I sleep pretty well and rise at 9:30. Breathing still isn't perfect. Better than yesterday, mind. I force myself to write as I didn’t yesterday.
The kids turn up at about 11:45. Checkout is noon here. Which is handy. It still leaves us with some time to kill before heading to the airport. Our flight is at 18:50. Alexei suggest Allô mon Coco, a sort of push diner we breakfasted in when we were first in Montreal.
We leave our roller bags at the hotel and set off. It’s only a few
blocks. And all on the flat. The kids are soon miles in front of me.
With me huffing and puffing along slowly behind.
The place is
busier than on our last visit. With a couple of large parties. We get
our arses parked and after a while a waiter drifts by to take our order.
“Espresso martini, please.” I request.
“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Alexei asks.
“No.” I’m not feeling great. And have no appetite.
Alexei orders a massive breakfast. And a chocolate milkshake. He has a very healthy appetite.
“Do you have beer?” Andrew asks the waiter.
“No.”
“I’ll have an Irish coffee, then. And a chocolate milkshake.”
Rather odd combination there.
“At least you’ll get some calories in you.” I remark.
“Unlike you, Dad.”
“There are calories in an espresso martini. At least, if they’ve put booze in it.”
“Alcohol calories, your favourite type.” Alexei quips.
Alexei takes his time over his breakfast. And we have another round of drinks. Not the chocolate milkshakes, obviously. That would be madness.
We leave at about 14:30, returning to the hotel for our bags. And order an Uber.
The first part of the journey goes pretty well. It doesn’t take long until the airport is in sight. And that’s exactly when the traffic crawls to a stop. The last kilometre takes us a good 20 minutes.
Checking in and security are about as pleasant as these things can be. And don’t take too long. We ditch the last of our Canadian dollars in the duty free, getting a couple of bottles of whisky. Canadian, of course.
Rather nicely, the lounge lets me bring in two guests. That’s a first.
“No need to get our money’s worth today, seeing as we didn’t have to pay.” I say cheerfully.
“Always the same jokes, eh, Dad?” Andrew replies cynically.
“At least I’m consistent.”
“Consistently telling the same bad jokes.”
“That’s what Dads are for.”
Neither me nor Andrew are very hungry. Despite the food looking pretty good. Alexei, however. is eating for all three of us. I get myself a whisky.
“I see that you haven’t lost your appetite for whisky.” Alexei quips.
“It’s purely medicinal.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Right. Like your ‘reasons’.”
I do have a bit of food. Quiche, a wrap. And a few more whiskies. I need to get plenty of medicine down before the flight.
“Really, Dad?” Alexei says.
“Did I say that out loud?”
“Yes, you really did say that out loud. You really are going senile.”
We get to the gate just about as boarding is starting. Though there isn’t an air bridge. Just one of those weird bus things that can lift up to the height of the cabin doors.
The seat next to me is free. Which is great, leaving me more room to stretch out.
I sleep for most of the flight. Waking up with just about enough time to watch The Other Woman. Which is an OK aeroplane film. If you know what I mean. Not too demanding.
Alexei has to part from me and Andrew when we approach passport control. As he doesn’t have a Dutch passport yet. He’s using his ID card to enter and can’t use the electronic gates.
We’ve already retrieved our bags by the time Alexei appears. In minutes we’re bombing onto the motorway in a taxi.
Dolores is waiting for us at home. With tea, of course. There’s always tea.
Allô mon Coco
70 Rue Sainte-Catherine E,
Montréal, QC H2X 0C7.
https://allomoncoco.com/locations/allo-mon-coco-ste-catherine-e/
I wake at 5:30 barely able to breathe. Fuck. Just as well I got some more cold medicine yesterday.
The kids turn up at 10:30.
"What's wrong, Dad?" Andrew asks.
“Having trouble breathing.”
“Don't expect me to carry all your bags.”
That's so sympathetic of Andrew. Luckily, I have a roller bag. No carrying required. Just as fucking well.
