Bar Supplement 2006 - The Gauntlet

U N I V E R S I T Y O F C A L G A R Y
V O L U M E 4 7 | I S S U E N O . 1 1 | S E P T E M B E R 7 | 2 0 0 6
section B

GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT SEPTEMBER 07.06 B3
GITTIN’ URE DRINK ON
Hit the sauce before it hits
Hey Turds,
Rookie here, ready to tell you how it
is. Congrats if you’ve just graduated
high school, but what do you want
A Purple Heart
Too bad, here’s a diploma—I hear they can
be used as a pretty decent makeshift umbrella.
If you’ve already been here for a couple years
or been piddling about traveling or working
or some crap, good for you too. In any case,
school is about to begin and you’ll no doubt
be looking for a good waterin’ hole or twelve
to drown in after doing either really well or
really badly on any of the hundreds of quizzes,
assignments, papers and exams you’re about
to encounter. Hell, hopping into a pint glass
can even help celebrate a birthday, encourage
socialization, lead to intimate—but sloppy—
moments with members of the opposite sex
or even just help pass the time.
After four years of intensive research, I
believe I am qualified to take you on a journey
to the places where your only responsibility
is leaving an empty glass and a decent tip. At
each bar, you will notice footprints heading
inside. Sometimes there will be two sets of
footprints coming out, other times there will
be one set of footprints coming out. At times
when you see only one set of footprints coming
out, you had to carry my drunk ass.
Although choosing locations to have my
drunk ass carried out of wasn’t easy, my
mysterious mind mustered many. In the years
gone by, Gauntlet drinking supplements have
tried to cover everything, or focussed on a
specific drunken mission. This one—despite
my inability to do so—will be of the focussed
nature. While last year’s Pubs vs. Clubs and
2004’s thing about wings were enticing subjects,
I decided to steer this supplement in a
direction no man has ever been (at least since
2001): The Pub Crawl.
I’m not talking about those pub ‘crawls’
involving a pricey ticket and busses to shuttle
hundreds of drunks all over the city. For this
supplement we brought it back to the good
old days of 2001, when the Gauntlet was
embarking on the now retired Ralph Klein
Pub Crawl. Venture onwards and you will
find four quick and easy routes to literally
crawl with just a few friends and have the time
of your life.
However, before sending you on your way
I must remind you of the terrible repercussions
of whisking alcohol through the stomach
and intestinal walls. While waking up beside
a troll or feeling like shit the day following a
bender may seem severe enough punishment
for your indulgence, thank your lucky stars
that’s as bad as you’ve had it. Not knowing your
limits—or knowing but consistently pushing
them anyway—can result in a night’s stay in
the hospital as they pump your stomach after
diagnosing you with alcohol poisoning, a hefty
fine (see page 9) or even a night’s stay in prison
when the cops see you doing something daft.
Worse yet, alcohol causes a ridiculous number
of deaths due to over-consumption and
drunk driving. Finally, there are some crazy
long-term, alcohol-related health problems
you don’t want to deal with. So leave your
wheels at home and if a friend or bartender
is telling you to slow down, don’t be a hater,
drink more later.
That said, hopefully the following pages
inspire you to get out there and have a dozen
drinks. If not, I’ve probably already done it
for you anyway. Cheers!
Sean Nyilassy
2006 Drinking Supplement Editor
you
Are you
Content
Cover: Cover, dumbass
3: You’re lookin’ at her
4-5: Kensington pub crawl
The drinking team
Writers: Ændrew Rininsland, Emily Senger, Chris Beauchamp, Jon Roe, Kyle Francis
Photographers: Chris Tait, Ryan May, Ændrew Rininsland, Ben Hoffman, Dan Pagan
Drinking Support: Kenzie Love, Katherine Fletcher, Dale Miller, Ben Li, Laura Gerhardt, Jamie
Abernethy, Garth Paulson
Copyright 2006 Gauntlet Publications Society
7-9: C-Train Madness
11, 14: First St pub crawl
12-13: Seventeenth Ave
pub crawl

B4 SEPTEMBER 07.06 GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT
KENSINGTON PUB CRAWL
The fi rst of Calgary’s little hot spots we decided to visit was the Kensington area. The Sunnyside C-Train station is your best bet if you’re
using that U-Pass you paid for. From there it’s just a short walk to Kensington Road. For those of you with light wallets and thirsty livers,
there will be no time to visit the trendy shops when the real treasures lie behind the heavy doors of the many bars just off the main street.
