Drink!

This is the eleventh year of Toronto's Festival of Beer, traditionally held on that hot August weekend when it seems like a good idea for about fifty or sixty breweries to bring their wares down to the grounds of Fort York in the blazing sun.

It's sold out today, but if you plan on going tomorrow, $25 bucks will get you entrance, a sippy cup and five tokens, which can be exchanged for four- or eight-ounce samples of the finest in local craft brews, artisanal porters and stouts, and some truly devastating IPAs. Also there is Bud Light and Miller, if you just want to throw your money away. (I recommend hanging around the Wellington Brewery tent, since pretty much everything they produce is exceptional ... though, for some reason, the company decided to exile its budget-priced but still lovely Trailhead lager to a separate kiosk.)

My wife and her brother have been going ever since the second year, and they've dragged me along for the last five; I can't say I've made any earth-shaking discoveries, but I've developed a real appreciation for porters and stouts -- though it may seem like blasphemy to write this, there is a world beyond Guinness -- and even managed to introduce my expert brother-in-law to a beer he might not otherwise have encountered, the Granite Brewery's dark, lovely Peculiar, which sustained my friends and me through many a long winter's pubbing in the mid-1990s.

Now, for the sad news. This year's festival was ... well, let's call it compromised. In previous years, the opening day of the festival has been a calm and enjoyable event, a chance to actually talk to the brewmasters and, you know, learn something about the beverage you're imbibing. Hey, I like to learn.

This year, it was bordering on a zoo -- lots of drunken marketing types pounding down Molson and Labatts products as fast as they could, and staggering back and forth to the food stands while blowing on stupid promotional whistles to find their missing friends. Maybe it's just me, but doesn't echolocation kind of not work when you're shitfaced?

It wasn't awful -- that'll be today, as the sold-out Saturday crowd gradually realizes you're supposed to stand in lines for things like a sober person -- but it wasn't great, either. There's not as much fun to be had for an enthusiast when you're surrounded by the enthusiastic.

Shameful confession: I tried Mott's Clamato Red Eye -- Brick's bizarre mixture of lager and, um, clamato juice -- and it wasn't bad at all. It tasted more like a slightly carbonated Clamato than anything else, and was eminently drinkable; I was shocked to discover it's got an alcohol content of 4.8%. And if last night's lineup was any indication, there's gonna be a lot of scary vomit on the grass tonight.

Technorati tags: Toronto Festival of Beer, Alcoholism, Alcoholics, Crowds, Health Hazards