We check out and get an Uber surprisingly quickly. Not directly to the station, but to La Barberie, a brewpub close by. We have to wait 15 minutes or so for then to open.
It's much more rough and ready than the other brewpubs we've been to. We all get an IPA. Which is pretty sludgy. I can't manage all of mine and the kids finish it for me. How humiliating is that?
It’s just a short walk to the station. But it still gets me out of breath.
The kids are soon metres ahead of me.
“Hurry up, Dad.” Andrew says.
I want to shout “Fuck off!” to him. But don’t have the breath. I just flick some Vs at him instead. Not that he notices.
It’s a lovely old station. Quite small, but with lots of turrets. The diminutive business class lounge is in a modern extension. It’s so tiny, it doesn’t even have its own bogs.
We hang around in the lounge for a while. I drink coffee, which livens me up a bit. Though not a lot.
We're in the same seats as usual. Soon after the train pulls out of the station, the drinks trolley comes around, I get a gin and tonic, the kids Steam Whistle Pilsner. Which seems appropriate for a train.
“I see you haven’t lost your appetite for alcohol.” Alexei remarks.
“It’s purely medicinal.”
“Right.”
I quite like these Via Rail trains. Nice and comfy. And the service in business class is pretty good. With pretty decent wifi. They do have a habit of running late, though.
I have my flipflop fired up and watch some YouTube. With the sound off and subtitles on. Because I’m not a twat. And there have been announcements saying it’s not allowed to have the sound on without headphones.
I don't eat much of my meal. Which is cheese and crackers. Dead good cheese. That’s how little appetite I have. Alexei eats most of mine. I do manage to force down two glasses of red wine.
“I suppose that’s medicinal, too.” Alexei remarks.
“Exactly.”
“I was taking the piss.”
“I know.”
It starts raining about an hour before we get to Montreal. Really pissing it down. Lovely. Thankfully, it’s covered where we’re picked up by our Uber.
We laze around a bit in my room. The kids fetch some food from Tim Horton's. I get a sandwich which I actually manage to eat. Hooray for me! I still feel shit, mind.
We drink some beer and whisky, then crash out. It's been a very frustrating day. I hope I can breathe better tomorrow.
La Barberie
310 Rue Saint-Roch,
Québec, QC G1K 2S7.
http://www.labarberie.com/
| 1909 Maclay Mild 56/- | ||
| pale malt | 8.75 lb | 66.67% |
| amber malt | 0.50 lb | 3.81% |
| black malt | 0.125 lb | 0.95% |
| grits | 2.50 lb | 19.05% |
| No. 2 invert sugar | 1.25 lb | 9.52% |
| Cluster 120 min | 0.75 oz | |
| Hallertau 60 min | 0.75 oz | |
| Fuggles 30 min | 1.50 oz | |
| OG | 1061 | |
| FG | 1025 | |
| ABV | 4.76 | |
| Apparent attenuation | 59.02% | |
| IBU | 36 | |
| SRM | 12 | |
| Mash at | 146º F | |
| after underlet | 150º F | |
| Sparge at | 170º F | |
| Boil time | 120 minutes | |
| pitching temp | 61º F | |
| Yeast | WLP028 Edinburgh Ale | |
Another short video on another obscure beer style: Boy's Bitter. A substitute for Mild Ale which seems to have gone the same way as Mild.
I rise a little after 8. As usual. And get on with the really important business of the day: writing. And washing my bollocks. That's really important, too.
We're starting the day with a visit to SAQ. As it doesn't open until 13:00, that was a good excuse for arranging to meet at noon today. The lazy git. I bet he was up until stupid o’clock again yesterday. Or this morning, rather.
The kids do tip up just after noon. After a bit of snacking, it's after 13:00 when we set out for the SAQ.
It's not really that far. But it's quite hot. And it isn't exactly a pedestrian friendly environment. The sequences of the traffic lights are shit for pedestrians. Minutes of hanging around waiting for the lights to change. I thought they were bad in our bit of Amsterdam. they're much worse here.