And don’t worry too much about getting thirsty between pubs, everything in Kensington is just a stone’s throw away.
While we only hit four of them, Kensington has enough bars to keep you busy for a week—or longer if you’re a sissy.
A short
ride to
Sunnyside
The evening began for my roommate
and I with a few beers at
home and a leisurely bike ride to the
Kensington area. As we locked our
bikes up outside the first bar on our
crawl, the Kensington Pub, another
of our compatriots stepped out of
the shadows. The three of us were
welcomed inside by the traditional
pub atmosphere: a fairly cozy space
with multiple levels for tables, plenty
of wood and cool decorations.
We grabbed ourselves a table on
the upper level and were promptly
served a few cold pints. As our
glasses magically emptied themselves
our group quickly grew to
eight thirsty bodies—one of them
celebrating a birthday.
One warning for those of you
staying for the long haul: if you need
to use the atm or can, do it before
you get too hammered. I made quick
work of three pints before doing the
pee thing and the set of stairs to the
basement loo and money machine
was more than a little sketchy.
Other than that we were pretty
happy. We got all that we expected
out of a pub. They have a pretty
standard selection of draft beer
and your typical North American
pub menu, though one thing they are
unfortunately short on is patio space.
There is an outdoor balcony on the
top level, but the space is very limited,
and usually very occupied.
After downing our pub grub and
polishing off a couple of pints each,
the short hour we had allotted for
each bar was over and it was time to
move on to our next destination.
Have you ever had all
Sean Nyilassy
18 inches
The Yardhouse
1136 Kensington Rd NW
Our party grew again just in
time for our second stop: the
Yardhouse. As a caffeine addict, I’ve
walked past it many times to get a hit
of espresso at Higher Grounds, but
have never ventured inside.
The changeover from Bass
Brothers’ Pub—the previous tenant—to
the Yardhouse saw the
interior get a face-lift. While the
new interior is pleasant and clean,
it’s not overly interesting.
Large leather booths and tables
with high stools provide plenty of
seating and give the place a restaurant
feel. True to its name, the
Yardhouse has a backyard with a
small outdoor patio. Its size provided
an intimate, rather than claustrophobic
feel and the large wooden
tables and sturdy chairs were easy
to navigate.
The Yardhouse’s signature drink,
the half-yard, is served in a tall, thin
glass, you guessed it, half a yard long.
For those of us who are metrically
inclined that’s 0.4572 metres of beer.
Starting around $9.50, they’re more
expensive than sipping from a pint
glass, but it’s the novelty you’re paying
for. The half-yard comes with its
own wooden stand. These become
quite necessary after you’re about
halfway through one—or for the
metric crowd, 0.2286 metres into
your beer.
Along with the novelty of the
half-yard, the bar boasts a superb
view of its frontyard, also known as
Kensington Road. Windows open
along the front of the bar and high
stools create another mini-patio. On
a hot, summer day it would make a
perfect locale to people-watch, and
Kensington’s diverse crowd of indie
kids, cyclists and yuppies provide
plenty of ogle-material.
Though the backyard patio
and frontyard view make great
places to drink a half-yard during
the summer months, a winter
excursion to the Yardhouse, when
its backyard and frontyard are
closed, would make for a rather
generic and slightly over-priced
bar adventure.
At the end of our allotted hour,
our slightly underwhelmed party
skulled the remaining 0.0256
metres of our half-yards and
headed down the street in search
of cheaper beer.
Emily Senger

GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT SEPTEMBER 07.06
B5
Beagles
have wings
Regal Beagle Pub
410 14 St NW
Although the walk—or dangerously
intoxicated bike ride
in one brave soul’s case—was
rough on the old legs, our search
for cheaper fare was successful at
the Regal Beagle. Though not on
Kensington Road, the Beagle is
just a few steps up 10th Street and
worth a visit.
With 15 cent wings on Mondays,
Wednesdays and Saturdays and
pitchers of house beer on special
for the bargain-basement price of
$12.50, the Beagle is a student’s dream
come true. Sure, the patio furniture
is plastic rather than solid wood, the
bathrooms are tiny and the house
beer tasted suspiciously like agd,
but after the half-yards consumed
earlier the subtle nuance of each ale
became less important.
