I like beer. And beer, I'm happy to say, likes me too. We definitely have a love/love relationship going here. One of my fondest moments with beer was brewing it myself with Alex Fogden at Strathcona Park Lodge. After showing kids how to canoe, kayak, and rock climb, there was nothing like a cool, refreshing beverage to end the day. I remember our beer making days well. Stealing our way into one of the unoccupied cabins reserved for guests on the waterfront, mixing up the ingredients in their bathtub and having our own clandestine brewing party (The guest's cabins were the only ones outfitted with running water, you see. Boy, they had it nice). When finished, we'd race across the campground under the cover of darkness with our carboy full of the pre-beer mixture. We'd set it up in the corner of our cabin, lovingly wrapped with a blanket and sleeping bag to keep it at its recommended temperature. For days we'd hear it ferment--blorp, blorp, blorp--ah, sweet music. After a few days it time to bottle, after which we'd wait for a few weeks and voila--what we affectionately called Alex and Dave's Rednose Premium Ale was ready for the beveraging and there was much rejoicing.
These memories flooded back this past weekend whilst perusing the many fine isles of packaged comestibles at the Canadian Superstore. In what seemed to be a hallowed column of light breaking forth from the heavens, but was really just a broken florescent light flickering, I noticed Coopers Brewery beer kit in a can. I stopped and once I held the can firmly in hand I lapsed into a reverie of beer making at Strathcona. Sitting on the porch in our lawn chairs talking about the latest Nerd Heard we put through the ropes course earlier in the day while sipping on the newest edition of Rednose--ah. Brings a tear to the eye, it does. As I stood there mesmerized by the flickering florescent light upon the can I realized I had no choice. I had to do it--it was my destiny. "Rednose Premium Ale would live again!" I shouted, but none of the various patrons around me seemed to care. Fools, I thought. They'll all be banging on my door when its magnificent splendour is realized in three weeks begging for a sip. It is either John Labatt or John Molson who is accredited to that dorky slogan, "An honest brew makes its own friends", but there is some truth to it. When Rednose One was ready, it never seemed to fail, we'd have people suddenly appearing on our porch and within minutes, we'd be out two or three cases.
Of course, the best part of brewing your own is choosing the official bottle in which to put your brew. What one can do is simply buy bottles from the brewery place, but where is the fun in that? We strictly adhered to seeking out the best bottles already on the market and stealing them. What we'd do is buy a lot of beer, then drain the bottles (think about it), and re-use them for Rednose. It was in this process, of course, where the fun lay. We had empties piled up on the porch, in the closet, and behind the door. I have chosen Big Rock as the official bottle this time. It feels good in the hand, fits nicely between the lips, pours well, and the caps I have fit the bottle. So Rednose lives again, or least it will in three weeks. I think I'll go tuck in the carboy.
The Underground