After stocking up on whisky and cider, we return to my room. For a little pre-loading. Before we head into town.
“That looks disgusting.” Alexei says.
The kids don't care for my whisky and milk cocktail. I can’t think why.
“It works for me. So you can fuck right off.”
“Charming.”
“That's how the ladies always describe me.”
“No, they don't, Dad. Not even Mum.”
Children can be so cruel.
We take an Uber into town around 2. To La Korrigane, a brewpub a little outside the old town. It’s located in a three-storey brick building. The interior is quite austere, with a tiled floor and simple wooden furniture. Partitioned off at the back is a small brew house.
We sit inside. And get some beers, obviously. Imperial IPA for me, something Lagery for the kids.
We also order some food. Kimchi quail eggs and poutine for me and Alexei. A burger for Andrew. The poutine is dead good again. Not so sure about the kimchi. I’ve been spoilt by the stuff Dolores makes.
“I'm not going to be buying an electric vehicle anytime soon. Not unless it's a wheelchair.”
“We can make that happen, Dad.” Andrew retorts.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“That's because it was.”
“What a lovely thing to say.”
“I do my best, Dad.”
We only stay for a couple of rounds. Because we're headed to Noctem, another brewpub only a couple of blocks away. That's the reason I chose these two breweries: their proximity to each other. I don’t want too much walking to interfere with my drinking.
The interior is again understated. With a plain, wooden L-shaped bar counter. And very simple furniture. Nothing flashy. The brew house is glassed off in a corner at the rear.
More pints. Triple IPA for me. Something Lagery for the kids. We get some more food, too, chicken hearts and humus. Just snacky things to share.
“At least I went into Tim Horton's in a Canadiens jersey. You can't get any more Canadian than that.” Alexei remarks randomly.
“You could have been singing ‘Oh, Canada’ as well.”
“That would have been over the top, Dad.”
“Which isn’t your style at all, is it?”
“Shut up, Dad.”
They're having a pub quiz. We don't participate but do watch. It's not as difficult as I had expected. Until the music round, where I don’t recognise any of the songs. What's the connection between them? The quizmaster asks. They're all in French? That’s all I’ve got.
I get myself another Triple IPA. Because I'm on holiday.
“You really love Triple IPA, don’t you, Dad?” Alexei says.
“I do seem to be getting a taste for it.” I reply.
“Totally unconnected with its high alcohol content.”
“Indeed.”
“I was taking the piss, Dad.”
It starts to rain. And everyone comes inside from the terrace, filling the place up.
I'm living the dream. On holiday with my kids. They don't hate me. They actually seem quite happy. Is this peak fathering? I'm sure they'll bring me back down to earth in a minute.
We get an Uber back to our hotel. Watch some YouTube and drink some whisky. Which creeps up behind me and batters me to slumber.
La Korrigane - Brasserie artisanale
380 Rue Dorchester,
Québec, QC G1K 6A7
https://korrigane.ca/
Noctem Artisans Brasseurs St-Roch
438 Rue du Parvis,
Québec, QC G1K 8M4
http://www.noctem.ca/
I rise just after 8. To get on with this writing stuff.
The kids haven't shown up by 10. I message them. Noon, they say. The lazy gits.
While I'm waiting for them, I check out the beer places I've been recommended. There's only one, Archibald, that's in the old town. Which is where we want to go.
The kids show up a little after noon. And soon we're outside getting an Uber. 30 minutes, it will take.
"Where are you going, Dad?" Alexei asks.
“To wait in the pub. With a drink.”
"What a surprise." Alexei retorts, cynically. But follows me anyway.
“I’m thirsty.”
“You’re always thirsty, Dad.”
“It’s because I’m old.”
“And not because you’re an alcoholic?”
“No. Definitely age.”
There's a Sports Bar, Boston Pizza, connected to the hotel. I'd rather wait there than in the sun.
We sit at the bar. Behind which is the largest TV I've ever seen inside a building. Impressive in a slightly intimidating way.
