, it seemed like a good idea at the time. A beer here, a rehearsal there, and two weeks later we had what is now HitMeBaby – The Only Punk Rock Britney Spears Tribute Band You’ll Ever Need.

Oh, if only I were joking.

Since that time we have played ultra-fast, hyper-aggressive yet tween friendly renditions of Ms. Spears tunes to sold out crowds throughout Oregon. I am ashamed to report that it is to date the most successful thing I’ve done musically and yes, has claimed the teeny bit of credibility and dare I say – dignity - that I had left. But the money is good and there is almost always beer involved. I invite you to share in my coinciding shame and success. www.myspace.com/bangingbritney - you can also see pics from our first show HERE.

I can only hope that we are worthy of a Skippy The Lizard post. Dare I say that we may become his new favorite band.

Please drink more, and then write more. I know there are still stories to tell.

Treated like "Royalty"

2006-10-04T01:29:00.000+02:00

One of the great things about Amsterdam is that you just never know. Seriously. You never do. Even the most mundane, simple, or otherwise generic situation can evolve (or in all likelihood escalate) into something very, very different that what you anticipated.

Case in point: Club Royalty off the Leidseplein.

One night during our recent trip, Steve and I were wandering aimlessly about town trying to find live music. You would think that a party town like Amsterdam would have tons of live bands gigging nightly to packed houses …. You’d be wrong. It was a Saturday night at about 10pm and we simply could not find a club with a live band. Now, I’m not counting the weird two man band in the horse trailer pulled by a golf cart that stopped every two hundred yards so that a skinny Dutch kid could do an awful karaoke version of Iron Maiden’s “Run to the Hills”. Oh yeah, that really happened … but it still doesn’t count.

We were prepared to give up the hunt and just get to the business of drinking without provocation when just out of earshot we heard the strains of what could only be a live drum kit and a slightly out of tune guitar. “A band!” we screamed, “an honest to goodness band!” and we scurried off toward the sound. It was coming from a very dark, very modern looking place called Club Royalty. We paid the doorman, went inside, and there, on the stage, was a band called Mongo or Mondo … something like that.

Okay, this is where it gets weird. The band was fun – a Dutch cover band doing passable versions of U2 and Lenny Kravitz songs – but apart from the band and the staff …. Steve and I were the only people in the place. Not weird you say? Well, dig this …. Big bar, four bartenders on duty, three doormen, two bar backs, and a host of additional people … all for …. me and Steve. Further, there was an upstairs with an additional four staffers. Still, just me and Steve and our glasses of Heineken ... which we could get refilled by any number of people at the raise of an eyebrow. It was the best service ... ever!

An hour passes … then two. We watch the band (still just us), and notice even more people reporting for work! At this rate there was about a 6 to one staff to patron ratio meaning that Steve and I could easily walk from one end of the empty bar to the other on the heads of bar employees without ever touching the carpet. We were stunned. The band played on and eventually announced there last song. It was a rousing AC/DC cover that met with the hearty applause that only four hands can make. Then it happened …

At exactly midnight the bar was full. I don’t necessarily remember people coming in … I just remember being one of two people in the room and then, in the blink of a bleary eye, there were two or three hundred people taking up every available square inch of space. I'm not complaining - we had fun and met some very interesting folks. We even came dangerously close to a full on bar fight with some older gents who seemed to be dressed for an "Insurance Salesman of the Year" banquet. Even stranger, now it cost 25 cents to pee ... and from a female Men's Room attendant who looked like she had borrowed Lindsey Lohan's liver for the weekend.

The band never went back on – so no one but Steve and I actually saw them - instead a DJ playing 80s dance records took over – but the place remained balls to the walls packed until 4am. Needless to say, it became harder to get a beer when there weren’t eighteen people serving the two of us. Ah, but we managed to drink until we were asked not to, and since it was Steve's birthday ... plenty of ill advised tequila was involved.

As is always the case, the story gets weirder and darker and involves one of us doing our part to strengthen international relations in a way the UN can only dream of … but I’ll leave that story for braver souls to tell ...

Suffice to say that Amsterdam always delivers ... just not always on time.

No, Not the Crock Pot!

2006-09-29T22:41:00.000+02:00

Many moons have passed since the completion of the 2006 World Drinking Tour and not one single post? Is it shame that keeps the faithful from imparting their tales? Perhaps … but as one without shame, allow me to cast the first stone.

It was rendezvous day. The day that our Belgium contingent would board their train and join Steve and myself in Amsterdam. The plan was to meet at 7:30 (pm) at the Café Belgique and then … game on.

Me and Steve? Well, we’d been in Amsterdam for a few days already and were starting to feel the effects of having done very bad things … lightly peppered with the pain that comes from knowing you still have bad things left to do. We had awakened – or better yet – “come to” at about 2pm and were walking to get some coffee. We were far too traumatized for a scone but secure in the knowledge that we’d bounce back by 7:30 and be ready to drink anew.

At roughly 2:15 we passed through the alley where the spectacular beer bar, In De Wildeman, is located. As fate would have it, I turned, looked, and saw Skippy walking into the Wildeman just as we passed. He hadn’t seen me yet. I turned to Steve and said,

“Hey, that was Skippy … they must be early … we should go have drink with him.”

It seemed like a good idea t the time.

Now Steve is not known for his Zen-like wisdom, in fact, given the right chemicals and the opportunity and he’ll drag you like a fool straight towards the most dangerous of dangers. But, on this day he morphed into the Yoda of organized bending and said:

“Now, you do know what it will mean if we meet up with Skippy now, don’t you?”

I did, in fact, know. And once you know … you can’t unknow. Still, we steeled ourselves and headed back to the bar.

As it turns out, Skippy and his brother had spent the entire train ride consuming the better portion of a fifth of home made lemincello. Lemincello, for those who don’t know, is a potent Italian liquor that looks like drug test urine and tastes like a combination of creamed corn and lemon furniture polish. It’s an acquired taste to be sure, and apparently Skippy had acquired it. He was already blasted.

Time passed, beer flowed, and Skippy fell further and further down the rabbit hole that is blind ass drunk. We met the rest of the crew at the Belgique shortly thereafter and well ahead of our original 7:30 time. A few beers at the Belgique, and then off to the Golum … another well oiled beer bar that will hurt you if you let it.

As we approached the Golum it was packed full of people. Skippy, in desperate need of a beer he desperately didn’t need, rushed into the fray while some of us hung outside. We were chatting away when … BAM! We heard a commotion behind us and noticed a Golum patron had completely passed out, fallen straight to the ground, and whacked his head solidly on the bricks for good measure. I mention this only because every member of our group had the exact same thought at the exact same second: “Is it one of ours?” (Translation: Skippy) Luckily it was not a member of our group, though the poor fellow had clearly hurt himself and did end up spending at least one night in Amsterdam at whatever passes for an Emergency Care facility. We wish him well.

More beers and then, as is always the case, Mr. Wilson suggested dinner. He is perpetually tired but driven to great feats of endurance by the fact that he is also perpetually starving. We agreed on Thai food, picked the locale, and made our way – stumbling Skippy in the lead – towards the real meat of this story.

It was shortly after ordering our meal at the Thai place that Skippy went quiet. We all saw the change and braced ourselves for the worst. First he stopped moving. Then he lost all the color in his face. Then he began the side to side sway that always means your having an internal dialog with yourself about NOT doing what you are thinking of doing next. Skippy’s bro leaned over to assist but Skippy waved him away quickly. His expression was now one of hopeless acceptance and, like the devil in that Charlie Daniels song; he knew that he’d been beat. What happened next will go down in history as one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen.

It was clear that Skippy was going to vomit. His eyes were watering and his cheeks puffed out mightily as his last drink, twelve previous drinks, and possibly drinks from trips past surged forth into the on deck circle. His lips made that pursed pucker that you see in grand and glorious fountains and he did the tell-all forward lean. Then, like an archer frog aiming for a fly on a leaf, one thin long stream of former cocktail arched forth and onto the floor as straight and precise as the dancing fountains at the Bellagio in Vegas. Ah, but that was it. One little warning shot across the bow and then nothing.

At this point the table was in quiet chaos. Some did the graveyard whistle as if to say “Um, he’s not with us”. Some mentally prepared for the impending horrid scene involving restaurant management and possibly local authorities. Skippy’s bro jumped instantly into “crisis solver” mode and scanned the immediate area for some vessel to place in the way of what would surely be a flood of beer, booze and bile. He and I both saw the potential salvation at the exact same instant … it was on a little ledge just above Skippy’s head … it was a crock pot. The pot was slightly above us so we could not tell if it was empty, plugged in, hot, cold or otherwise. Skippy’s bro threw caution to the wind and went for it, but I immediately shouted: “NO! Not the crock pot” … probably louder than I wanted to.

