In the early, heady days of my craft beer explorations, I thought the concept of a "breakfast" stout was a beer advertising and marketing gimmick meant to conjure images and sensations of rich, hearty, healthfulness. This suspicion was reinforced when I saw the label for Founders Brewery's very fine Breakfast Stout, which featured a Norman Rockwellian baby, bibbed and perched in its high chair, devouring its morning oatmeal. Surely no one, least of all infants, drank this darkest, bitterest, and often most alcoholic of beers before the sun made it over the yardarm!? I was later to learn, upon visiting the Beer Advocate website's famous message board-- and its iconic "What beer are you drinking now" thread in particular-- that the hard-core will indeed drink beer, and stouts in particular, in the am. (No posts appeared to have been made by babies, but then how would we know for sure?)
The habitual drinking of alcohol in the morning marks what would seem to me to be one clear line of division between the worlds whose intersection this blog is meant to explore-- those of serious running and craft beer. Runners may occasionally drink a beer or two following a morning road race-- with the Boilermaker 15k, which ends near Utica NY's famous Matt Brewing Company, and features heavy consumption during its awards ceremony, held within the historic confines of the brewery, being a famous example-- but we almost universally will not drink before our daily training labours are complete. Today's stout beers, and especially the many "breakfast" varieties, are, however, a uniquely adapted mealtime style for runners. And, you guessed it, I am here to explain exactly how and why!
I won't waste any time explaining exactly what a stout is, and how it differs from a "porter" (it doesn't, as regards fundamentals), except to say that it is: a very dark (often impenetrably so), owing to the use of roasted rather than malted grains; lightly hopped; and, bitter/roasy in taste, similar to premium black coffee. Many beer novices will be familiar with this style, thanks to the ubiquity of its most famous exemplar, the macro behemoth Guinness Irish Dry Stout. These elements offer a firm foundation for the addition of numerous, complimentary flavour variations-- variations that frequently succeed in turning this sometimes thin and very bitter style (and many experience their first Guinness as "ashy" tasting) into something much more comfortable, like a hearty breakfast... or, a rich dessert!
Today's top stouts-- and they are often the top beers across style, with no fewer than 18 different offerings in Beer Advocate's top 50 brews-- are about as far from Guinness as Nescafe instant is from a cup of Shenandoah Joe's finest. Using very heavy grain bills, complimentary adjuncts like coffee and dark chocolate, and barrel-aging (typically Bourbon, but also rum), brewers have ramped up the richness (and, in most cases, the ABV) to levels undreamt of by the workaday stout-fancier of 20 years ago. The result has been the advent of the "dessert beer"-- a style that happens to be an ideal replacement for the dessert-proper so often craved by calorie starved runners following their last meal of the day, or while relaxing in the later evening, following a full day or work/study and training. Why ideal? Because, contrary to popular belief, even the richest imperial stout has fewer calories per typical serving (and 5-6 ounces of the best stouts is easily enough) than a sugary dessert , with most of the beer's calories accounted for by the alcohol and carbs, versus the dessert's simple sugars and fat-- meaning you get a little relaxation with your beer calories AND your preserve your precious beer-palate (for use on the many other beer styles I have lovingly discussed in this space!).
If you are Canadian you will, I'm afraid, have a harder time getting your hands on the sub-30/35 level imperial stouts to which I refer. Canada has steadily advanced its IPA ranks over the past few years, but its imperial stout forces have become a distinct reverse salient. In my Canadian travels, I have yet to find dark offerings at all comparable to those available in most US states-- beers like Prairie Artisan Ales' (Tulsa OK) Bomb!, Westbrook Brewing Co.'s (Mount Pleasant SC) Mexican Cake, or even the much more widely available Ten Fidy , out of the Oskar Blues Brewery in Lyons CO. The lone exception to this rule is Dieu De Ciel! of Montreal's sublime Pèchè Mortel (which is annually offered in its other-level Bourbon Barrel iteration). While not as chewably rich as some of the aforementioned American heavies, Pèchè is an elegantly balanced coffee stout with a slightly sharp mouthfeel and subtle sweetness. I have had dozens of them in my life and they never fail to delight. As per the above, they are best enjoyed following an evening meal, after sunset, and in the cooler seasons of the year. And they are enjoyed best of all in the ineffably cool confines of the Brasserie Dieu Du Ciel! itself (special note to those attending this year's Athletics Canada National Track and Field Championships in Laval QC!).