I get a double Canadian Club. The kids some Lagery thing. Probably Molson, or something similar. We don't linger. And are back outside in time for our ride.
We're headed to the middle of the old town. The streets are jammed for the last bit of the journey and it takes ages.
The old centre is pretty impressive. Lots of old stone buildings. And quite a drop from around the cathedral, where we start, to the riverside, where Archibald is located. Lots of stairs. Lots of people, too. We manage to lose Andrew on the way down.
“I'm glad I won't be going back the other way. I can't . . .”
"Be doing with climbing stairs. I know, Dad." Alexei finishes for me. Am I that predictable?
Alexei manages to track down Andrew. Not easy with the crowds mobbing the place.
"It's annoying all these tourists getting in the way of us travellers." I quip.
"Right." Andrew replies drily.
We have to queue up outside Archibald. It's very popular. Unsurprising, given its location. Several people in front of us give up and wander off. After 20 minutes or so, we get a table. And order some beers. A Double IPA for me. Some Lagery shit for the kids.
“Let me guess why you ordered that.”
“What do you mean, Andrew?”
“You ordered it because it's the strongest beer that they have.”
“I just happen to like Double IPA.”
“Though not as much as Triple IPA, if that's on offer.”
“I like all sorts of beers.”
“As long s they're really strong.”
“I drank that pint of Mild the other day.”
“And then moved on to Imperial Stout.”
“Just a standard progression”
“Right.”
We order some food. Poutine, wings and onion rings. The poutine is pretty good again. Though a rather pricey. More beer is requested, too. Mine doesn't turn up. We have it deducted from the bill at the end.
It’s more commercial and more expensive than the other brewpubs we’ve been to. I guess that’s on account of the location. And the fact that it’s full of tourists. And I mean literally full, as in no empty seat.
It's a bit of a wait for an Uber. Which takes us to the supermarket closest to our hotel. We load up with tomatoes, beer, wine, milk and cheese. Everything you need for a really good party.
Which isn't quite what we have. A couple of drinks. Then downstairs to Boston Pizza. Because, well, it's right there. I can't be arsed to traipse off somewhere.
It has beer, food and that hypnotising giant TV that lights up the whole room. It isn't very full. The more restauranty room looks busier. We get a table in the shade of the giant TV. Double Canadian Club again for me. With just a little ice. Molson Canadian for the kids. This is nice. Or, at least, nice enough.
Andrew orders a hamburger. Me and Alexe share quesidillas and chips. The food is fine. Pub food. After a second round of drinks, we leave. It's nearing closing time, anyway.
Wine and YouTube back in my room. I manage to chase the kids out at 1. They want a noon start again tomorrow. Lazy gits.
Sleep is lurking inside a glass.
Boston Pizza
2300 Ch Ste-Foy,
Sainte-Foy–Sillery–Cap-Rouge, QC G1V 1S5
https://bostonpizza.com/fr/locations/ste-foy.html
Archibald Microbrasserie
40 Rue du Marché-Champlain,
Québec, QC G1K 4H3
https://www.archibaldmicrobrasserie.ca/
Another of my short videos, this time looking at Best Mild, a stronger type of Mild Ale.
| 1909 Maclay Mild 42/- | ||
| pale malt | 4.50 lb | 61.02% |
| amber malt | 0.25 lb | 3.39% |
| black malt | 0.125 lb | 1.69% |
| grits | 1.50 lb | 20.34% |
| No. 2 invert sugar | 1.00 lb | 13.56% |
| Cluster 120 min | 0.50 oz | |
| Hallertau 60 min | 0.50 oz | |
| Fuggles 30 min | 1.00 oz | |
| OG | 1034 | |
| FG | 1013 | |
| ABV | 2.78 | |
| Apparent attenuation | 61.76% | |
| IBU | 28 | |
| SRM | 10 | |
| Mash at | 146º F | |
| after underlet | 150º F | |
| Sparge at | 170º F | |
| Boil time | 120 minutes | |
| pitching temp | 61º F | |
| Yeast | WLP028 Edinburgh Ale | |
I rise just after 8. Don't want to be late. We have a train to catch.