In my mind I had visions of a steaming hot crock pot full of some odd soup with fish eyes floating in it crashing down, burning “Kung Foo” tattoos into his arm, and showering Skippy in probably the only thing more foul than what was waiting for release in his stomach. My shout rang true, the attempt was halted, and Skippy, somehow, managed to pull it together. Oh, there would be more vomit … pounds of it I’m sure, but not here, and not in this restaurant.
Skippy went outside for some air as we finished our meal and paid the check. As we exited the restaurant we reunited with Skippy and his bro and headed back out into the night. As we passed his hotel, Skippy gave us a mournful look and said, “I’m done.” We nodded, for we knew he was done … only we knew at 3pm and it was now 9.

With a look that said, “Dammit! I want to keep drinking but I can’t because I’ve been drinking!” Skippy made his way inside and on to a long night of Technicolor yawning and false promises of sobriety. There would be another night and we knew he’d be there … ready to go. Even the world’s greatest homerun hitter needs to sit out an inning once in awhile.

To Be a Character, You Need a Catch Phrase

2006-08-24T03:49:00.000+02:00

Some of the recent stories have talked about the catch phrases of past participants of the World Drinking Tour. Indeed, if you are not a regular participant, the best way to be remembered is to have a good catch phrase that defines your existence.

For Lance it was clearly, "We could drink another Belgian beer, or we could go watch some bloke shaggin' a bird." For him, that was more than a catch phrase, it was a life motto.

For Martin G, it was "I work for a small company, and I don't have an expense account." Maybe not such a great catch phrase, but you always knew you'd be picking up the tab.

And I'm sure I'll think of some others, but this got me thinking about the catch phrases of some of our regular tour participants.

Keef is a complex individual, and it is tough for a single catch phrase to define him. But he does have a few catch phrases that stand out in my memory ...

"I slept in that bunker one night." - An off-hand comment as we drove past the golf course on our way to my first visit to the Skimmington Castle pub.

"All I've got to say is that I've got nothing to say." - Keef is rarely a man of few words, much less the same few words repeated over and over again. However, he must have said this to me about 50 times as we wandered the streets of Amsterdam, hoping that I would be able to recall the way back to our hotel.

"All the time you're drinking, you're saving money." - This was Keef extolling the financial advantages of drinking at the cafe across the street from the Westvleteren monastery. In fact, if you haven't already, you should sign up for his next financial planning seminar.

"One pint is too many, and ten pints is too few." - Classic sage advice from Keef on what would happen if we popped 'round the Skim for a drink.

"I think I'll order another Hurricane, so I can catch up to you all." - Definitely Keef's greatest weakness ... if you started drinking before he arrived, he'll insist on trying to catch up. But 3 Hurricanes in the span of an hour at Pat O'Brien's in New Orleans was an ill-advised plan.

As I think about the other regular tour participants, I can see that we've got work to do in establishing catch phrases. Here are a few, that probably only the regulars will understand ... see if you can match up the catch phrase with the participant to which it belongs ...

"I'm stuffed and exhausted." (Definitely better if an American says this one, as it could mean something a little different to a Brit.)

"Jeg snakker norsh veldig bra!"

"I have over 5 million years of marketing experience."

Yeah, these others aren't quite good enough to qualify as a catch phrase. And if you want to be a character, you need a catch phrase. Ponder this thought as we gather in 7 days time...

My First Croydon Experience

2006-08-23T00:04:00.000+02:00

Ah, Croydon.

Some people say that the best thing to ever come out of Croydon is the A23. But I can't find it in my heart to glorify an exit route from this fine city.

Indeed, many people across the southeast of England poke fun at Croydon, looking down on it with condescension. Yet, all of these people have a Croydon story, a Croydon experience that they are waiting to share with you, if only you ask. It may be a repressed memory, and you may need to put them under hypnosis in order to get them to talk about it, but their Croydon story is there waiting.

Ever since the walls came down, and East Croydon was reunited with West Croydon, there has been a renaissance spirit uniting all Croydonians. (It may be interesting to note that while there are areas of Croydon still known as East Croydon, West Croydon and South Croydon, there is officially no North Croydon. That is because London is actually North Croydon, renamed after a bitter civil war in 1649.)

But I'll never forget my first visit to Croydon. I believe it was before the walls came down, and I spent a week in East Croydon.

The trip started off on a bit of a surreal note, as colleagues took me to visit the Commonwealth Secretariat, which was a customer of ours. The Commonwealth Secretariat is like a mini-United Nations, comprised of all of the nations that are still considered to be a part of what was once the Great British Empire ... and is now known as the British Commonwealth ... an organisation that continues exists primarily so that the Commonwealth Games can be held, so that England has at least an outside chance of winning some type of international sporting event, since they don't stand a chance playing against real countries.

Anyway, we were invited to a monthly pot-luck dinner/social event that was put on for Commonwealth employees. It was an interesting experience, and an enjoyable evening drinking them out of their supply of duty free Castle Lager at 50 pence each. The Canadian bartender did finally figure out that we wre not the new US delegation to the Commonwealth, but not before we had exhausted his supply of Castle (insert evil laugh here).

Declaring our international drinking mission a success, we returned to Croydon, and upon arriving at East Croydon station decided that there was still time to facilitate several more drinks.

So, we popped into a Croydon local. It was a nice summer's evening, with several picnic tables outside of a particular pub. Keef, Frenchy and I sat down, and took turns walking back into the pub to get the next round.

After several rounds, an odd little man stumbled up to our table and babbled "You're not going to let me in there, are you?"

"What?"

"You're bouncers right? And you're not going to let me in there, are you?"

"You can do whatever you like."

"You don't like me 'cause I'm from the norf. You're not going to let me in there."

"Whatever. If you don't want to go in the pub, you don't have to."

And the little man disappeared into the pub.

About 15 minutes later, he returned to our table. "You don't like me 'cause I'm from the norf. I could rip your heart out, right where you're standing."

We look up at him wondering what this guy is talking about.

"You don't like me 'cause I'm from the norf. I could rip your heart out, right where you're standing."

"Um ... excuse me, but we're sitting down."

"You don't like me 'cause I'm from the norf."

At that point, Keef stands up, and we realize that this little man is less than 4 feet tall ... and about half the size overall, compared to Keith's 6 foot plus frame. Maybe he did think we were standing up all along. Keef gives him a push ... and the little man runs off into a waiting car and quickly drives away.

Just a typical night out in Croydon.

Ah, but don't ask me about Croydon. If you really want to learn more about Croydon, you should check out the Croydon Film Commission web site at http://www.croydonfilmcommission.com. There you will learn about Croydon's "mini-Manhattan skyline", it's world renowned reputation as a "mecca for shopping and entertainment".

Whenever I have a spare moment, you'll find me with my web browser pointing to the Croydon Film Commission home page, continually hitting refresh so that I will be presented with a new "Croydon Film Fact". Like this one ... "Fact 114: Bill Murray was chased around Croydon in The Man Who Knew Too Much" ... in fact, I believe the man chasing him kept screaming, "You don't like me 'cause I'm from the norf!"

Flying Internationally with a Hangover

2006-08-22T17:15:00.000+02:00

In Sleepless in Sevilla, I talked about going out drinking all night before catching a morning flight. And that reminded me of another story about flying with a hangover.

Everyone knows that the secret to avoiding a hangover after a long night's drinking is to take two Advils (ibuprofen) and a glass of water before going to bed. After a particularly lengthy session, you might need to follow-up with another two Advil in the morning or in the middle of the night, as needed.

Armed with this knowledge, and a big bottle of Advil (or my bubble gum dispenser full of Advil, which I always take with me when I travel), it's been a long time since I had one of those truly nasty hangovers that I remember from my younger days.

But even with the Advil, that doesn't mean that you're going to feel 100% the next day.

The Skimmington Castle in Reigate is a great place to visit the night before a flight to the states. It's about a 10 quid taxi ride each way from London Gatwick airport, and relatively convenient if you stay at one of the airport hotels. But still, I don't recommend an early morning flight the next day ... noon is a bit more manageable.

Anyway, one morning, after a night on the cider at "the Skim", I was boarding a British Airways flight back to the US. I was a fairly regular traveller, and I knew the routine.

I made my way to my assigned seat and sat down next to someone that had the worst body odor that I had ever encountered. (Well, maybe it was the second worst. There was another flight from London to Johannesburg on South African Airways where I was seated next to a most malodorous fellow. Back then, they still allowed smoking on those flights ... so combine body odor with cigarette smoke on a 12 hour flight ... and you can bet the air sickness bags were deployed. It was kind of like the scene of the pie eating contest in "Stand By Me", except for the fact that none of the vomiting was projectile.)

Let's see ... where was I?

People were still boarding the plane, and I tried to block out the odor, but I couldn't. (My mind wandered back to that flight to Johannesburg, and I made sure that an ample stock of air sickness bags were at the ready.)