The Beagle’s selling point is definitely
it’s yummy economy-priced
wings, available in the standard
flavours like teriyaki, hot, salt and
pepper and honey garlic. The Beagle
also has its own signature flavour,
which is a very tasty tangy Greek. A
note though, the suicide wings really
are deadly, and the fumes alone are
enough to make your eyes burn. Be
forewarned.
Aside from the wings, the Beagle
had another selling feature for me:
it was the only bar of the evening
where someone bought me a drink.
Actually, the free beer was because I
fell off my bike in a booze-induced
accident the weekend before and
my massive, oozing scab evoked
some pity. But, scab or no scab, the
pick-up potential for single gals
at the Beagle is high. Fact: Single
guys like their wings, and if you
don’t mind a guy with barbeque
sauce all over his face, this could
be a good place to strike up a conversation
over a mutual affinity for
dead chickens.
The service was also top-notch
at the Beagle, despite the hopping
crowd. Our server was prompt and
friendly, and the manager even
visited us on their spacious patio
to see how we were enjoying our
stay. I think we managed a positive
response, somewhere between swigs
of cheap beer and saucy wings.
Wings devoured, beer chugged,
our hour was up and it was time to
finish off the night with one final
stop.
Emily Senger
I rish I could
remember more
1153 Kensington Cres NW
Irish pubs are everywhere. You love
them, you hate them, or—in the
case of our party—you’re mostly too
drunk to care.
As far as Irish pubs go, Molly
Malone’s is a good one, and its
rooftop patio made a fine destination
for the last stop on our Kensington
tour de bar. Molly’s rooftop patio is
one of the larger ones in the city,
and the dim lighting and potted
flowers create a nice atmosphere
for an evening drink or mid-week
lunch break. The rooftop is also
a favourite with service industry
workers, so on this warm, summer
Monday eve, it was packed just
after 10 p.m.
After the walk back to the heart
of Kensington from the Beagle we
were relieved to finally secure a dirty
table. There we waited, and waited,
and waited as the few servers ran
around in their sassy short kilts
serving thirsty patrons and raking
in the tips. When the server finally
got to us she was pleasant enough,
and the warm summer’s night
made the long wait for drinks more
bearable.
Though its rooftop patio is the
highlight, Molly’s has a spacious
main floor decorated in Irish pub
kitsch, which can be enjoyed in the
winter months as well. The laid-back
atmosphere and large beer selection
make it a fine destination for university
students who want an Irish pub
that’s not the Kilkenny. There’s a large
selection of beer on tap, but like most
downtown drinking establishments,
getting drunk will cost you upwards
of $5 a pint.
As I sipped my vodka-soda—on
special for $4.50—and pondered
how the servers managed to wear
those kilts for an entire night without
flashing anyone, the other end
of the table got a little rowdy. This
may have been due to their half-yard
consumption a couple bars back, or
more likely because the number of
people doing shots with the birthday
boy had suddenly increased. The
options seemed to be: get wasted or
get going. I decided on the latter, bid
goodbye to my companions and set
out into the warm August night.
The night did not end so smoothly
for everyone however. The time
between shots of Jagermeister
decreased and a confused Stupid
Rookie awoke the following morning
wondering who he had to thank
for getting his drunk ass to a couch
and which shot of Jag it was that put
him over the top.
Was it a successful evening Hell
yeah!
Emily Senger

GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT SEPTEMBER 07.06 B7
C-TRAIN MADNESS
Wowsers trousers! The initial idea was simple: Get on the C-Train in the south, get off at each stop, fi nd the nearest bar, have
a drink, rinse and repeat. However, at 26 stops, this was a tall wall to climb. Instead, we decided to make up a competition
based on the same idea. All you need to do the same is two teams, lots of cash, your U-Pass, two cameras and your drinking
hat.
One team starts in the north at Dalhousie, the other team in the south at Bridlewood. At a pre-determined time, teams leave the
C-Train platform in search of their fi rst bar. Each team must get a photo of themselves in each bar and teams earn a point for
each drink in each photo. You can only take one picture in each bar to prevent drinks being included in multiple photos—take
that cheaters. Double-fi sting is encouraged, but double hi-balls are no good because a photo can’t distinguish between them
and a tall single. Whichever team has accumulated the most points when you meet up in the middle, wins. Bring a cell-phone
so that you don’t miss each other.