The kids turn up at 10:15. We laze around for a while. Quite literally in Andrew's case as he gets into bed.
We check out at 10:45 and get an Uber to the station. Montreal Gare Centrale is remarkably well disguised as an office block. Inside, it’s quite cramped, too. Not quite as charmless and alienating as Birmingham New Street. But not far off.
We plonk ourselves down in the business lounge to wait. I get myself a coffee.
Our train is coming from Ottawa and appears to be on time. Which is good. We're sitting in the little compartment thingy again. Which is nice and private. And the business class seats are pretty comfy.
There's a drinks service straight after boarding. I get a gin and tonic again, while the kids have beer.
It's all very green and agricultural outside. With the occasional small town. And lots of trees. A few times we get a view of the mighty St. Lawrence River. Which makes the Rhine look like a little stream.
“Would you kill a seagull, Dad? Alexei asks.
“No. Of course not.” I reply.
“Not even if it stole your chips?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not a twat.”
“That’s open to question.” Andrew chips in.
“OK. I’m not an animal-abusing twat.”
“I’ve seen you kill mosquitos.” Alexei says.
“Those evil bastards don’t count.” I say.
“That’s a slippery slope, Dad. Who knows which animals ‘won’t count’ next.” Andrew buts in.
“Look, I’m not an animal torturer.”
“Just an animal murderer, for certain species.”
“You’re defending fucking mosquitos, Andrew. The things that eat you alive, given half a chance?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Right. I stand 100% behind my anti-mosquito stance.”
“It’s hard for you to stand up 100%, let alone behind anything.” Alexei says.
“Thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”
“My pleasure.”
My Creole Haddock is OK. Certainly, far better than most KLM meals. And two glasses of red wine help it slip down more easily.
Our hotel isn't very central. It's about a 20-minute ride from Quebec railway station. After checking in, we hang around in my room for a while wondering what to do. Alexei has found a pub with a decent beer selection nearby: Café au Temps Perdu. We head there.
There's a supermarket nearby. But we'll leave that for on the way back. Au Temps Perdu is a lively neighbourhood bar. We sit on the terrace. As the sun sets behind suburban houses. Dead relaxing, is how I would describe it. The air is still and the light golden.
I get a Noctem Catnip IPA, the kids have cider. And some food: beef dumplings, fried calamari and poutine. The poutiine is really good: rich and deeply savoury. It really does seem to be better in Quebec. The gravy is almost like brown sauce, in a very good way
It's a lovely summer evening and customers drift in and out, the crowd becoming noticeably younger as time drifts on. I get an espresso martini for my second drink. What the hell, I'm on holiday.
A wonderful local bar. I’m so glad Alexei found it. One of the highlights of the trip so far.
“You're going to have to rate all the cities once we're done, Alexei.”
“What?”
“Score them all 1 to 10.”
“Well, you're a minus one.”
“We're not rating each other.”
“Why not, if we're rating cities?”
“You're missing the point.”
“That you don't want to be criticised?”
“Just go fuck yourself.”
“Exactly. That proves my point”
We drop by the supermarket on the way back. Milk, sandwiches, crisps. That sort of thing.
Back in my room we hang around for a while. I turn in around midnight again. Canadian clubbed.
Café au Temps Perdu
867 Av. Myrand,
Québec, QC G1V 2V8.
http://www.cafeautempsperdu.com/
I rise at 8:30. With a dry nose. That's an improvement. I'm feeling much better. What a relief.
Alexei turns up at 10. As was arranged yesterday.
"Andrew says we can go for breakfast without him." He tells me. And so we do.
Allô mon Coco isn't far. Just around the corner, really. It bills itself as a breakfast restaurant. Really, it's like a posh diner. A licensed one.
Alexei gets himself a mimosa. While I have an espresso martini. I do quite like one of those to wake me up in the morning.