After a few more minutes passed, I knew I had to do something. I got up and walked to the back of the plane. I handed my boarding stub to a flight attendant and said, "I know this is a full flight. But I am sitting next to someone with the worst body odor that I have ever encountered in my life. And I need to find somewhere else to sit. I don't care if it's a middle seat, I don't care where the seat is ... next to the toilets has got to be even better than where I'm at."

The flight attendant told me that indeed the flight was very full, but he would see what he could do. I went back to my seat.

A few minutes later, a different flight attendant approached me and said "Sir, we've found another seat for you, if you would still like to relocate." I quickly grabbed my carry-on and said thank you.

As we walked forward, my hopes rose a bit, thinking maybe it was my lucky day, and I was going to score an upgrade out of the process.

Alas, we stopped in the next section of economy, and the flight attendant pointed me to a row of 3 empty seats in middle section of the plane. She explained, "These seats are reserved as crew rest seats. We will not be using them today. So after take off, if you like, you can pull the arm rests up, stretch out across the seats, and pull this curtain around the seats for some privacy."

"Thank you," I managed ... as I looked up and pondered the bit about pulling the curtain around the seats. I was well familiar with the trick of finding an empty row of 3 seats (or better yet, 4 on a 747), and putting up the arm rests to lay down and sleep during the flight. I was lucky enough to be on a relatively empty flight from Hong Kong to Vancouver one time when I discovered that secret. And since that time, for overnight flights from the US to Europe, I would always wait until near the last to board, asking the gate agent if they could find me a row of 3 seats to stretch out in during the flight. Even on fuller flights, there would often be an unused row in the back that was available, and my luck was pretty good with this approach. But this curtain bit was a new one to me.

A few more minutes passed, and another flight attendant came up and approached me. I assume this was a more senior flight attendant, probably either the one in charge of this particular cabin, or the cabin services director for the plane. She repeated pretty much the same thing that I had been told before when I was led to these seats. "These seats are reserved as crew rest seats. We will not be using them today. So after take off, if you like, you can pull the arm rests up, stretch out across the seats, and pull this curtain around the seats for some privacy."

Again, I said "Thank you," and thought about what a strange experience this was.

A few more minutes pass, and another flight attendant escorts another passenger to my row, and sits him at the other end of my 3 seat block. So much for stretching out and taking a nap today I thought.

Less than a minute later, another flight attendant approaches the chap at the other end of my 3 seat block and tells him, "Sir, I'm sorry, but these are crew rest seats. I know that my colleague told you that you could move here, but we have to keep these seats free. So, you're going to have to return to your original seat."

After escorting the other passenger back to his other seat, that flight attendant returns, leans over and tells me "These seats are reserved as crew rest seats. We will not be using them today. So after take off, if you like, you can pull the arm rests up, stretch out across the seats, and pull this curtain around the seats for some privacy."

"Alright, thanks," I manage to say out loud. But in my head, I'm starting to wonder if actually I'm the one with the body odor problem. It was a long night on the cider at the Skim, but I had managed a shower that morning ... didn't I?

The flight takes off, and before long, I was moving the seat arm rests up and stretching out across the seats to take a nap. As I lay there, before nodding off, I looked up at the curtain, but thought it was just too weird for me to pull the curtain around my seats. As I drifted in and out of consciousness before falling asleep for a good 5 or 6 hours, at some point I noticed that the curtain had been pulled around the seats for me.

It was a great flight. Thank you British Airways. I wish I could reserve similar flight accomodations for every flight that I take after a night at the Skim.

10 Days to Go

2006-08-21T18:49:00.000+02:00

The countdown continues. Only 10 days remain before the World Drinking Tour crew descend on Brussels and Amsterdam.

We understand that both cities have been alerted, and are in the final stages of preparation.

The secret tunnels of the Gollem in Amsterdam have been replenished with a supply of Westvleteren 12 (we hope anyway).

The Delrium Cafe in Brussels has an extra supply of restroom cleaning solvent in case Keef decides to give the Kasteel Blond another try. (I'm convinced that this instance was a bad bottle, as I was there when Keef drank 10 of these one evening in Popperinge ... matching me drink for drink as I enjoyed the Westmalle Tripel. I'll never forget the end of that particular evening when Keef remarked to me how glad he was that he was drinking something light and not trying to match me on the Westmalle Tripel. And I remember then explaning to him how the Kasteel, even the Blond, was an 11% beer, while the Westmalle Tripel was only around 9%.)

As the date draws near, we await the answers to many of life's great questions (and the side betting action) ...

Who will be the first to fall asleep in public? Where will it occur?

Who will be the first to chunder? Where will it occur? (My money is on me, as I've jinxed myself by mentioning the Keef episode above.) Will they order another drink afterward, or call it a night?

Can anyone make it to the 4am closing time at the Delirium for 3 consecutive nights?

Is Arjan still the bartender at Cafe Belgique? (And if he is, will we still remember his name when we finally arrive, or will we ask him all over again?)

Sleepless in Sevilla

2006-08-21T18:05:00.000+02:00

One of the interesting characters that some of us fondly remembered from the dot-com era (and some of us only remember without the fondness) is Martin G. Martin was, and probably still is, a drinking and eating legend, with superhuman digestive capabilities.

He was also famous for his oft-repeated line, "I work for a small company, and I don't have an expense account."

Nonetheless, Martin was a good laugh ... and despite the lack of an expense account, a relatively inexpensive drinking companion. That's because Martin could clear a tray of canopes faster than anyone else that I've ever known. Yes, he knew where the free drinks and grub could be found if there was a trade show anywhere in the area.

Alas, free canopes and drink were in short supply in Kashiwa, Japan. But we were happy to pick up the tab at the local kobe steakhouse.

My favorite Martin G story was an evening out after a trade show in Seville, Spain.

The previous evening, Martin (who had apparently finally gotten an expense account, or possibly stolen someone else's credit card) had taken me to an endless series of Tapas Bars ... ordering everything on the menu, and devouring it in haste ... before moving on to the next Tapas Bar.

But this evening, coming after the close of the trade show, would be a diet of liquid sustenance. Faced with a 7:30am flight the next morning, I tried to escape shortly after midnight. With no taxis to be found, Martin suggested that we walk to the hotel where he had stayed the previous night, where there was a taxi rack. (And where was Martin staying that night? ... in retrospect, I should have questioned that.) We walked for about an hour, and I was sober enough, that I recall Martin became very uncomfortable during that long walk, with tapas and canopes attempting to escape his massive digestive tracts. Thankfully he did not explode like Mr. Creosote, and we succesfully arrived at the hotel, which was complete with a taxi rack just as Martin promised.

Martin suggested that we should have a nightcap at the hotel bar after he relieved the pressures of his bowels. The imagery was more than a bit unpleasant, but being the suggestive sort, and always up for another drink, not to mention parched from the hour's walk, I stumbled to the bar and ordered a couple of beers and two shots of something tough. (A bad habit that I picked up from ColiniAL.) If Martin had suggested that we have a wafer-thin mint, I would have passed.

A couple of hours passed, and the hotel bar issued their last call.

At that point, I mentioned to Martin that it hardly seemed worthwhile to go back to my hotel and sleep before my flight, as I would probably never wake up to leave the hotel in time. He told me that he knew just what to do ... we walked out to the cab rack, and Martin told the driver to take us to an all night club. The dance music was horrible, but it was numbed by more shots of something tough. At about 6:30, I realized that I still needed to get back to my hotel to pack my bag and make it to the airport.

I made the flight. And I got a good 2 hours kip on the flight back to London.

There are probably cheaper places that my luggage could have stayed that evening. But as with every morning that came after an evening out with Martin G, I was just happy to still be alive.

We Could Get Another Drink .... Orrrrrrrrr.

2006-08-18T01:50:00.000+02:00

As the next Amsterdam trip draws ever nearer I feel it is my obligation to talk about my first trip to this holy place.

It was 1993 and I was but a lad of 24. I had made some very interesting international friends during my travels with Infinite Technologies, but none more interesting than Lance. Lance, or the “World’s Horniest Oompa Loompa” as we are fond of recalling him, was a chirpy British fellow of demure stature with an intense voyeuristic urge.

We discovered early on that we both shared of love of music. As it turns out, his parent’s lived in Redding, a mere stones throw from where the Redding Music Festival is held each year. It was agreed that my first trip to Europe should be to see this festival and to spend some quality time hanging out in England. Well, Redding Festival was great fun. I saw Green Day when no one cared about them, Soundgarden when people were just starting to care, and even Neil Young with Pearl Jam as his back-up band. I also saw local bands like CUSM (Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine) who I have a fondness for, and the now Drinking Team favorite Reef who you should go check out RIGHT NOW. Ah, but this tale isn’t about rock n roll … at least, not anymore.

During this ten day trip we had exhausted London, seen all of Redding, and still had a long weekend to kill. Lance suggested we take a drive over to Amsterdam for a few days or relaxation and recreation. “Amsterdam?” I said, naively. “Where the Hell is Amsterdam?” and he quickly pointed out that this historic city in Holland was quite the tourist destination. Being eager and pretty much open to anything not involving prison rape, I agreed and we were off.