Hopping Along in...Ottawa, Ontario:
Speaking of National Championships, I spent an exciting weekend at our (Canada's) 10k showdown in Ottawa, Ontario-- which, while culturally staid, is lovely for running and, perhaps surprisingly to many, drinking quality beer! Originally set to run the thing myself, I was reduced by an injury concern to covering the gorgeous Rideau Canal-side course at an easy pace, taking in the action along the way. Highlights of the weekend were watching (and later drinking beer with) friend and former athlete Dylan Wykes-- a beer-fancier whose palate I helped out of infancy many years ago-- win the men's championship, and spending time with current athlete (and top Canadian masters runner) Colin Fewer, along with former Queen's athletes Alex Wilkie and Jeff Archer, all beersters of note. Colin, not so coincidentally, is a home brewer with a sterling beer palate, and yet another runner whose beer-love I am proud to have instigated. The beers consumed were: Beyond the Pale (Ottawa)'s flagship IPA Aromatherapy (had young and fresh at BTP itself); a couple of new offerings from Ottawa's very fine young brewery Dominion City (the DIPA No Secrets, black IPA Mèlodie Noire, and go-to single IPA Sunsplit); and, some of Bicycle Brewery's On the Lam IPA. Bicycle is a new (to me) Ottawa brewery suggested by Dylan, a newly located resident familiar with the top brews of his former home, Vancouver BC, soon to be featured in this space! Like the top athletes on the road that weekend, all beers were very low or sub-30/35 performers, with the championship going this time to Dom City's No Secrets, an exquisitely bright, citrusy, and slightly astringent little offering that ranks just below their now discontinued superstar Null and Void.
Thursday, May 30, 2019
Wednesday, May 22, 2019
Sour You Doing? Try This Pucker After Your Summer Workouts!
The first and most enduring beer/run link was forged when hot, tired athletes reached for a "cold one" following a hot summer race or workout, thus combining three of the things we crave after such efforts: Thirst quenchment; a few calories to kick off the recovery process; and, a little brain-relief. The post-race keg was not permitted in the jurisdiction in which I started road racing (Ontario, the Canadian province founded and politically dominated by Scottish Presbyterians), but it was a staple of the post-race repose just south of the border in "upstate" New York. Even the tiny town of Cape Vincent, which hosted a late summer 5 mile race whose start had to be delayed so as not to interfere with Sunday church comings and goings (thus making it even hotter!), tapped a keg of lager for its 100 or so sweaty finishers (then also offered river access, for a slightly tipsy, and almost certainly un-insureable, dive into the cool August flow.) Like everyone else, I loved this ritual, right down to the drowsy ferry ride back to Canada and the mild late-Sunday afternoon hangover. What I recognized even then, however, was that the beer served was barely palatable, no matter how tired, hot, hungry, or in need of release you might have felt. A favourite offering at "North Country" road races in those days was Genesee Cream Ale (vile, even when ice cold), but you could also find yourself subjected to an Old Milwaukee or a Bud Light.
Inexplicably, and probably out of sheer habit, many runners still reach for beers like this on a post-run summer day. And, when challenged by runners like me to broaden their post-run beer horizons, some will reply that the don't want their run/beer relationship "complicated" by concerns about brew quality. As the Globe and Mail editorialist I referenced last week-- the guy who wrote that abject "defense of crappy beer"--, they will say: "Sometimes I just want a cold beer! Away with your beer snobbery!
Since the mandate of Hop Along is not mere beer snobbery (although a pinch of beer snobbery does go into every batch of Hop Along!), but also to offer constructive suggestions to help the serious runner raise his/her been fancying to a similar level, I now present you with a thrilling alternative to your post-summer run problem-- one that involves little or know extra expense or hassle (assuming you aren't too geographically isolated): The sour ale.