For our crawl we gave extra points for fi nding a real bar rather than copping out at a restaurant. We also gave out bonus points
if the server or bartender bought us a shot. Points doubled for teams bold enough to hit two bars at one C-Train stop.
Feel free to give this one a go, but know that this challenge is not for the weak!
Dalhousie
At the far north of the C-Train line, we started the day
off right: cheating. While we had agreed with the other
team on a 3 p.m. start time, we were unspecific as to where
we would be. Where we were was dank, smokey and full
of old people—Bugaboo’s is a good bar to go to die in.
We quietly finished our pints and carried on.
Sommerset/Bridlewood
When planning a crazy, cross-city C-Train pub crawl, it’s imperative to
realize just how far south Bridlewood really is. About three-quarters of the
way to Okotoks, and about a half-hour late, we finally found our starting
point. After a quick jog to our rendezvous—the local bp’s Lounge—and
a quicker two drinks each, we were set to begin our quest in earnest. A
jog back to the train got the blood rushing and liquor circulating.
Follow the score earned
at each stop!
10
9
Brentwood
After a sprint across the pavement monstrosity
that is Brentwood mall, we reached the doors of
that great bastion of hot wings and Irish sensibilities:
the Kilkenny. As much fun as the Kilk is to
hang out in, eating wings and dancing jigs, we
didn’t stick around. It was a shot of tequilla and
a sprint back across the parking lot for us. We
even made it back before the next train came.
Eat it cyan team.
9
Shawnessy
The train spit us out into suburban hell, where hot asphalt parking lots can
dry out the most seasoned bar-hopper and soccer moms will lustily snatch
any stray male university students. Finally, after a detour south, we found Mr.
Schnapps in the corner of a strip-mall. The place looked ritzy, but the hi-balls
were dirt cheap at $3 apiece so we had two each, again. The waitress wasn’t
impressed with the challenge before us, however, so we made like a fat lady’s
pants and split. After the long walk back, we watched in agony as a north-bound
train sped off, leaving us with a fifteen-minute wait—valuable time we knew
our hated magenta adversaries would be taking full advantage of.
10
14
University
The Black Lounge was fairly quiet, even for a Saturday in the middle of summer, and we hit up the bar immediately upon entering. We learned
that hi-balls were on special, prompting us to order two each. We had started out slower at the first two stops, but figured if we were going to win
this thing, we needed to start double-fisting. Devising an excellent plan for extra points, we asked our server if she would make out with one of our
team. She not only agreed to that, but joined the team, gaining us another liver to slowly poison with alcohol as we made our trek south.
We tried to hit up the Grad Lounge for some extra points, but the locked doors and dark windows blocked our efforts. We made our way back
to University Station, only misssing one train.
Fish Creek
Upon the advice of our still-missing fifth comrade—who was
meeting us up the line—we burst from the train when the doors
opened and sprinted up a nearby hill, only slowing near the top
when it became painfully clear we weren’t all Donovan Bailey.
We hit the aptly named Rip’s, and ordered a round of Jags and
a hi-ball for the other hand to help us get, well, ripped. A quick,
and slightly easier jog back downhill allowed us to be back on the
platform just in time to yell at a good samaritan to hold the train.
Morale was high, and with another teammate waiting at Canyon
Meadows, our enthusiasm for the day was still safely naive.
Banff Trail
Banff Trail is home to the infamous Alcove, a
’70s era lounge complete with puffy chairs and
dark colours. It was our lucky day as black sambuca
was on special for $2 a shot. Only our recent
female addition refused to take part in the liquor
bonanza provided by the sweet black-licorice nectar.
After demolishing the dark liquor, we hit the
C-Train platform in time for the next train.
11
Canyon Meadows
The day was getting hot, and after another gruelling parking
lot saunter, we stumbled upon oc’s Billiards. The legitimate bar
and grill allowed us to keep up our perfect record of five-point
bonuses. After forcing our tardy teammate to drink three hiballs
to our two, we enjoyed a good chat with the owner of oc’s,
whose name, unsurprisingly, is Oc. On the trek back to the train,
we spotted a sign flanking Macleod Trail that pointed to the
U of C, even though we were clearly still nearer to Okotoks.