I don’t remember much about that first trip other than I now dream of the place and wish to return there every chance I get. All I know is that we parked the car, walked into the center of town, and I immediately went into party overload. I felt like the brothers from Night At The Roxbury when they are first allowed into Mr. Zadir’s nightclub. “Pace yourself!” I cried inside … but to no avail. We arrived at 5pm and I was flat on my back, at the hotel, staring at the ceiling and trying to “make it stop” by 8pm.

The next day I awoke at the crack of noon and Lance, ever the goer, was ready to start fresh. I felt like the inside of a bus station urinal, but Lance knowingly suggested that a delicious Belgian beer would set everything “right as rain”, as he put it. There was wisdom in that little fella. I don’t remember the rest of the evening, but I remember that next beer … it was Duvel, and I love it to this day. The first sip was hell and the next forty were heaven. I was BACK!

Our two day trip ended up lasting four, and we slept on two inch foam pads in the scariest youth hostel on earth. We drank all day, smoked all night, and even explored Lance’s fondness for “Watchin’ a bloke shag some bird” … a quote that would later define him.

I’ve had more fun in Amsterdam since … it’s always more fun once you are a seasoned vet … and I’ve forgotten a good many trips there. Ah, but I’ll never forget that first trip. Like entering Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory for the first time, or what it must’ve felt like to step onto the moon. Yes, I took a good many years off my life that weekend, but hell, I wasn’t using them anyway.

New Year’s Evil

2006-08-17T01:05:00.000+02:00

This sordid tale occurs, not in any of the drinking Mecca’s of the known universe, but in the last place on Earth you’d ever hope to find two hopelessly loaded Americans and one drunken but well dressed English gent. Yes, Disney World in godforsaken Orlando, Florida.

The event was a Reseller conference for … well, to avoid a lawsuit, let’s just call the company Crap Taurus. The fine folks at Crap Taurus had recently relieved Lazy Eight of its relevance and were apparently ready to trumpet on about it at this overblown, poorly located, PowerPoint laden bore-fest in “The Happiest Place on Earth”. Oh, the irony.

Big Brain, WWKD, and ColoniaAl decided early on that the only reason to be at this non-event was to drink heavily. Oddly, this is the same reasoning behind past, more relevant Reseller Conferences; however those were well planned and sensibly located in places where you could get a decent beer or twelve.

Long story short … it’s been a long day of corporate “blah blah blah” and our heroes, now quite parched from boredom and in need of a thorough mind-numbing, are stuck in, of all places Disney-f’ing-World. Oddly, there is an adult section of this mouse-led horror show called Pleasure Island … and you can get good ol’ domestic brew and hard liquor at every street corner.

The drinks began to flow, including countless abysmal domestic beers, and then, because the beer was crap, the “T” word was mentioned. Ah, Tequila … ruiner of souls and ex Van Halen singers. As luck would have it, we found a Tequila stand just off of a huge outdoor stage with an awful eighties dance rock cover band. As lounge act strains of “Hip to Be Square” pulsed in our heads we sank shot after shot …. Until at long last “the feeling” arrived. You know “the feeling”? It’s that special place nestled between “just enough” and “one too many”. That place where you should stop drinking but know full well that you won’t.

It was after our third or fourth shot that everything went dark, the crowd went silent, and then a giant countdown timer started above the stage. Drunk and disorderly as we had become, we found this quite vexing. 10 … 9 … 8 … stop me if you’ve heard this.

Next thing you know fireworks are going off, the band is playing something horrible, and everyone is shouting “Happy New Year!” at the top of their LL Bean clad lungs. Seeing how it was April - Big Brain, WWKD and I were horrified! We’d finally done it … we’d finally drank ourselves into either the past or the future. Nether place would be good in this state.

As it turns out, this particular slice of refried Americana (Disney) celebrates New Year’s every single night. Yes, you can spend an entire week of evenings, in Groundhog-Day-like fashion, celebrating the same night over and over again. Still, who can blame ‘em? Our little group is much the same, just with more drinking and less funny hats.
I’d love to say that the night ended there, but alas there is a Part II to this tale that involves “one more drink” (words that always mean you are completely screwed) …. A hotel bar … the brand new CEO of Crap Taurus … and the “Nightcap from Hell”. I’ll leave that story for Big B …

Pizza in Cans

2006-08-15T16:12:00.000+02:00

Pizza in Cans. No, I'm not talking about the dream that the frustrated and misunderstood genius Chef Boyardee took with him to his grave.

But maybe that is what I should be talking about. Because not enough people know the story of Chef Boyardee, a dreamer, a genious with a brain so large that he became a chef after a visit to a chapeau shop, only to find that there were no hats big enough to fit his grossly enlarged cranium.

Chef Boyardee was a contemporary of Albert Einstein, and a fellow Physics professor at Princeton in the late 1930's and early 1940's. While Einstein grappled with abstract theoretical concepts that were the "in thing" in the Physics social circle at the time, Boyardee's feet were firmly planted on terra firma, and Boyardee studied how advanced particle theories could be applied to the culinary arts. Yeah, Einstein got all of the girls ... and Boyardee grew fat as their was no one around to help him taste test the results of his mind blowing culinary experiments.

Some say that Eddie Murphy's portrayal of Professor Sherman Klump in the Nutty Professor is in fact a post-mortem mockery of Boyardee and his work. Einstein was portrayed in a far more sensitive manner by Walter Matthau in 1994's I.Q. And this has renewed the bitter rivalry between the Einstein and Boyardee families. (As you may recall, the families had previously made peace with each other in 1977, when game show host Richard Dawson invited the two families to compete against each other in a special prime time edition of Family Feud. In that episode we learned that intelligence is not hereditary, as the families competed to a 0-0 tie.)

But back to Chef Boyardee and his dream. No, his dreams. With the 1940's came World War II, the big one, the war to end all wars. But today's text books oversimplify that war, and fail to recognize some of the major geopolitical trends and events that made this war truly global in proportion.

Yes, we all know about the Nazis. Yes, we all know about the Holocaust. And I'm not going to argue that it was not Hitler that led the Germans down an inevitable path toward war, and that he had to be stopped. And yes, this is a completely satirical story that I've spent a half hour on, not my whole life, so if you're easily offended, get over it.

Anyway, Germany, even in Hitler's day, was not the most fierce combatant on the battlefield. Today we have learned that the easiest way to keep the Germans in line is to send over washed up American pop stars and pop culture icons, and the Germans will be mesmerized. We didn't know that then, as David Hasslehoff (a.k.a., "The Hoff") would not be born until 1952. But still, even in the 1940's, we're not talking about that tough of an army.

But when Italy and Japan joined sides with Germany in World War II, that was what made WWII truly a global war, with nothing less than the future of human civilization at stake.

For Hitler, it was all about ethnic purity. But for the Italians and Japanese, it was about culinary purity.

Chef Boyardee had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams with his doctoral thesis, "On the Electrodynamics of Pasta". In his thesis, he theorized how the existence of pasta implied the existence of an equal amount of antipasta. Albert Schweitzer perverted these theories and used them as the basis for developing the atomic bomb. But Boyardee saw a more peaceful application of his theories, and he channeled these electrodynamic forces to create round pieces of spaghetti that could be preserved in cans. He called them Spaghetti-O's.

The Italians were understandably concerned about such a perversion of their national dish. Unbenownst to the Italian populace, Mussolini had struggled for years to create a similar food empire. He would boil pot after pot of spaghetti, hour after hour, day after day, and tie the ends of the spaghetti noodles in knots, trying to create a round spaghetti noodle. But instead of using knots, Boyardee had discovered the secret powers of antipasta, and how it could be used to accomplish unnatural feats with regular pasta.

Furious and jealous, Mussolini joined forces with the Germans.

Boyardee went to the front lines, bringing with him his cans of Spaghetti-O's, which nourished and fed the Allied troops, and gave them the strength to prevail in this most unholy war.

(Oddly enough, the Japanese were also brought into war over noodles ... Ramen noodles ... on sale this week at Safeway for 9 cents a package ... but that is another story for another time.)

Sadly, Chef Boyardee died in World War II. And with him, he took his greatest dream to his grave ... Pizza in a can. In between battles, Boyardee would run experiment after experiment in his make shift mess tent. Hours before his death, he successfully accomplished his life long dream, but his secret forumlas were destroyed in the bomb blast that took his life.

Some say he was a simple man, with a simple dream ... but 60 years later, no one has yet cracked the physics required to produce Pizza in a can.

While Einstein's theories proved to be ... well, they're just theories, aren't they? They didn't really do anything.

Now what was I talking about?

Ah yes ... Pizza in Cans.

Oops. That is the Americanized spelling based upon our mispronunciation of the city name ... sorry about that. It should read Pizza in Cannes. (The "s" is silent you stupide americain!)