When someone says "sometimes I just want a cold beer" what I hear is: "Sometimes I want a malt-based, lower alcohol beverage that tastes refreshing when served cold-- that "sometimes" being when I am hot and thirsty, such as after a run or workout in summer temperatures, and want to drink such a beverage relatively quickly." There was a time when there was indeed only one solution to this problem-- the macro lager, pilsner, or pale ale. For at least the past 10 years, however, the only excuses for such a sad resort have been complacency, not having discovered Hop Along, or perhaps a latent adolescent palate (and there's your pinch of snobbery for this edition!). Today, the hot runner is easily extricated from his/her predicament by one of many excellent pale and blond ales, and by my favourite hot weather style-- the Gose, a variant of the now almost ubiquitous "sour beer".
As the link above explains, not all sour beers are like the Gose or "Berliner Weiss". Lambics, for instances, while tart, are also often heavy and pretty complex flavour-wise. They thus demand slower imbibation and a little more time and attention to fully appreciate. The lighter, more carbonated sours are often brewed with wheat malt and, increasingly, fruit adjuncts for secondary fermentation (i.e. when the yeast dines on the added fructose). The sourness in the style is created by these fruit adjuncts, by the introduction of the same kind of bacteria that creates yoghurt (lactobacillus), and/or by the use of wild yeasts (formerly an unwanted by-product of the brewing process, now "tamed" to great effect by expert brewers). The Gose, a German style so popular 800 years ago that entire drinking establishments were dedicated to its enjoyment (or so claims the can blurb on my favourite brand, made by South Carolina's Westbrook Brewery), is the best version of the sour for post-run quaffing, and it is now available from dozens of breweries. The classic version includes no fruit adjuncts, just the original coriander and salt, producing the intriguing interplay of spice, dank sourness, and savoriness that is its signature. Weighing in at 4-5% abv, at typical can of Gose is a 3-4 sipper at best; lacking the hop bitterness characteristic of ales, even your lower alcohol variants, this beer goes down quickly and deliciously. Even the fruitier, higher alcohol varieties goes down quickly and very pleasantly. So delightful are the sour beers on a post-run summer afternoon that I have single-handedly created new beer lovers by offering or suggesting one. Next time you are hot, sweaty, tired, and hungry from your summer exertions, reach not for your wretched lager! Instead, retrieve one of the sours you have purchased from your local retailer after having read this blog. Widely available brands (in Canada) include Collective Art's rotating line-up of Goses and Berliner Weisses and Nicklebrook's sometimes very fruity renditions. But, if you're looking for something above the recreational level-- something sub-30/35 speed-- get thee to the Bellwoods Brewery in Toronto (or to a more discerning bar in your area) or to Montreal's Dieu du Ceil! (their Summer Solstice sour is one of the highlights of summer, and one of the highest rated beers in Canada across all styles).
What am I Drinking this Week?
On a tip from fellow runner and beer-man Kurtis Marlowe, also our massage guy at Queen's and Physi-Kult, I broke down and tried Flying Monkey's audacious triple IPA, Sparkle Puff (I say "broke down" because, generally speaking, Flying Monkey has not lived up to its early promise as regards IPAs. Their offerings have been generally under-hopped or poorly executed, leaving them with a mouth full of dust, courtesy of regional rival Collective Arts in particular). Sparkle Puff is decidedly NOT the kind of post-run thirst quencher described above, nor was it brewed to be. It is a 10% abv monster that is not afraid to show its particulate (and it is visibly laden with sediment), and that needs to be imbibed slowly and deliberately. I was initially unimpressed, but certainly not put off. It was pleasantly peachy in smell and presentation, with bitterness only in somewhat boozy finish (less boozy than the 10% would lead one to expect, however). When it warmed, and after I poured the remaining sediment into the glass, however, it jumped a level, gaining some weight and complexity (other fruit flavour notes and some dankness appeared). This beer ultimately earned its relatively high BA rating, but I would recommend it strictly to more experienced IPA fanciers. For anyone else, it may come off as stuntishly incomprehensible (what's with all that sediment!?). And, of course, go easy, or consider splitting with a friend, lest you get knocked on your skinny runner's ass by the abv!
Inexplicably, and probably out of sheer habit, many runners still reach for beers like this on a post-run summer day. And, when challenged by runners like me to broaden their post-run beer horizons, some will reply that the don't want their run/beer relationship "complicated" by concerns about brew quality. As the Globe and Mail editorialist I referenced last week-- the guy who wrote that abject "defense of crappy beer"--, they will say: "Sometimes I just want a cold beer! Away with your beer snobbery!