Cyan team written by Sean Nyilassy and Chris Beauchamp
Magenta team written by Jon Roe and kyle francis
12
15

B8
SEPTEMBER 07.06 GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT
Lions Park
We were making pretty good time at Lions Park on our way to Tipperary’s, a pseudo-English pub on
smarter choice of taking the sidewalk rather than risking disaster at the hands of the fence.
Anderson
We had to break down for the second time and get our fix at
a franchise establishment, Moxies. Right away, we noticed the
staff at Moxies are foxy, and our tardy teammate wasted no
time in attempting to give a sauve lesson in photography to the
nearest bar-maid. Alas, true love was not to be had, despite us
ensuring his number made its way into her hands. We did meet
a few cool new U of C students though, and the shots of liquid
cocaine—Jagermeister und Gold Schlagger—kept us buzzing on
15
10
SAIT
One would think sait would’ve been our easiest stop of the day, as the Gateway
minutes wandering sait, drunkenly misreading maps several times over before
16th Ave and a bar called Loco Lou’s.
27
12
choice to leav
team; this is w
hazy. We wer
Mongolian an
that this strin
ers. The cuis
trading our fi
consumption
our task. We
of the origin
continued the
Southland
interpretation of the rules we ourselves had written. Our Southland stop was
the Black Swann—a nice dark pub with an exterior reminiscent of medieval
Europe. Ye olde bartender Ali was awesome too, as she served us each two
glasses of their finest house wine (straight out of the box), and was impressed
enough by our quest to buy us a round of shots. This prompted us to phone
the other team to remind them that drinks on the house are worth triple
points. Heading back to the tracks, one of our most-valuable players managed
to spot a short cut to the C-Train platform. His rush helped him become the
first to spill blood for our cause, despite the lack of any real urgency.
17
28
Sunnyside
Our arrival at Sunnyside was marked by an extraordinary
piece of graffiti proclaiming: “Lesbians to the rescue.” Let’s
hope so. Our target bar was Fats, a sports bar with a decent
enough atmosphere. We managed to convince the bartender
that by doing a C-Train pub crawl we were deserving of
the featured ladies’ night special—though it was no doubt
our singing along with the Gwen Stefani playing over the
speakers that pushed him over the edge. Regardless, we
enjoyed our $2.95 Crantinis and left the bar, eager to finally
reach downtown.
Heritage
Our quest took a turn for the seedy, as we found ourselves
exiting the train in desperation, smack dab in an
ugly industrial sprawl. Luckily the flickering neon sign of
Studio 82 caught our eye. It’s a trashy place. For our benefit
though, the establishment is split into two bars, offering us
the chance to earn double points for hitting both at one stop.
A quick, double-fisted drink in the downstairs sports bar
left a working-class taste in our mouths, and the upstairs
bikini bar was even worse. The severe lack of bikinis doused
our curiosity, but we drowned our disappointment with
another round of Jag.

GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT SEPTEMBER 07.06
B9
Eighth Street West
We hit the 8th Street West station in pure skipping jubiliation and decided we were through
with this on-again, off-again relationship with the C-Train. From now on, we were walking
down Stephen Avenue and hitting up every bar on the way.
The first bar we walked into was Soho, another sports bar that seemed to be making some
sort of lycanthropic transition to a night-time dance spot. We tried bargaining for deals and
after several minutes of drunken reasoning, we managed to score one free shot from the bartendress.
Happy with that, we finished off our drinks and made a pit stop at the urinals before
moving on.
The next bar we managed to stumble across was Murph’s, a traditional Irish pub. No one
drinks quite like the Irish, evidenced by their chalkboard that proudly announced: “The liver
is evil. It must be punished.” We ordered a few pitchers and engaged in some merriment and
gaelic activities.
Nearing the end of our journey, we hit a truly English pub dubbed the Unicorn. By this
point, some of our team had fallen under the spell of “beer eyes:” when the liquor accumulates
just above the brow until even the strongest man cannot keep his eyes open anymore. Our
waitress, wrongly diagnosing “beer eyes” as “completely fucking shit-faced,” instructed us to
awake our friend or face the chilly cool of 8th Avenue again. We persisted, managing to finish
our beers and some munchies before hitting up the next location.