The story of Pizza in Cannes is inspiring, but probably less so than the story of Chef Boyardee.

This story is about two soldiers, attempting to drink the town of Cannes dry of all quality Belgian beer during the 3GSM congress in 2005.

After a noteworthy 9 hour session in 2004 at Le Claridge ... our team returned in 2005 for a multi-night mission. The first day's session began around lunch time, and reportedly involved consumption of 12 or more Westmalle Tripels each.

Considering that to be a fine first day's effort, our soldiers decided to return to camp to prepare for the next day's battle.

The only problem was that they couldn't remember exactly where the camp was. After passing a pizza restaurant for the 4th time, they realized that there were either a lot of pizza joints in Cannes, or they were marching around in circles.

Alas, all of the marching had made them hungry, so they ordered a pizza for take away, and set off to find their camp.

The soldiers found their camp, and while devouring the pizza, rang up hundreds of pounds (and dollars) of charges on their mobile phone bills, calling drinking mates who were not able to attend this particular outing.

And they dutifully returned to Le Claridge every night during 3GSM ... where the happy bar manager welcomed them, and kept ordering reinforcements the rest of the week, after running out of Westmalle Tripel that second night.

A sign at Le Claridge proclaimed it "Cave aux Bières", and to this day, it is my favorite cave, and the only place that I will go spelunking in Cannes.

Esteemed Colleague's Birthday

2006-08-08T15:19:00.000+02:00

Friday 14th July: a forgettable night for everybody who enjoyed it, a memorable one for those who didn't!

A warm-up at The Beer Circus, followed by a curry at the Banana Leaf is a recipe for lost memories and expensive phone bills, and this evening was no exception (as far as I can remember).The proprietor of the Beer Circus dug in the bowels of the cellar to get his secret supply of Westvleteren 12, which true to form we did our best to consume in its entirety. One of the highlights of the evening was being able to share the world's largest glass of 12 (photo).

At the Banana Leaf your correspondent decided to reverse the usual "doubling up on orders as time passes" policy by ordering two bottles of claret for starters (it avoids the tedious business of trying to attract the waiter's attention when you need another bottle half way through the hors d'oeuvre...).

People came and went throughout the evening. At least one person (name withheld to protect their already tattered reputation) indulged in some organic street art in an adjacent car park, whilst the others enjoyed making phone calls to colonial friends.

We're still not sure who, if anyone, paid for the meal. Who says you can't have a free lunch?

My Ex-Houndog

2006-08-02T05:58:00.000+02:00

I put the murdurous hounddog to death yesterday...

Baked him in a fine chocolate crust ... sprinkled Jimmies on him ... and snaked a garden hose through the plate handles.

When asked by the ponderous woolyman "why's your cootie?", I responded "why not"...

Really cracked him up, I tell you smoker-man!

The 30 Day Countdown

2006-08-02T05:38:00.000+02:00

The blogging has slowed down, but I can assume this is only because everyone is working so hard to prepare for the upcoming trip.

In only 30 days, the American contingent of the upcoming tour will be boarding their aircraft for the transatlantic journey. Some will be tempted to over-imbibe on the flight to start the trip off right ... and ... well, others will just over-imbibe. I mean, temptation ... that word doesn't even seem to make sense in this context. Should I drink or should I not drink? What type of question is this? I mean, the alcoholic drink is there for the asking. In situations like this, I just ask myself, "What would Keith do?" 'Nuff said.

But seriously, you don't want to overdo it, because Thursday, August 31 will be a long day in Brussels (especially for those of you whose flight lands at 7am). And the quality of airline drink leaves a lot to be desired. You want to be ready for what awaits in Brussels.

The Delirium Cafe will be the official meeting spot for tour participants. The primary UK team doesn't arrive on the EuroStar until 6pm, so early arrivals are cautioned to pace themselves. Remember, the Delirium stays open until 4am.

For those who are not familiar with The Delirium Cafe, it features over 2500 different beers from around the world. But most importantly, it has the widest selection of Belgian beers. So start thinking about those first few Belgian beers. Will you stampede straight for the Westvleteren 12? What would Keith do?

Across the street from the Delirium Cafe is the new Floris Bar, presented by the same owners as the Delirium. Floris is a brand new bar specialising in Absinthe and Jenever. Yeah, we're talking about the almost mythical green fairy, Absinthe ... check out Wikipedia for more links and information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Absinthe. And Jenever, our old friend ... I can recall many evenings at the old Belgo Zuid when the Jenever stick would arrive at the table. Curiously, I don't recall the rest of those evenings ... What did Keith do?

The Floris Bar is reportedly open until 8pm to 6am on Wednesdays thru Saturdays. And yes, that is frightening.

Friday afternoon, the survivors will probably try to pay a visit to Cantillon Brewery. http://www.cantillon.be

And then Friday evening, the Belgian Beer Paradise festival descends on Grand Place. http://www.belgianbeerweekend.be

Over the course of the weekend, the beer festival, Delrium Cafe and Floris Bar should keep us busy. But in between, we'll try to make time for visits to A La Mort Subite (sudden death), and the Bier Circus.

Late Sunday afternoon, the brave will journey on to Amsterdam ... and we'll see old friends at the Gollem, Belgique and Wildeman. If Absinthe is a hit, then we're also investigating reports of an Absinthe bar in Amsterdam.

Derivative Market in Green Tea Credits for Serious Alcohol Drinkers : GRETEC

2006-06-29T13:54:00.000+02:00

Inspired by the recently formed Carbon Trading Markets, that allow the worlds polluters to buy carbon credits from forest growing countries, I am proposing to create a derivative market in Green Tea Credits.

Green tea is rich in anti-oxidants and, it is said, helps purge the body of the toxins left after consuming too much alcohol. Unfortunately it tastes disgusting. But, some people like it. Its very similar to the way in which some people like modern lifestyles, with cars, TVs, factories, power stations, etc, whilst others are happy to live in mud huts and hug trees.

This is the basis for a potentially symbiotic relationship between alcohol drinkers and green tea drinkers. The Green Tea Credits Market (GRETEC) will enable alcohol drinkers to purchase Green Tea Credits from green tea drinkers, thus allowing them to mitigate their boozing without going through the inconvenience of actually drinking green tea.

Since the benefits of green tea drinking are probably purely in the mind, there's no reason why this approach shouldn't work just as well for the credit buyers, so long as they truly believe in the benefits.

Longer term, because the people who hug trees are probably also the people who like green tea it is not inconceivable that the Carbon Trading Markets and GRETEC could merge into one unified market so that enlightened consumers can live a life of unabated luxury, get pissed, be healthy, and save the planet all at the same time.

R.A.B.

To Sleep, Per Chance to Dream ...

2006-06-22T21:50:00.000+02:00

It happens to the best of us.

A few drinks ... more than a few drinks ... and while it inspires some to formulate groundbreaking new theories in quantum mechanics ... some of the rest of us just need to head to our "Laffin' Place" for a little while. Recharge, refresh, renew ... for the inevitable next stop on the pub crawl.

There's nothing wrong with sleeping in public ... whether it's on the train back to Dublin from Bray ... the lobby at the Jury's Christchurch in Dublin ... or eating an Indian meal in Amsterdam.

The Skimmington Castle is also a popular spot for a kip.

When you need to worry is when your friend (not pictured) is still awake but says "Don't leave me, I can't find my way back to the hotel, and I've lost my room key." We were good friends, sort of, we got him back to the hotel, and helped Paul explain to the front desk that he had lost his room key. But then we left Manuel to escort Paul back to his room, so we could go grab another beer at the hotel bar. It was a relief to hear that Paul woke up the next morning fully clothed ...

Drink Induced Time Dilation Effect

2006-06-14T17:46:00.000+02:00

Drink Induced Time Dilation Effect
- or, the bits missing from Einstein's General Relativity

Sorry to start talking quantum mechanics before we've even started drinking (although this inversion of cause and effect could in itself be proof that serious drinking is definitely going to happen), but I've been pondering the subject of how time becomes increasingly compressed in proportion to the volume of alcohol consumed.

I shan't bore you with my highly scientific analysis, but here are my conclusions:

1. Start drinking as soon as you can, because you will almost certainly run out of time later (although it has been known for the bar to run out of stock first, but that's a different problem...)
2. The reason you can't remember anything about the evening after a certain time is that after a certain volume the evening ceases to exist.
3. Some misguided folk think the time-dilation effect can be counteracted by doubling up on the orders as the evening progresses. Unfortunately this is self-defeating, particularly when at closing time and with a taxi waiting, you have to down 4 x Westvleteren 12 in 45 seconds.
4. The compression of time has a benign effect on the journey home, because it allows you to get home before you need the "gents" (or before you need the wash basin.....depending on the nature of the emergency). This is particularly useful on the long taxi ride back from St. Sixtus to Brussels, or from The Skim to Knightsbridge.
5. The reason sober people think you are slurring your speech when you're drunk is that they are in a different time dimension. Quite by accident I've discovered the antidote to this - drink Westvleteren 12's. I've found they allow you to switch between time dimensions at will. This is particularly useful when phoning random friends on the journey home. Note: this only works if you stick exclusively to the 12's - diluting with 6's and 8's counteracts the effect.
6. In physics, every action has an opposite reaction, and the proof of this is that the compression of time is balanced by the expansion of your mobile phone bill.