We both get the gourmand breakfast. Which is pretty big and includes two pancakes. Which I don't want.
“Do you want my pancakes, Lexxie?”
“I suppose so. I’ll see if I’m hungry when I’ve finished my breakfast.”
I'm so generous, letting Alexei have food I don’t like. Father of the year behaviour.
The potato element to the breakfast comes either mashed or cubed. Both me and Alexei go for the latter.
“What type of cheese do you want? Swiss or cheddar?”
They turn out to be fried potato cubes, topped with grated cheese. That’s a new one for me at breakfast.
“We’ve had lots of different types of potato on our breakfasts.” I remark. “Proper hash browns, breakfast potatoes.”
“Poutine.” Alexei chips in. “You made me eat most of it.”
“There was a fuck of a lot of it.”
“It was good.”
“What else? The other type of hash brown and chips. Is that the lot?”
“I think so, Dad.”
It’s a very large breakfast. And Alexei has a chocolate milkshake with his. Along with my pancakes.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit too much for a breakfast. Or any meal, really” I ask.
“It is the continent of over-consumption.” Alexei replies.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Usually when you’re overindulging in something.”
“Fitting in with the local culture.”
“That’s a feeble excuse.”
“Like all of yours.”
“I have reasons, not excuses.”
“Right.”
Our breakfasts come to $91. Which isn't too bad considering we both had a cocktail.
Alexei goes back to his room. About 90 minutes later he and Andrew appear at my door. I have time to look through my recommendations for Montreal and decide on Pit Caribou. Which looks like a nice place.
It’s a little closer than Dieu du Ciel, in the same direction. We get there a little before 15:00. There are people outside on the terrace, but it's deserted inside. Where we sit.
It’s rather beerhall-like. Less posh and ordered than many of the places we’ve been. There are long, high table, surrounded by stools. Also bench seating and normal-height tables. The small, round tables are decorated with beer-related images: a hop cone, mashing paddles, barley stalks.
I get the Double IPA, while the kids opt for some Lager or other. As they often do. It’s yet another sludge IPA. Which is starting to be a bit irritating.
“What a surprise: you’ve gone for the strongest beer again.” Andrew snipes.
“Fuck off.” Is my witty reply.
“As eloquent as ever, eh, Dad?”
After a couple of beers, we get some bits of food. They don't really do full meals here, just snacks. Which is OK by us. Me and Alexei both get toasties. Something to soak the beer up.
Andrew tries several different beers, as he does. While I stick with IPA, despite its sludgy nature. It's full of alcoholly goodness. Which is the taste I go for.
We spend a few happy hours, pints joyously slipping down our throats. What fun. Then Uber it back to our hotel. Where I reacquaint myself with Canadian Club. And crash out around midnight.
Allô mon Coco
70 Rue Sainte-Catherine E,
Montréal, QC H2X 0C7.
https://allomoncoco.com/locations/allo-mon-coco-ste-catherine-e/
Microbrasserie Pit Caribou
951 Rue Rachel E,
Montréal, QC H2J 2J4.
I'm feeling crap. And rise at 8. Gulping down some of my cold medicine.
We're supposed to be going to Tim Horton's for breakfast. But I really don't feel up for it.
The kids drop by my room at around 10. Then head off to Tim Horton's. I feel really shit.
"Get me a roast beef sandwich. Or a breakfast sandwich." I ask them.
“OK.”
The kids are gone for a while. Hopefully the cold medicine will kick in soon. My nose is running like a tap. Most annoying.
The kids return a little before 11. With a breakfast muffin for me. And a pile of stuff for Alexei. Nothing for Andrew. Who has to throw up. Then crawls into one of the beds and falls asleep. He’s not much of a morning person.
The sandwich livens me up a bit. Which is good. Alexei and I watch some TV while Andrew sleeps. This is going to be an exciting day.