Chinook
he directions of a moderately intoxicated Studio
decided to forget about the C-Train altogether
a string of nearby Macleod Trail watering holes.
ections were sound, our growing inebriation
g more difficult than we had anticipated. Our
e the train marked another departure for our
here memory fades and things start to get really
e forced to hit up our first restaurant, Palatal
d Japanese Cuisine, after it became apparent
g of mythical bars had eluded our finest trackine
was excellent however, and it was worth
ve bonus points for five fried octopuses as the
of food had been neglected due to the nature of
didn’t neglect the drink however. While some
al cast were beginning to slow down, others
two-fisted tradition.
5
39 Avenue
While we had to review a map
and pictures later to fill in the
details—including the name of
the place, and the fact that we’d
been there at all—the team had a
blast posing as cacti in front of the
trendy Cactus Club. We had a blast
drinking inside too, although the
Stupid Rookie had begun chugging
our points before we could capture
the photo evidence.
5
Erlton/Stampede
Apparently we went to the Trap and Gill. Who
knew A photo helped us remember making
friends with some strangers and drinking cans
of our first beer of the day. Alpine Lager was a
fitting choice, considering it’s brewed in Nova
Scotia and the Trap is Calgary’s premier maritime
bar. Being served beer in a can is pretty classy,
and so were we by the time we left.
8
34
8
One bonus point for every
dollar of criminal infraction.
In this case, $115 equals
115 points.
Way to go cyan team!
Unknown
Our final destination of the C-Train crawl turned out
to be another English or Irish pub… or something. Are
all pubs either English or Irish Where are the Japanese
pubs We ordered our drinks and sat down at a table,
wallowing in a sense of accomplishment from beating
our foes through downtown.
There we received a phone call detailing the location of
the cyan team. It seemed we had slipped by each other on
our mirthful stumbles. They were at the Unicorn, where,
after much discussion, we decided to return in order to
celebrate our joint victory over our mutual foes: transit
and that damned evil liver.
9
10
Victoria Park
At our last stop before meeting those bastards on
the magenta team, we b-lined it to the first place we
stumbled upon. The Embarcadero was too ritzy for
our thin blood and the owner reluctantly served us
a round of shots. We continued north on foot, set
for our final rendezvous with the opposite team, and
while we wouldn’t know the final results until the
photos were analyzed, we already knew a few of the
results: headache, dizziness, nausea and a strange
urge to sing really bad karaoke.
End of the line
With the teams finally united at the Unicorn it should have been time to say our congratulations, go home and begin the long
process of sobering up. However, why sober up when the night is still so young, and so sweet. If lack of memory serves me correctly,
it was about 9:30 p.m.; time to start drinking, not stop.
So we exchanged tales of adventures with the other team, gloating about our successes and weeping over our failures. After trying to
piece together something that resembled a timeline of the day for the other team’s enjoyment, there was only one thing left to do: with
our pride, dignity and inhibitions scattered all over Calgary, we were in the perfect mindset for some top-notch Alcove karaoke.
We dismounted the C-Train one final time with the glowing lights of the Alcove staring straight at us. What better way to end such
an epic journey than to sing a little Journey at our favourite local dive The slurred, off-key squawking even had the classy regulars
looking at us irregularly.
As the $2 black sambuca shots flowed and the irritating melodies thinned out, there was only one way the long day of boozing could
end for one tiring Rookie. He was eventually asked to be on his way by the staff at the Alcove. But the night hadn’t ended yet. Oh
no. A couple of men in snazzy blue uniforms gave him a pink piece of paper and a ride home. Upon closer inspection the following
morning, the paper turned out to be the receipt for a $115 taxi ride. That’s 115 bonus points for the cyan team. They win.
135
135
criminal
115
bonus
250
winner!

Shaken, , not stirred
GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT SEPTEMBER 07.06 B11
FIRST STREET SW
While not as well known as Kensington or 17th Avenue, there is a little group of bars along 1st Street S.W., the old Electric
Avenue. The C-Train is nice and close, though you’ll fi nd a few more vagrants stumbling about than on our other crawls.
The four bars we hit were all so close you will have your next round before the condensation from the last one evaporates
off your hand. Another added bonus of this little crawl was the variety. Our journey took us from traditional pub to snazzy
martini bar and back again.
A primate-ive good time
1201 1st SW
We kicked things off at the
Drum and Monkey. From
their front door, we could literally
see the other three bars we intended
to hit, making it a seemingly ideal
starting point. A step inside confirmed
our assumption as we felt at
home right away.