Fancying myself to be a mathematician (a common fantasy here in Croydon), I've devised the following formula to describe the above phenomena:

DT = t / ( 15v * square(AI))

Where:
DT = Drink Time (perceived time)
t = "normal" time elapsed in minutes
v = Volume (in units) consumed
AI = Alcoholic Index

Sample AI values:

Water = 1
Budweiser = 1.0000000000000000001
Cobra = 5
Addlestone's = 7 (note: based on observation rather than experience)
Westvleteren 6 = 6
Westvleteren 8 = 8
Westvleteren 12 = 12
Dry Martini (c/o Tiger Tiger, Croydon) = 1
Dry Martini (c/o Zaika, Kensington) = 25
Coffee = 0.5

You will note that although increased volume results in ever more compression of time, time never stops completely. Note also, that drinking coffee or not having at least one drink every 15 minutes reverses the effect and can cause time to drag. Worse still, drinking nothing at all makes DT seem, literally, like an eternity. This means you will have no choice to repeat the challenge the following day. This is proof that there really is a meaning to life, the universe and everything.

R.A.B.

Great Moments in Curry: The Rorschach Blot

2006-06-14T04:27:00.000+02:00

We were at the end of a long day in Covent Garden, London, and were drowning our sorrows in 10 or 11 pints of The Porterhouse's finest Oyster Stout, when we felt "the need for curry".

Like a rowboat being pulled to sea by the rapidly ebbing tide on Dublin bay, we found ourselves helpless to resist a small curry joint just round the bend from the Porterhouse.

We ordered up everything on the menu ... downed the massive quantities of India-inspired sustenance in a feeding frenzy ... and then I excused myself, and headed down the steep steps to the loo.

As I was washing my face, pre-relief, I decided to give into the massive pressure that had been building in my bowels and attempted to pass wind. Well, holy Moses, was that a mistake!

I don't know whether it the oyster stout or the curry, but a tidal wave of the hot stuffins filled my previously white shorts. I swiftly headed for the, thankfully full-door, lockable head, where I stripped off the offensive garments and hid them under the throne. After about half a roll of TP and 10 minutes, I managed to make myself presentable enough to exit, only to find out my jeans had been breached by a brown Rorschach blot. So I wrapped my raincoat 'round my waist and casually strolled back upstairs for a hasty escape. I'll always wonder who the next poor soul was to enter the loo...

Another Sad Frank and Beans Story...

2006-06-12T00:46:00.000+02:00

Suddenly, as Skippy (the Skip-meister as we call him) came wandering through the vestibule, he was shot dead.

The bullet had come from nowhere, it seems, but oh, what a mess it made. It had struck him square in the mouth, causing an avalanche of tooth and jawbone fragments to rocket across the foyer into the lap of a job interview candidate named Missy.

Skippy howled, as best he could with his face hanging, well, out of his face, and scared everyone shitless. He writhed and bucked with blood shooting out of his face like a fountain, until he finally lay there still, in a pool of blood.

Missy was so surprised and disgusted, the vomit literally exploded from her face, catapulting the retainer from her mouth and putting the eye out the receptionist seated nearby.

Yes, she had been on an all-hotdog and bean diet, and YES, that did stink...the stink of the dead I think it's often referred to. The receptionist arose and ran for the door...God only knows why, but tripped over the chainsaw wielding drawf who was trimming the bushes. He cut her in half at the knees...her lower legs left standing in mid-stride, while her torso broad-jumped onto the hood of a parked car where it lay motionless, giving the hood of the car what looked like one of those flame-front paintjobs.

Why did it have to happen on the day I wore my lucky suit? The rich, velvety dark crushed velvet fabric was just covered, no permeated, with the remains of Missy's lunch. I am still amazed to this day how she leapt across the room, and started sucking the vomitus from the fabric...kind of makes you sick, eh?

Undergraduate Studies at the Bier Akadamie in Celle, Germany

2006-06-10T19:28:00.000+02:00

The post-graduation job placement leaves a little to be desired (and might explain why the unemployment rate in Germany is so high), but have no doubt, these guys offer the best undergraduate program around.

We had to overcome a language barrier on our first visit to the academy. After a lengthy session at another pub, we wound our way back to Celle and decided to stop into the academy for a nightcap. Maybe we could even score a scholarship!

I looked the bar man straight in the eye and asked for "dunkelweizen".

He poured a Coca-Cola.

I repeated "dunkelweizen".

He shook his head as if not to understand. At that point, we knew that we weren't going to qualify for a scholarship, and we began to fear that our application to enroll at the Bier Akademie would be rejected.

"Dunkelweizen" repeated the foreigner lost in Germany.

"Ah...Dunkles...Dunkles Weizen??"

Okay ... so perhaps it was the bartender who was behind in his studies. But he served us a round of "Dunkels", an Einbecker Dunkel ... which was a dark lager as opposed to the dark wheat beer that we had requested, but it was good ... and it sure beat the hell out of a Coke.

Then we had a Jever, and we realized that a good pilsener beer actually did exist in Germany. Imagine that.

It's a good thing that the Bier Akademie doesn't schedule any morning classes, as otherwise we never would have graduated.

You don't need a 3.5 GPA to get in. Apply now for an undergraduate degree at the Bier Akademie in Celle, Germany.

Barbers Everywhere Wept...

2006-06-10T05:16:00.000+02:00

When the winds of change came to the little town of Bonefish, the barber was ever so distracted. What normally would have been "just a nick", as referenced in the professional manual for "tradesmen of the hair" everywhere, became a long, wide, deep gash across the neck of Johnny Turbine, who was treating himself to "a close one" prior to his date with Nancy Nixon, the daughter of mayor Nixon, who was know around town as "a goer". "Bummer", Johnny thought, as his life gushed down his front, this surely was a mistake that could be fixed. This couldn't possibly have happened to me!!!! This wasn't what I meant when I prayed for "a slice" this morning!!!!

So what else is new?

I'm Jonesin' for a McKroket

2006-06-08T19:05:00.000+02:00

Yeah, the Belgian beer is pretty good. But right now, I'm hungry, and I'm jonesin' for a McKroket.

No trip to Amsterdam is complete without a late night visit to McDonald's for a McKroket.

Of course, the die hards prefer the Krokets at FEBO, as they're open all night.

Mmm ... the cheesy goodness ... the minced pieces of mystery meat ....

September can't come too soon ...

Synchronised Hurling in Dallas Texas (1993 or 1994)

2006-06-07T03:53:00.000+02:00

Speaking of Dallas ...

We first ventured into Dick's Last Resort in Dallas. A yearly trade show in Dallas and a legendary pub crawl where you didn’t really crawl so much between different pubs, as much as you crawled out of Dick’s at the end of the night and tried to make your way back to the hotel.

I've spent a number of evenings with friends at Dick’s in Boston and in Chicago, but there was something about those Dallas experiences.

The drink of choice was Mamba Beer, a strong lager brew from Africa. I don’t remember the Mamba being especially good, it was just strong, and came in a 25 oz. bottle … and this was during the quantity over quality days. (Now days, it's quality and quantity ... not either or.)

Al and I had consumed mass quantities of Mamba, and it was nearing closing time. Our trade show “father”, Father John, hoped to see us on booth duty the following morning, so he started the work to migrate us back to the hotel.

Al and I exited the front door, and raced around the corner, only to find an open air bar that was still serving. Al slapped his hand on the bar and called out, “Two shots of something tough and a couple of beers to chase them.”

That was my first and last meeting with Don Q 151 rum.

As we tipped back the shots, the color drained from our faces. Al put his head down at the bar, while I stumbled toward the sidewalk to take a closer look at the shrubbery.

As Father John searched the streets of Dallas for us, he could hear the stereo sound of synchronized vomiting (which I believe was an experimental Olympic event that year).

As I stumbled back toward the bar, Al through his arms in the air and proclaimed, “I’m cool!”

The Green Bay Packers were in town, and a cheesehead lady proclaimed, “You most definitely are not.”

A short Mexican leprechaun emerged from nowhere with a hose and sprayed down the damage. (I'm pretty sure he was a Mexican leprechaun, because we called him Hosè.)

“See what you made him do?” exclaimed the cheesehead.

Al may not have been feeling 100% at the time, but his wit remained quick: “Right, he was in the back, inventing a cure for cancer, and I interrupted him! I can see him back there now ... I was this close, and now I’ve got to go hose down the vomit again!”

Ah ... memories ... so many stories about hurling in Dallas ... so little time.