Since the mandate of Hop Along is not mere beer snobbery (although a pinch of beer snobbery does go into every batch of Hop Along!), but also to offer constructive suggestions to help the serious runner raise his/her been fancying to a similar level, I now present you with a thrilling alternative to your post-summer run problem-- one that involves little or know extra expense or hassle (assuming you aren't too geographically isolated): The sour ale.
When someone says "sometimes I just want a cold beer" what I hear is: "Sometimes I want a malt-based, lower alcohol beverage that tastes refreshing when served cold-- that "sometimes" being when I am hot and thirsty, such as after a run or workout in summer temperatures, and want to drink such a beverage relatively quickly." There was a time when there was indeed only one solution to this problem-- the macro lager, pilsner, or pale ale. For at least the past 10 years, however, the only excuses for such a sad resort have been complacency, not having discovered Hop Along, or perhaps a latent adolescent palate (and there's your pinch of snobbery for this edition!). Today, the hot runner is easily extricated from his/her predicament by one of many excellent pale and blond ales, and by my favourite hot weather style-- the Gose, a variant of the now almost ubiquitous "sour beer".
As the link above explains, not all sour beers are like the Gose or "Berliner Weiss". Lambics, for instances, while tart, are also often heavy and pretty complex flavour-wise. They thus demand slower imbibation and a little more time and attention to fully appreciate. The lighter, more carbonated sours are often brewed with wheat malt and, increasingly, fruit adjuncts for secondary fermentation (i.e. when the yeast dines on the added fructose). The sourness in the style is created by these fruit adjuncts, by the introduction of the same kind of bacteria that creates yoghurt (lactobacillus), and/or by the use of wild yeasts (formerly an unwanted by-product of the brewing process, now "tamed" to great effect by expert brewers). The Gose, a German style so popular 800 years ago that entire drinking establishments were dedicated to its enjoyment (or so claims the can blurb on my favourite brand, made by South Carolina's Westbrook Brewery), is the best version of the sour for post-run quaffing, and it is now available from dozens of breweries. The classic version includes no fruit adjuncts, just the original coriander and salt, producing the intriguing interplay of spice, dank sourness, and savoriness that is its signature. Weighing in at 4-5% abv, at typical can of Gose is a 3-4 sipper at best; lacking the hop bitterness characteristic of ales, even your lower alcohol variants, this beer goes down quickly and deliciously. Even the fruitier, higher alcohol varieties goes down quickly and very pleasantly. So delightful are the sour beers on a post-run summer afternoon that I have single-handedly created new beer lovers by offering or suggesting one. Next time you are hot, sweaty, tired, and hungry from your summer exertions, reach not for your wretched lager! Instead, retrieve one of the sours you have purchased from your local retailer after having read this blog. Widely available brands (in Canada) include Collective Art's rotating line-up of Goses and Berliner Weisses and Nicklebrook's sometimes very fruity renditions. But, if you're looking for something above the recreational level-- something sub-30/35 speed-- get thee to the Bellwoods Brewery in Toronto (or to a more discerning bar in your area) or to Montreal's Dieu du Ceil! (their Summer Solstice sour is one of the highlights of summer, and one of the highest rated beers in Canada across all styles).
What am I Drinking this Week?
On a tip from fellow runner and beer-man Kurtis Marlowe, also our massage guy at Queen's and Physi-Kult, I broke down and tried Flying Monkey's audacious triple IPA, Sparkle Puff (I say "broke down" because, generally speaking, Flying Monkey has not lived up to its early promise as regards IPAs. Their offerings have been generally under-hopped or poorly executed, leaving them with a mouth full of dust, courtesy of regional rival Collective Arts in particular). Sparkle Puff is decidedly NOT the kind of post-run thirst quencher described above, nor was it brewed to be. It is a 10% abv monster that is not afraid to show its particulate (and it is visibly laden with sediment), and that needs to be imbibed slowly and deliberately. I was initially unimpressed, but certainly not put off. It was pleasantly peachy in smell and presentation, with bitterness only in somewhat boozy finish (less boozy than the 10% would lead one to expect, however). When it warmed, and after I poured the remaining sediment into the glass, however, it jumped a level, gaining some weight and complexity (other fruit flavour notes and some dankness appeared). This beer ultimately earned its relatively high BA rating, but I would recommend it strictly to more experienced IPA fanciers. For anyone else, it may come off as stuntishly incomprehensible (what's with all that sediment!?). And, of course, go easy, or consider splitting with a friend, lest you get knocked on your skinny runner's ass by the abv!
