Beer Excursion: Central City Brewing

I've been good. Really, I have. Mostly. In the time we've been here, I've had maybe three pints of ale, less than a pint a week, which is much much lower than my UK average. I've been cycling steep hills, snacking on veg, and eating much less than an office worker might be tempted to. My belly is much smaller and I'm grateful for it.

But today was one of those days when you toss the rules out the window. I joined Margo and Sarah on their trip to their Burnaby arts class on the 129 to Edmonds Station, but I jumped off the bus at the Holdom SkyTrain station, took it to Columbia Station, transferred to the Expo Line eastbound, and got off at Surrey City Centre, the second-to-last stop.

I'd planned to walk to nearby King George Highway to visit a pub I'd read about, but by the time I arrived, in the rain, and looked up and down the street, all I saw were box stores, so I hiked back to the Central City office tower and shopping mall, near the station. And another destination, Central City Brewing.

I started with some samples of their red, their IPA, and their bock. I started with a pint of the Boomers Red Ale. I'm still getting used to the colder ale temperatures here. But my, the hops! It just makes a beer brighter.

Around this time, I thought another pint might be nice, but it might be prudent to order a bar snack to soak up a bit of the drink. I asked the bartender, and he procured a menu, but did mention that the special was fish and chips for $10. Now, if he'd said just about anything else, I'd have said, "No thanks, mate, I'm just not that hungry". But with that magical phrase - "fish and chips" - my reptilian brain kicked in and I said, "Aw, mate, that sounds great, no need for a menu." And next in the pipeline was not their IPA, which apparently CAMRA Vancouver declared the best of 2008, but its temporary replacement, an Imperial IPA stuffed with hops but a good deal of malt to, in order to weigh in at its mealy 8.5% ABV. (CAMRA, the Campaign for Real Ale, is a UK organisation for the appreciation of real ales, and I was nicely surprised to see there is a Canadian counterpart.)

So even though I arose late this morning, fighting a cold and with a pond's worth of frogs in my throat, I temporarily achieved a sense of blissful nirvana, which carried me on my trip home up to the point of leaving the SkyTrain station only to see my green light across Holdom turn amber, and the waiting 129 (with Margo and Sarah on board, no less) gleefully flooring it up the hill. So, instead of waiting another half hour for the next one, I decided to walk. Up the hill. No, up two bloody hills. In the rain. Did I mention it was uphill all the way? And that it was raining?