The True End of the Rainbow

2006-06-07T02:49:00.000+02:00

Well, Skippy -- as your older brother I must counsel and urge you to look ahead. You must not dwell only in the revelric anticipation of fine beer consumption, as tempting as that may be; rather, you must motivate yourself to consider the inevitable future that awaits you - i.e., you must look ahead to the morning after. (For as stated by that well regarded and respected philosopher and all-around smart person, Maureen McGovern, "There's got to be a morning after ...") I digress...

In any event, if you search and dig deep within yourself, Grasshopper (of course, I do not mean literally), you will find the truly relevant end of the rainbow -- or at least the one you will be looking for on "the morning after"!!!!!

My Favorite Mormon

2006-06-07T00:35:00.000+02:00

What’s worse than hanging out with a bunch of drunks? Hanging out with a bunch of drunks when you, yourself are NOT drunk. Or so I thought.

During the early days of Infinite Technologies we used to spend a lot of time at trade shows, and a lot of those shows were in Dallas. This was before Las Vegas became the “stand in a booth for eight hours” capital of the universe, and frankly, Dallas was often way more fun. You had to look for trouble in Dallas, rather than simply ordering it from room service.

One trip we met up with a dapper young man named Rodney. Rodney and Brett had worked together for years doing the e-mail thing so naturally Brett invited him to dinner with our crew. “Dinner” as it was called, consisted of eating something quickly to stave off blackouts and then proceeding to drink stupidly until either a cab was called or an arrest report filed. This is all well and good except that Rodney was (and I assume still is) a devout Mormon … and a damn good sport.

In Dallas we usually found ourselves at a place called Dick’s Last Resort. Dick’s boasted an impressive beer list, decent food, and wait staff who viewed dumping a full ashtray on the floor as “exceptional customer service”. Our drink of choice was, well, anything really, but we did have a deep love for Mamba Malt Liquor which came in a handy pint bottle and would truly improve your mood if you could keep it down. We drank Mambas … lots of em … and Rodney sipped 7-up.

As was usually the case, we drank too much and instantly reverted to the Cro-Magnon era. Rodney, hung in there … laughing at our jokes, adding to the conversation, and matching us 7-UP for Mamba the whole way. At the end of the night we poured ourselves into cabs, went back to the hotel and prepared to sweat and stagger through another day in the tradeshow booth, or as we called it “the thing that delayed the drinking”.

We were certain that Rodney had been polite, hung out, experienced what a mess we could become and would never, ever accept another invitation to hang out with us. We were very, very wrong. The next night, and for every night thereafter, we went out to guzzle silly quantities of beer and Rodney was right there. He seemed to really enjoy our company, and possibly the free entertainment, and he never once looked like he wasn’t having a good time.

We don’t do the trade show circuit anymore and Rodney lives in the mountains with his, get this – 13 children (probably had two or three more in the time it took me to write this). Maybe one day I’ll find myself on a bender with the Tabernacle Choir, and maybe I’ll make a friend or two, but Rodney will always be my favorite Mormon. (Don’t be sad Joe … second is good too).

One Ring to Rule Them All

2006-06-06T23:29:00.000+02:00

It is said that a man who is confident enough to wear a pink shirt is comfortable with his sexuality. I say that a man who is comfortable enough to enter a place called “The Cock Ring”, have a beer and buy a t-shirt is either very, very comfortable or possibly in denial.

We’ve been visiting Amsterdam for many, many years and often, during a late night stumble through the seedier sections of town we would inevitably pass this ominous and windowless place that we nicknamed the “C-Ring” for the purposes of telling this story in mixed company. Yes, it’s a gay bar and I doubt anyone has ever come upon it and thought otherwise, but you see, this is place is in a scary alley, has a scary dark window, and is, well, scary.

During one such trip, and after what is technically referred to as a “shit-load” of beers, I decided that it was time to brave the darkness and see exactly what was on the other side of that dark door. I will admit that having one of the coolest guys you’ll ever meet, Ryan, along for the visit legitimized us very much and besides, you don’t climb Everest without a Sherpa. Long story short - we went inside, had a drink, bought our shirt and left … less than impressed. It was loud, 70’s disco chaotic, and seemed to appeal more to the Right Said Fred crowd. Ryan declared it a waste of time and I was not qualified to argue. Still, I get a lot of comments whenever I wear my Cock Ring t-shirt … particularly at bake sales and during choir practice.

The real fun began across the street at Argos. Argos, also a gay bar, was far less NYC chic and had a local pub feel … provided your local pub has a long, dark, curtained hallway called “the dark room”. The bartender, who looked like a French cartoon character, eyed us suspiciously until he saw Ryan, then he relaxed. No, we weren’t on the guest list, but we were friends of a friend so it was all good. We ordered a drink and spent the next hour learning all the stuff HBO doesn’t teach you on Queer as Folk. We learned about the dark room and why it was probably not the best place to wander around in drunk if you weren’t prepared to be very, very friendly. Jacques (it’s not the bartender’s real name but it will forever be in my memory) sent us away with one of the best lines ever: “Many men, bored at home and after a long day of work will come here for … release in the “dark room” We provide a valuable service to the community.”

Yes, I have an Argos t-shirt too … and a sincere hope to one day be in shape enough to wear it.

A big thank you to Ryan for being one of the coolest people on earth to hang out with, and for not only tolerating, but humoring, my naivety. I’ll have drinks with you at Argos anytime … but I won’t be developing my film there.

End of the Rainbow

2006-06-06T18:47:00.000+02:00

Enough said.

All I've got to say is that I've got nothing to say.

Seemed Like A Good Idea at the Time …

2006-06-06T00:40:00.000+02:00

I realized mere seconds after writing the title to this blog that it could easily apply to hundreds of stories from our travels. The beauty of ignorance is that danger is only dangerous if you are aware of it. It’s like the Coyote in the old Roadrunner cartoons who only fell off of the cliff once he looked down and realized he was in trouble. The lesson learned? Never, ever look down.

This story involves me and my esteemed colleague, Harry Dog. If you have never had the pleasure of joining HD for an extended partying session, I highly recommend it. I am almost 100% positive he is the only one of our crew to ever crawl naked through his bushes at 3am and call it a successful birthday.

It all started after several beer fueled nights in Amsterdam when HD and I decided to hold a one day, “all smoke” excursion. We rose early, waved farewell to our compatriots who were off for a day of overindulgence at the Windmill brewery, and with an impressive list of coffee shops in hand set out on our adventure. Now, if I have to explain coffee shop to you, well, you need to check out a blog on wooden shoes, windmills and the Anne Frank House. That is Amsterdam – but it is not MY Amsterdam. Sure, I like coffee - a lot - and we visited roughly seven coffee shops that day, but I can assure you at no point did a single drop of java pass these lips. Somewhere Tommy Chong is smiling.

HD and I visited a wide range of places, sampling the house specialties and soaking up the local color. We started at Abraxas, who make a spectacular and very special Milkshake, and then hit a few more larger spots like the Grasshopper, and the main branch of the Bulldog. After a much deserved break, during which I’m pretty sure we stared at a lamp post for about an hour, we opted for a few smaller, more intimate (and sometimes downright cozy) spots like Soft Temple, Barakka, and Rock Planet.

As evening replaced afternoon we found ourselves huddled in the back of an old favorite – the Bulldog Energy. Let me attempt to describe the Bulldog Energy for those who have not had the experience. It is a small place in the basement of a modest row home and maybe holds 30 patrons. (30 for skinny super-model Dutch locals and only 20 or so if it’s full of us fat Americans). The décor is designed to make patrons feel as though they are sitting in a hollow tree - “Keebler Chic”, if you will. Lots of foliage, mushroom barstools, bark, vines, and the obligatory gnome in a bright red hat. To most folks it would be unsettling … luckily we were extremely high so it all seemed about right. Now, I could spin personal tales of the Bulldog Energy for days, up to and including a very scary night involving smart drinks, connect four, and a bad case of the “get-em-off-mes”. But this story is about Dutch Rap Music and the marketing power of a really good buzz.

As we sat in our little corner - rolling, lighting, toking, rinsing, and repeating – the most wonderful music filled the room. Big beats, cool samples, and wave after wave of rhymes in brash, streetwise Dutch. I surmised later (in that way that one does when the eyes get glassy and you inevitably ask “what if we’re just dust on a Giant’s fingernail) that if you don’t speak Dutch then the vocals in a Dutch rap song become just another instrument.
Deep, man, Deep.

We mused upon this further, listening to one track after another before finally deciding that we could not live another second without owning this CD. Steadying ourselves we approached the kind and generous bar keep – some high cheek-boned twenty-something who we will call Klaas for the purpose of this story – and asked for the name of the artist. He smiled, placed his giant “Up In Smoke” doobie in the ashtray, and scribbled these words onto a scrap of paper: Lange Frans & Baas B

HD and I, grinning as though we’d just been handed the Holy Grail – thanked the lad and rushed headlong into the street to acquire this new found musical treasure. We needed a CD shop, and we needed it fast. Amsterdam, for the uninitiated, is not a place where you “know where something is”. Sure, you can visit a locale – a bar, coffee house, shop, pub, hotel, etc. – many times, possibly many times in one day, but you will never know “where it is”. Perhaps it’s the luck of the ignorant, or some divine entity that takes pity on poor, inebriated fools, but you will, with enough wanderlust, eventually find whatever it is that you are looking for.