Wednesday, May 15, 2019
Beer, Running, and Why We Need Them-- Now More than Ever
Allow me to be a little earnest-- maybe even somewhat existential--about the foci of this blog. Poo-poo-ers of the entire enterprise of writing about beer, running, and their synergy-- not least my own tee totaling, sugar-addicted, assistant coach/occasional designated driver-- are most likely to wax dismissive about the beer side of the thing. Beer, they're inclined to say, is just beer; and that, while "fine", beer is not worth talking about, let alone caring about as regards how it tastes, or who made it for us, and how. As for the running part, most people are willing to tolerate its serious treatment, but only insofar as they see it as physically healthy on an individual level. For many people, including people who run, any interest beyond that is strictly a sub-cultural matter, or else just another element of the white noise of narcissism hissing in the background of our daily lives. I am here to make the modest but serious case for why craft beer (i.e. beer made for you with vision and purpose) and running are, for similar reasons, deeply important for modern life today.
Let start with the fact that making great beer and training to cover long distances as fast as possible are both gratuitously difficult.
It is, of course, very easy to make beer that hundreds of millions of people will find "acceptable", and that will disappear into the basic, taken-for-granted functionality of daily life-- the kind of product people will refer to when they say, as this Globe and Mail editorialist did last weekend, in a weak defense of "crappy beer": "sometimes I just want a cold beer". And, of course, running has been almost completely gratuitous since at least the time of Phidippides, being one of the slowest and least efficient ways to cover long distances, as good as we human animals happen to be at it.
But when it comes to craft beer and training to race long distances on foot, the extra difficulty is the point of the whole business. Life of the kind human beings are uniquely capable of living-- life beyond the realm of instinct and mere physical necessity-- begins with activities that are freely chosen because their performance makes us reflect on what it means to be alive at all. These activities are by definition going to be challenging of our uniquely human capacities, whether physical, mental, or creative/spiritual. Because the age in which we live is characterized by the increasingly unfashionability of anything that is difficult, or that requires our undivided, unmediated attention, many of these humanizing activities-- e.g. reading serious fiction, quilting, learning a new language, or to play a musical instrument-- are also going to seem earnestly old-fashioned, even fusty. And if/when the value of their pursuit is defended, it will often be in terms of their functionality for some other, more important, undertaking, such as training "the brain" to be better at a "job" (i.e. something that pays money that will enable more distracted consumption), or simply living longer without becoming demented or infirm-- in other words, rarely as ends-in-themselves.
Then, alongside the actual devaluing of difficult and authentically human pursuits, we see the attempts of marketing and advertising to appropriate the language of authentic meaning in order to sell mere consumption-- the easiest and least authentically human thing there is-- as a means to achieve them, or at least their pastiche. And all without a trace of irony!
Thus we have the words "artisanal", "local", "small batch", "hand-crafted" attached to products that may or may not be any of these things, or may not actually need to be in order to serve their functional purpose (and often mass-produced things from far away-- things like grain, furniture, and even fruits and vegetables-- get their basic job done as well, and more cheaply, thus affordably, than their "local", "artisanal" alternatives.) Often, the marketing of something as one of the above things is just an excuse to charge gullible, well-heeled customers more money for a product that is no different or better than its mass-produced alternative. Think, here, of Whole Foods.
Craft beer and running, on the other hand, are two examples of the real, human deal. Beer, like a good meal, is something that really does benefit from smaller batch and local production (though not when it comes to the sourcing of ingredients). The "crafty-ness" of craft beer is distinctly NOT a marketing gimmick. What makes it difficult to produce well, and what limits its scale-ability, is also what makes it special. And whether a stunning craft beer is "good for you", in some hygienic sense, is completely irrelevant. Like many things, it will end you prematurely if misused (and maybe even slightly prematurely even if used properly-- the jury is out on that one). But its value can't be measured in these terms; its value in the experiencing and in the reflecting upon (not to mention in the making, for those with the skill). It is only "good for you" in the way that anything that makes you authentically enjoy the life you are living is "good for you". The rewards of serious running are likewise strictly in the doing-- in the overcoming, and in the reflecting on the experience of being a creature that needs to struggle to overcome things in order to be truly alive. After all, even the most health-conscious, hypochondriac runner knows that it can't all be about living longer or warding off dementia. Deep down, we all register the truth of the old t-shirt meme about eating right, living well, and dying anyway. We run because it lights us up in ways that we can't quite understand, but that go straight to something deep and very old within us.