Around 13:00 me and Alexei go the convenience store, as we've run out of soft drinks. And beer. We pick up a few other things, too. Like a bottle of pinot noir. I also get a roast beef sandwich from Dagwood, the sandwicherie in the shop. I manage to conduct the whole transaction in French.
Andrew isn't looking much livelier when we return. He's still crashed out in bed.
"What's the plan for today?" I ask Alexei.
“We could go to a brewery.”
“Sounds good to me.” I reply.
“It’s not hard to persuade Dad to go to a brewery.” Andrew declares.
“Nor you.” I retort.
I have a look at the places that have been suggested to me. The name Dieu du Ciel cropped up a couple of times. It's not too far away. That'll do.
We set off about 14:30. We should catch it at a quiet time. The neighbourhood it's in seems pretty lively. Lots of shops, restaurants and bars.
Dieu du Ciel has quite a pubby feel. Reinforced by the presence of two handpulls. And a Cask Marque sign by the entrance. Which is a good sign, if you’ll excuse the pun It's deserted inside and we have our choice of seats.
“Ooh, look!. They've got a cask Mild.”
"You get excited so easily, Dad." Andrew retorts.
“I know. It's wonderful, isn't it?”
“No, not really.”
“You really know how to make me feel good about myself, Andrew.”
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t mean that in a positive way.”
“I know, Dad. I understand irony. Unlike you.” Andrew says. “And don’t tell me to fuck off, like you usually do.”
“Go frig yourself.”
“Very original. You twat.”
“Who’s resorting to profanities now?”
“Just shut up, Dad.”
“I was waiting for that. One - nil for Dad.”
“This isn’t a football match.”
“No, it’s a much more important competition.”
“Fuck off, Dad.”
“That’s two – nil.”
I get a pint of Mild, obviously. It's really rather nice. The kids go for something Lagery. There's a really good variety of beers on offer. Two cask beers (the other is an Ordinary Bitter), two Stouts, Bavarian Helles and Amber, a Hefeweizen and, of course, a couple of IPAs, including a non-sludge one.
We order some food: poutine and fried chicken. The poutine is excellent. The best we've had so far.
I have a London Stout next. It's on nitro but is packed with roast flavours. At 5.6% ABV, it’s like an interwar London Stout. Andrew seems to be working his way through the full beer range. As he does. You can’t accuse him of being unadventurous when it comes to beer.
A middle-aged bloke comes over and comments of Alexei's shirt. He's wearing A Montreal Canadiens jersey that I bought for him the first time I was in Canada, more than a decade ago. The bloke is very surprised that someone from Amsterdam should have the shirt.
After 17:00 it really starts to fill up. This seems like a very popular spot. No surprise there. The beers are all excellent and it’s a really cool place. The best brewpub we’ve been to so far. I can understand why several people recommended it to me.
I switch to Peche Mortel, an Imperial Coffee Stout. It's also dead good. I'm very impressed with the beers here. The kids seem pretty happy, too.
“Going for the strongest beer again, eh, Dad?” Andrew remarks, rather aggressively.
“I just happen to like Imperial Stout.”
“And Barley Wine and Quadrupel.”
“What can I say? I like full-bodied beers.”
“Right. Beers that just happen to be high in alcohol.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re fooling no-one, Dad.”
“Aren’t I?”
“Not even yourself.”
The kids nip to the SAQ just down the road to stock up on booze. They get me a bottle of Canadian Club 1858. Which comes in the weird size of 1.14 litres.
We leave about 19:30. With the kids getting more beer in the nearest little shop.
The rest of the evening is pretty quiet with me sniffling while sipping whisky and watching shite on the TV.
Sleep comes knocking around midnight.
