Thursday, 1 September 2022

Lazy Vancouver

The kids aren’t up very early. Or up for much today. That’s fine by me. I’m happy to go along with anything the kids want. Within reason. And as long as it doesn’t include too much personal effort.

“What about Tim Horton’s?” That’s Lexxie’s breakfast suggestion again. Why not? It’s our last chance.

Lexxie tells me that we’re been to one before. Can’t say that I can remember it.

What’s that strange noise? I ask myself as I we’re on our way. It’s the sound of the bloke in front of us dragging his one foot. Of course, he’s headed for Tim Hortons, too.

Luckily, Lexxie is here to guide me through the ordering screen. He’s clearly done this sort of thing before. I go for a breakfast biscuit. With all the breakfast goodness of bacon, egg, sausage and cheese. And coffee. Lexxie gets a cream cheese bagel. And a cookie and coffee.

We eat them back in the room. Where Andrew is still fairly comatose. Prodding him in the ribs a few times has little effect.

“Time to go wakey wakey, Andrew.”

“Fuck off, Dad. And stop talking shit.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Shut up, Dad.”

May as well get on with watching the Weather Channel. The best bits are the adverts. Especially those for prescription medicines. I love the disclaimers at the end, when they rattle through potentially crippling, or even fatal, side effects.

Andrew finally rises. And grabs himself a Molson from the fridge.

“Breakfast of champions, eh?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Dad?”

Andrew isn’t really a morning person. Or an early afternoon one. It’s usually early evening before he becomes fully human.

You may have noticed that we haven’t done much touristy stuff in Vancouver. Just glanced at the Steam Clock. Today, we’ll be doing even less. As in: none at all.

It was the kids’ decision. They fancy a quiet day, just close to the hotel. I’m delighted to let them decide when their choice involves fuck all effort for me.

“There’s a brewpub not far away, Dad. We can walk there.”

“That’s it decided, then.”

I’ve got them well trained. Andrew would never turn down a beer, mind.

It’s around a 15-minute walk. On the way we pass by a small park, where some sort of event is going on. With, in the background, another amazing view.

We’re at first confused as to where the entrance is.

“It says ‘Wait here to be seated’ over there, Dad.” Andrew says as I try to walk in the wrong door. The smartarse.

33 Acres is the brewpub name. Which is a bit odd from somewhere in the middle of a metropolis.

The patio is full so we’re seated inside. It’s quite small. And looks more like a café than a brewery. There doesn’t seem to be very much beer drinking going on.

Just for a change, I order an IPA.

33 Acres of Nirvana India Pale Ale, 7% ABV
Billed as hazy, but not too sludgy. It’s served in a stumpy little glass. Not seen that shape before. It has that Izal tang. There must be one of those trendy modern hops in there. It really isn’t bitter at all, in true sludge style. OK. If you like that type of thing.

It’s mostly filled with the young and the beautiful. A strange atmosphere for a brewpub.

“How’s the Pilsener, Andrew?”

“Really quite decent for a North American one. Some of the supposed German-style Pilseners are nothing like the real thing.”

Praise indeed, from Andrew.

“I got a bit hot on the way over.” Andrew says.

“Anything above freezing warms you up. It was a bit of a death march, mind.”

The kids are now on the cider. It’s as sludgy as my sludge IPA.

“That’s OK with cider. It’s not supposed to be clear.”

Mmm. That’s the lovely smell of mashing. Unless they have a very clever fake smell machine, they definitely brew here.

I get a second sludge IPA. And a third. At least the kids do. My ankle still feels a bit dodgy. At least that’s what I tell them. Why should I fetch the beers? I am paying for them, after all. And my ankle isn’t 100%.

“Where do we want to eat, kids? You start, Lexxie.”

“East or South Asian.”

“Asian is good for me, too.” Andrew agrees. Not that he’ll eat much of it.

“I’m not going to argue. East Asian for me.”

That was easy.

“This is the classic shit hippy song – Almost Cut my Hair.”

Is it a Graham Nash or a Crosby song? They were both rubbish. In Crosby Stills, Nash & Young, Neil Young had 60% of the talent, Steve Stills 30%, Crosby and Nash 10% combined. Tops.

Time for a different beer.

33 Acres of Euphoria Belgian Tripel, 9.2% ABV
Bye, bye sludge. Hello alcoholy goodness. It comes in what looks like a water glass. Not what I expected at all. Doesn’t taste much like a Tripel.

For comparison purposes, the kids have ordered a pretzel. Much more like a real one than yesterday’s. They do seem to have Natronlauge, as the exterior looks spot on.

The kids are really getting into the cider. Really, really getting into it.

This place is growing on me. Quite calm. Time to get the bill.

$200 Canadian? I’m feeling less calm now. I suppose the kids knocked back quite a few. Beers and ciders. Still seems steep.

We’ve agreed Asian. I suggest picking up some stuff from the Dim Sum place close to the hotel. The kids aren’t in a mood to argue. And decide to pick up some other stuff from Tim Horton’s.

A couple of hours later, we’re feeling peckish again.

“Do you fancy some Japanese food, kids?”

“Yes, Dad.” Of course, Lexxie does.

I’m hungry enough to go and fetch it myself. Even with my bad ankle. Though it is only about 100 metres. I get much the same stuff as me and Lexxie ate the other night: sushi, tempura, gyozas.

The rest of the evening is spent watching TV while nibbling on the food and sipping whisky. Which we need to get finished off tonight. The kids slowly grind their way through the Molson cans.

I boogie on down into sleep at the Canadian Club. 

Tim Hortons
865 W Broadway,
BC V5Z 1J9.

33 Acres Brewing Company
15 W 8th Ave,
BC V5Y 1M8.

Shanghai Lu Restaurant
705 W Broadway,
BC V5Z 1G8.

Kisokoma Japanese Restaurant
805 W Broadway #112,
BC V5Z 1K1.

1 comment:

Phil said...

You like your pretzels finished off with caustic soda?

(ObTWIAVBP: You like your pretzels finished off with lye?)