But perhaps most importantly, and unlike those things in life that are mere means to some other end-- like getting "physically healthy"-- or that exist to distract us, craft beer and running are two things that promote authentic sociability-- that, in other words, bring us together in friendly and open ways. Things that are pitched as making us "healthier/better" are always addressed to our lone, individual selves, pitted against one another in competition for scarce resources, or against natural decline itself. Likewise for things meant to distract or merely "amuse" us; they tend to be isolating. Like many other odd, difficult, or increasingly old-fashioned pursuits, craft beer and running have the capacity to create communities. Anyone who inhabits the worlds of both beer and serious running will know how much aficionados love to gather-- online or in person-- and talk about the finer points of the thing they love. Just as often, they will enjoy, in silent reflection and wonder, the community of people who understand, even if they can't clearly say it, what's great, even profound, about the thing they love. When it comes to craft beer, we reflect on and talk about the thing as a product ingeniously made to delight us with its creativity and sensory brilliance. We think about the beer's creator, and his/her hybrid technical/culinary virtuosity-- but also generosity in having devoted him/herself so completely to something so tricky and, for most, so relatively unremunerative (because even the best beer is almost always priced modestly when compared with wine and spirits of similar caliber). When it comes to running, we talk about the joy of a plan well executed-- and rewarded-- or of the heartbreak of unexpected failure, and we think about how many many other runners, at all levels, and at any given time, are experiencing one or the other. And we support each other by listening, complimenting, celebrating, or commiserating.
Increasingly, and brilliantly, these two worlds come together, when runners, freshly exercised, assemble to enjoy the growing abundance of good beer that the craft brewing revolution has bestowed. And what, pray tell, do we need more of these days than authentic sociability?
Hopping Along in... London, Ontario:
Last week's running travel took me to the "other" London (Ontario), which shares with its namesake...very little! One thing the two do have in common, however, is a lovely river running through them (London-the-lesser's is much smaller, and nowhere near the sea, but probably cleaner, for what that's worth). And along that river is a very nice running and biking trail-- the Thames River Trail. The trail is gently rolling and paved, but you can get onto the grass alongside the asphalt here and there if you want to. It is generally leafy, but with several open views of the downtown skyline. The times I have run on it it has been lightly trafficked and thus blissfully quiet and free of distraction. If there are interesting or historically notable landmarks along it, I have yet to see them. You would have to ask a member of the thriving running community there, such as marathon star Leslie Sexton, who undoubtedly knows this trail the way veteran swimmers know the black line at the bottom of a pool! I accessed the trail very quickly and easily from the Western University campus, so check it out if you are in the vicinity for business or pleasure. For quiet, convivial running in the immediate environs of mid-sized Canadian city, it is hard to do better.
The beer highlight of my London excursions is always dinner and pours at the outstanding Milos Craft Beer Emporium, a bit of a curiosity in a downtown otherwise catering to a distinctly macro, sports-bar palate. Milos consistently offers the all-star line-up of Ontario crafts, with a particular fondness for the very fine Bellwoods Brewery stable of IPAs, pales, and sours, of which I partook (in running terms, compare Bellwoods to the the new men's London Western TC distance group-- lots of sub-30s). But proprietor Milos (a Czech transplant, I am told) went whole-other-level on this occasion by listing a bottle of the vanishingly rare-- indeed, all but unavailable in Canada-- Westvleteren 12, a Belgian abbey ale of world renown. "Westy" 12 is a quadrupel ale weighing in at 10.3 abv. Despite the scandalous price, I split one with friend and local elite Chris Ballestrini, seen below with the prize! As Chris, experiencing his first taste of the beer could--and exuberantly did--attest, Westy 12 is a divine mystery. It smells like the grape flavouring familiar to drinkers of children's pop beverages and/or young adult "alco-pops", but the cloying aroma instantly gives way on the palate to the familiar nut and dark, sweet fruit flavour notes of the quadrupel, along with the bitter yeastiness that is a feature of all belgian strong ales. The combined effect of the sweet, faux fruit smell and heavy malt middle was one of baffling lightness. Until it actually hit the brain, there was no hint of the 10.3% within. I have sampled many quads, and this one is very close to sui generis, like many of the best of other styles (e.g. Heady Topper, among IPAs). How fast is a Westy 12? As a long established 26:49 performer, it could be the Sammy Kipketer of beers!