Brasserie Dieu du Ciel
21 Av. Laurier O,
Montréal, QC H2T 2N2.
http://dieuduciel.com/
| 1896 Ny Carlsberg Export Pilsner | ||
| pilsner malt | 7.25 lb | 60.42% |
| cara-pils malt | 1.25 lb | 10.42% |
| barley flour | 3.50 lb | 29.17% |
| Saaz 150 mins | 0.75 oz | |
| Goldings 60 mins | 0.50 oz | |
| Goldings 30 mins | 0.50 oz | |
| OG | 1051 | |
| FG | 1015 | |
| ABV | 4.76 | |
| Apparent attenuation | 70.59% | |
| IBU | 22 | |
| SRM | 3.5 | |
| Mash double decoction | ||
| Boil time | 150 minutes | |
| pitching temp | 41º F | |
| Yeast | Wyeast 2042 Danish lager | |
| Mash in at 35º C (95º F) | 5 minutes |
| Warm whole mash to 52º C (126º F) | 20 minutes |
| Rest whole mash at 52º C (126º F) (protein rest) | 15 minutes |
| Draw off first mash and without a rest bring to the boil | 30 minutes |
| Boil first mash | 10 minutes |
| The rest of the mash remains at 52º C (126º F) | 40 minutes |
| Mash at 70º C (158º F) | 25 minutes |
| Rest whole mash at 70º C (158º F) (saccharification rest) | 30 minutes |
| Draw off second mash and without a rest bring to the boil | 15 minutes |
| Boil second mash | 10 minutes |
| Mash at 76º C (169º F) and mash out | 20 minutes |
I spent a few hours today trawling through Carlsberg records. From the late 19th- and early 20th-century. As research for my book "Free!", which I like to keep working on.
The earlier ones aren't too bad. As the format is based on William Younger's records. The first book literally is a William Younger's one, from his time as an apprentice in Scotland. The handwriting can be a bit crap and the malts somewhat unclear. I can make enough sense of them to be able to create recipes.
The last book in the old format ends in 1906. From then on, the records look completely different. Starting in May 1905. Meaning the two formats overlap. There's a distinct difference in emphasis between the two record types.
 |
| old format, 1932 |
 |
| new format 1905 |
The older ones, despite their being a column for it, didn't have mashing details. Whereas the new ones have quite a lot of detail about both mashing and boiling. Though not the quantities of all of the ingredients and, most importantly of all, there's no gravity.
These are wort production records. With no mention of anything after the boil. Not even the volume of wort. Which means that records with the information in the old format must have continued to exist.
Just had a quick check. I've a 1930s book which is old format. I hadn't looked at these for a while. Fuck. I missed a whole load of records.
It looks like it could be a cataloguing problem. The two types are both described as "bryghusjournaler" "brew house journals". Even though they're totally different in size and shape. The old are landscape, the new portrait.
In case you're wondering, the catalogue numbers are consecutive:
old 1901-1906
old 1881-1887
new 1905
Not sure why 1881 to 1887 was out of chronological sequence.
I doubt the more useful format records have been lost. Carlsberg don't throw stuff away. They'll just be catalogued as something else. I wonder if the catalogue is online?
It makes me want to visit Copenhagen again. Who was my contact at the archive? It's such a long time ago. (2015, according to the time stamps of the photos.)
Marcin Ostejewsk and I discuss the Grodziskie competition in Grodzisk and the future of the style.
| 1899 Barclay Perkins Export Brown Stout | ||
| pale malt | 9.00 lb | 54.96% |
| brown malt | 1.875 lb | 11.45% |
| black malt | 1.00 lb | 6.11% |
| amber malt | 2.25 lb | 13.74% |
| No. 2 invert sugar | 2.25 lb | 13.74% |
| Goldings 150 mins | 3.25 oz | |
| Goldings 60 mins | 3.25 oz | |
| Goldings 30 mins | 3.25 oz | |
| Goldings dry hops | 1.00 oz | |
| OG | 1076 | |
| FG | 1023 | |
| ABV | 7.01 | |
| Apparent attenuation | 69.74% | |
| IBU | 115 | |
| SRM | 38 | |
| Mash at | 148º F | |
| After underlet | 156º F | |
| Sparge at | 170º F | |
| Boil time | 180 minutes | |
| pitching temp | 59º F | |
| Yeast | Wyeast 1099 Whitbread Ale | |
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