There we were, HD and I, red eyed, disheveled, and staggering blindly through the streets of Amsterdam clutching what very well may have been a Top 1.5 with some Dutch words scribbled on it. Here, things get fuzzy, but I do know two things: We both woke up the next day with copies of the Lange Frans & Baas B CD, and we both ended up back at the Bulldog Energy in what seemed like a matter of seconds. I can only imagine the sheer look of terror (or worse, familiarity) on the faces of the Free Record Shop staff as we poured ourselves up to the counter, blathered something unintelligible, and thrust that crumpled scrap in front of them. Somehow, as is always the way in Amsterdam, it all worked out.

Yes, we went back to the Bulldog Energy, and yes we continued our celebration of “just being there”. Another interesting fact about Amsterdam is that if you travel with a group, and you split up (intentionally or otherwise) you will inevitably end up at the same place by evenings end – at least in time for one more round. That was the case this night – as the rest of our crew stumbled in around 8pm and helped us finish the evening in style.

Later that week, we listened to the Lange Frans & Baas B on the van ride home from the airport once we were safely and sadly back in the states. No, it did not have the same awe-inspiring effect as it did that night, but I couldn’t help but remember … and smile. The tracks from that CD live on to this day … comfortably nestled in my iPod and always poised to provide a little random flashback. It always makes me smile and it always reminds me of how lucky I am to have the friends I have and to have a place like Amsterdam to share with them.

I’ll be at the Bulldog Energy again – sooner rather than later – and, with the proper herbal motivation I may just have a request for the DJ. Hell, I might even pronounce it correctly.

Barcelona 2006 - El Templo de la Cerveza

2006-06-04T21:05:00.000+02:00

There are a great many examples of stunning religious architecture in Barcelona. El Templo de la Cerveza (The Temple of Beer) is not one of these examples.

However, it is a fine establishment to venture into when you have tired of Estrella and San Miguel.

They have a special deal on Tuesday nights. 1/2 price drinks all night, but first you have to drink a glass of Hoegaarden as big as the size of your head. Keef is always willing to drink one for the team.

Actually he will usually drink more than one for the team.

Dublin & Amsterdam 2004

2006-06-03T14:46:00.000+02:00

"All I can say is that's all I can say" goes an old English saying...from some elder statesman I imagine.

It was a fine day in old Dublin town, we went for a stroll. Near St. James Gate, we were called by St. Urinus to baptize the entrance to the cathedral, so as good Irish lads, we had no choice but to comply with the calling.

A wee bit later, we were all nicely situated in Bray. The time in between the holy baptism and the sea coast seemed almost compressed. We speculated over our stouts..."imagine throwing a tennis ball into the air. The harder you throw the tennis ball, the faster it is travelling when it leaves your hand and the higher the ball will go before turning back. If you throw it hard enough it will never return, the gravitational attraction will not be able to pull it back down. The velocity the ball must have to escape is known as the escape velocity and for the earth is about 7 miles a second," said Allan. We all agreed and laughed heartily at Allan's light humor. "Another 14 stouts," called Brett...

And with that, the weary travelers tipped back their drinks, and headed for the train. It was a LONG ride back for some of us. For others, it was merely the blink of an eye...

Evidence of a Westvleteren Epidemic?

2006-06-02T17:10:00.000+02:00

I don't want to alarm anyone. However, photographic evidence has been received which suggests a potential Westvleteren epidemic.

As we discussed previously in Memories and the Struggle to Remember Them, there is growing evidence that over consumption of Westvleteren may trigger a fundamental metamorphosis.

If you see this guy at the Delirium Cafe, then please help him find his way back to the Ibis before the metamorphosis is complete. The Westvleteren brand of beer goggles can make visual navigation most difficult.

Amsterdam Memories from 1996

2006-06-02T16:34:00.000+02:00

The year was 1996. By the time we got to Utrecht, the week long binge of Belgian beer drinking had kicked in. I was about to tell my friend about the purple bats, but he would see them soon enough himself.

Okay, it wasn't quite a Hunter Thompson experience. After a long afternoon at the Belgique, we eventually wound our way to one of the Bulldog cafes in the red light district. Actually, Lance was just trying to get us to the red light district. Lance was our little leprechaun of a friend, and after a couple of beers, every time we talked about moving on to another bar, he would say, "Well, we could go have some more Belgian beer, OR we could go watch some bloke shaggin' a bird".

So we finally made it to the red light district, and truth be told, I believe we were in and out of two or three different Bulldog franchises, before we settled into one that was known as the Energy Coffeeshop.

Sure, we enjoyed the Connect Four. Who doesn't?

But, we should have taken John's advice and stayed away from the smart drinks. Still, naive as we were, we thought the smart drinks would indeed help us beat John at Connect Four. And then something snapped in ColoniAl's world.

At first we thought he would snap right back out of it. But when he started talking more and more animated about the bad people that were out to get him, we began considering the idea of calling it a night (at 8pm), or at least getting ColoniAl back to the hotel.

But there was no sense in all five us heading back to the hotel. So somehow the taxi came and went, and I was left out on the town with Lance. And you know exactly how the subsequent conversation went, "Well, we could go have some more Belgian beer..."

And that was when I made my first visit to Het Elfde Gebod. The bar was practically empty when I walked in. I sat down at the bar and asked for an Orval.

The bartender checked, and he only had the warm bottle that was sitting out on display. So the owner said he would go upstairs to his apartment and bring down some more bottles.

The Orval tasted great. Almost as good as the 6 year old bottle we'd find at Duda's in Fells Point a few years later ... but you get the idea. And I had a few more.

The bar started to fill up. Everybody seemed to know everyone, and it had this real neighborhood bar kind of feel to it. People went out of the way to speak to me in English and try to include me in conversations.

By the time Lance showed back up again, we were all singing. Well, the only word that I could make out was "Amsterdam!" in the chorus. A cool place, and hopefully I'll find my way back there this year.

As I understand it, Het Elfde Gebod translates as The Eleventh Commandment ... so I think it's safe to call this a religious pilgrammage.

Memories, and the Struggle to Remember Them

2006-06-01T17:09:00.000+02:00

This undated photo was clearly taken at the Delirium Cafe, as I can make out enough details from the background to recognize the decor.

What is unclear is exactly what was going on in this picture. And, as the photo was likely taken between the hours of 2AM and 4AM, any memories of the event are fuzzy at best.

The most popular theory is that Keef had drank so much Westvleteren that he was beginning a metamorphosis, the bottle caps had grown to cover his eyes and he was beginning to transform himself into a giant bottle of Westvleteren.

Only François really knows what happened, and well, we don't want to ask him, as the theories are probably far more interesting and entertaining than the realities.

The 90 Day Countdown has Begun

2006-06-01T16:25:00.000+02:00

Yes, the Beer Cellar is open. Specifically I'm referring to the Delirium Cafe, which will likely be the first stop for this year's tour ... and a meeting point for the drinking team that has been assembled for Brussels.

The 90 day countdown has begun. (Ok, I'm not sure it's exactly 90 days from now, but that is a close enough approximation.)

The Delirium Cafe is a great place to start the festivities, as it has over 2500 different beers from around the world. Yes, they count different sizes of the same beer as different beers ... so that means a Corona is different from a Coronita. But that's still a lot of beer.

The selection leans heavily toward every possible beer you could find within Belgium, but it also has quite an extensive world collection. So if Olaf is home sick and misses his Ringnes, then he'll be able to find it here. (Just kidding Olaf ... although they probably do have it.)

Sadly I don't make it to the Delirium Cafe that often, because it's about 4000 miles from home. But the last time I popped in, I was pleasantly surprised when François had seen me walking down the steps, so he rushed into the back room to pull out a Westvleteren 12 and a Westvleteren Blond, and met me at the bar asking which one I wanted.

During the summer months, you can sit out front and watch the Japanese tour groups be led down the dead end alley which the Delirium Cafe calls home. Are the new anime adventures of TinTin being screened in a theater at the end of the alley? No, they're checking out the Janneken Pis, the lesser known female counterpart to the famous Mannekin Pis. Alas, the Janneken Pis is so unknown that there is not even a mention of her in the English language version of the Wikipedia, so I give you Jannekin Pis in the German language Wikipedia. I'm sure it must also be in the Japanese version of Wikipedia, because there's always a Japanese tour group heading down the alley to check it out ... or else there is something very odd going on further down the alley.

In any event, let the countdown begin. Join me and share your stories from past excursions, so that we can get ready for the 2006 edition of the World Drinking Tour.