Let start with the fact that making great beer and training to cover long distances as fast as possible are both gratuitously difficult.
It is, of course, very easy to make beer that hundreds of millions of people will find "acceptable", and that will disappear into the basic, taken-for-granted functionality of daily life-- the kind of product people will refer to when they say, as this Globe and Mail editorialist did last weekend, in a weak defense of "crappy beer": "sometimes I just want a cold beer". And, of course, running has been almost completely gratuitous since at least the time of Phidippides, being one of the slowest and least efficient ways to cover long distances, as good as we human animals happen to be at it.
But when it comes to craft beer and training to race long distances on foot, the extra difficulty is the point of the whole business. Life of the kind human beings are uniquely capable of living-- life beyond the realm of instinct and mere physical necessity-- begins with activities that are freely chosen because their performance makes us reflect on what it means to be alive at all. These activities are by definition going to be challenging of our uniquely human capacities, whether physical, mental, or creative/spiritual. Because the age in which we live is characterized by the increasingly unfashionability of anything that is difficult, or that requires our undivided, unmediated attention, many of these humanizing activities-- e.g. reading serious fiction, quilting, learning a new language, or to play a musical instrument-- are also going to seem earnestly old-fashioned, even fusty. And if/when the value of their pursuit is defended, it will often be in terms of their functionality for some other, more important, undertaking, such as training "the brain" to be better at a "job" (i.e. something that pays money that will enable more distracted consumption), or simply living longer without becoming demented or infirm-- in other words, rarely as ends-in-themselves.
Then, alongside the actual devaluing of difficult and authentically human pursuits, we see the attempts of marketing and advertising to appropriate the language of authentic meaning in order to sell mere consumption-- the easiest and least authentically human thing there is-- as a means to achieve them, or at least their pastiche. And all without a trace of irony!
Thus we have the words "artisanal", "local", "small batch", "hand-crafted" attached to products that may or may not be any of these things, or may not actually need to be in order to serve their functional purpose (and often mass-produced things from far away-- things like grain, furniture, and even fruits and vegetables-- get their basic job done as well, and more cheaply, thus affordably, than their "local", "artisanal" alternatives.) Often, the marketing of something as one of the above things is just an excuse to charge gullible, well-heeled customers more money for a product that is no different or better than its mass-produced alternative. Think, here, of Whole Foods.
Craft beer and running, on the other hand, are two examples of the real, human deal. Beer, like a good meal, is something that really does benefit from smaller batch and local production (though not when it comes to the sourcing of ingredients). The "crafty-ness" of craft beer is distinctly NOT a marketing gimmick. What makes it difficult to produce well, and what limits its scale-ability, is also what makes it special. And whether a stunning craft beer is "good for you", in some hygienic sense, is completely irrelevant. Like many things, it will end you prematurely if misused (and maybe even slightly prematurely even if used properly-- the jury is out on that one). But its value can't be measured in these terms; its value in the experiencing and in the reflecting upon (not to mention in the making, for those with the skill). It is only "good for you" in the way that anything that makes you authentically enjoy the life you are living is "good for you". The rewards of serious running are likewise strictly in the doing-- in the overcoming, and in the reflecting on the experience of being a creature that needs to struggle to overcome things in order to be truly alive. After all, even the most health-conscious, hypochondriac runner knows that it can't all be about living longer or warding off dementia. Deep down, we all register the truth of the old t-shirt meme about eating right, living well, and dying anyway. We run because it lights us up in ways that we can't quite understand, but that go straight to something deep and very old within us.
But perhaps most importantly, and unlike those things in life that are mere means to some other end-- like getting "physically healthy"-- or that exist to distract us, craft beer and running are two things that promote authentic sociability-- that, in other words, bring us together in friendly and open ways. Things that are pitched as making us "healthier/better" are always addressed to our lone, individual selves, pitted against one another in competition for scarce resources, or against natural decline itself. Likewise for things meant to distract or merely "amuse" us; they tend to be isolating. Like many other odd, difficult, or increasingly old-fashioned pursuits, craft beer and running have the capacity to create communities. Anyone who inhabits the worlds of both beer and serious running will know how much aficionados love to gather-- online or in person-- and talk about the finer points of the thing they love. Just as often, they will enjoy, in silent reflection and wonder, the community of people who understand, even if they can't clearly say it, what's great, even profound, about the thing they love. When it comes to craft beer, we reflect on and talk about the thing as a product ingeniously made to delight us with its creativity and sensory brilliance. We think about the beer's creator, and his/her hybrid technical/culinary virtuosity-- but also generosity in having devoted him/herself so completely to something so tricky and, for most, so relatively unremunerative (because even the best beer is almost always priced modestly when compared with wine and spirits of similar caliber). When it comes to running, we talk about the joy of a plan well executed-- and rewarded-- or of the heartbreak of unexpected failure, and we think about how many many other runners, at all levels, and at any given time, are experiencing one or the other. And we support each other by listening, complimenting, celebrating, or commiserating.
Increasingly, and brilliantly, these two worlds come together, when runners, freshly exercised, assemble to enjoy the growing abundance of good beer that the craft brewing revolution has bestowed. And what, pray tell, do we need more of these days than authentic sociability?
Hopping Along in... London, Ontario:
Last week's running travel took me to the "other" London (Ontario), which shares with its namesake...very little! One thing the two do have in common, however, is a lovely river running through them (London-the-lesser's is much smaller, and nowhere near the sea, but probably cleaner, for what that's worth). And along that river is a very nice running and biking trail-- the Thames River Trail. The trail is gently rolling and paved, but you can get onto the grass alongside the asphalt here and there if you want to. It is generally leafy, but with several open views of the downtown skyline. The times I have run on it it has been lightly trafficked and thus blissfully quiet and free of distraction. If there are interesting or historically notable landmarks along it, I have yet to see them. You would have to ask a member of the thriving running community there, such as marathon star Leslie Sexton, who undoubtedly knows this trail the way veteran swimmers know the black line at the bottom of a pool! I accessed the trail very quickly and easily from the Western University campus, so check it out if you are in the vicinity for business or pleasure. For quiet, convivial running in the immediate environs of mid-sized Canadian city, it is hard to do better.
The beer highlight of my London excursions is always dinner and pours at the outstanding Milos Craft Beer Emporium, a bit of a curiosity in a downtown otherwise catering to a distinctly macro, sports-bar palate. Milos consistently offers the all-star line-up of Ontario crafts, with a particular fondness for the very fine Bellwoods Brewery stable of IPAs, pales, and sours, of which I partook (in running terms, compare Bellwoods to the the new men's London Western TC distance group-- lots of sub-30s). But proprietor Milos (a Czech transplant, I am told) went whole-other-level on this occasion by listing a bottle of the vanishingly rare-- indeed, all but unavailable in Canada-- Westvleteren 12, a Belgian abbey ale of world renown. "Westy" 12 is a quadrupel ale weighing in at 10.3 abv. Despite the scandalous price, I split one with friend and local elite Chris Ballestrini, seen below with the prize! As Chris, experiencing his first taste of the beer could--and exuberantly did--attest, Westy 12 is a divine mystery. It smells like the grape flavouring familiar to drinkers of children's pop beverages and/or young adult "alco-pops", but the cloying aroma instantly gives way on the palate to the familiar nut and dark, sweet fruit flavour notes of the quadrupel, along with the bitter yeastiness that is a feature of all belgian strong ales. The combined effect of the sweet, faux fruit smell and heavy malt middle was one of baffling lightness. Until it actually hit the brain, there was no hint of the 10.3% within. I have sampled many quads, and this one is very close to sui generis, like many of the best of other styles (e.g. Heady Topper, among IPAs). How fast is a Westy 12? As a long established 26:49 performer, it could be the Sammy Kipketer of beers!
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