Things were just getting going
for the bar as well as for us, with
the number of patrons in the small,
old-fashioned establishment slowly
rising. We chose one of the booths
along the wall—an ideal place to discuss
what sort of mischief previous
pub crawls had gotten us into.
The rest of the bar was what you’d
expect from an instrument-and-animal
pub. It was dark, the taps were
spewing out Big Rock products
along with the usual suspects and
the walls were adorned with posters
and objects from years gone by. There
was also a small patio that looked out
onto 1st Street—an ideal spot to get
one’s fill of sun and beer before Jack
Frost shuts it down for a long six to
eight months.
Our server was crucial to the success
of the night of drinking ahead;
she had to bring us our first round.
There were definitely no problems
there, with pints being promptly presented
as our glasses emptied their
contents into our stomachs. However,
the pints don’t pour forever, and the
time to settle up with our friendly
server and make a one-block journey
north came quickly.
Sean Nyilassy
in a vicious
circle
bottles
Booze and bull
balls
Vicious Circle
130 1011 1 St SW
It was about nine when we
trundled over to Vicious Circle,
a martini bar. Sitting beneath a
well-placed heater to stem off the
slight chill that was in the early
September air, we ordered a round
of drinks.
In doing so, we noticed Vicious
Circle’s vicious metal menus. You
could honestly kill someone with
them, and not just with their contents.
Despite having rounded corners,
you could easily cleave somebody’s
head clean off if desired. They could
also be used for protection in case of
nuclear holocaust or a sudden hailstorm
of ninja shurikens. They also
helpfully break down the 141 exotic
martinis offered.
While the Vish does serve beer,
that’s no real reason for going to
Vicious Circle. Carrying an insanely
wide variety of martinis, each with
its own rating—no stars for very
dry, all the way up to five stars for
Count-Chocula-levels of sweetness—you’re
sure to find something
that will get you your daily sugar
fix, make you severely inebriated,
or both.
Our group was adventurous
enough to try the “Peanut Butter and
Jelly” martini, which genuinely tastes
like the sandwich, and the “Captain
America,” a sweet, blue drink with a
sour, syrupy end. On the other end
of the spectrum are the Godfather
and the Gibson, both of which are
strong enough to remind you that
you are indeed drinking alcohol, not
Orange Crush. Finally, we had to try
the Cecil, which, contrary to urban
legend, doesn’t come with a cigarettebutt
garnish. The fact that it wasn’t
horrible was disappointing.
Our one caveat was that it’s a little
on the expensive side. However,
this is balanced by the quality of
the drinks and food served. And
honestly, it’s a martini bar. It’s
not a place to go to get shit-faced
on cheap Rickard’s Red. Vicious
Circle is an excellent place to bring
friends from out of town who think
Calgarians are a bunch of rednecks
without an ounce of culture or
style.
Ændrew Rininsland
Bottlescrew Bill’s
140 10 Ave SW
After a few tasty—and a few
dirty—martinis, we were
ready to leave the cocktail lounge
atmosphere behind in exchange
for a much more familiar pub feel. A
short walk brought us from Calgary’s
largest martini selection to Calgary’s
largest beer selection, at Bottlescrew
Bill’s Old English Pub.
This place is a beer-drinker’s
Mecca, with over 200 varieties
available. Bottlescrew Bill’s is famous
for its 80 Beers Around the World
passport in which a patron must
collect stamps from 80 imported
beers over the course of a year. Upon
tributes—the wall plaque. Though
our ambitions weren’t quite that
heady, we did manage to sample a
good eight to 10 brands ourselves,
meaning we travelled at least to
Halifax.
The service at Bottlescrew’s is
also top-notch, and our server had
no problem recommending some
tasty beers for us to try. He also
had no problem serving us one
of Bottlescrew Bill’s most, uhm,
unusual appetizers—the famed
(and often dreaded) Prairie Oyster.
Yes, it is a bull’s testicle, and no, it’s
not really all that bad. Smothered in
gravy and served up Bill’s way, it was
actually quite good. If nothing else,
Read more about Bill’s and our fi nal stop on page B14

B12 SEPTEMBER 07.06 GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT
SEVENTEENTH AVENUE
There have always been a number of bars on 17th Avenue, but the Flame’s Stanley Cup run in 2004 turned it
into the world-renowned Red Mile. Although just heading out on a random Wednesday evening doesn’t quite
duplicate the experience, there can still be plenty of debauchery if you are willing to create it yourself.
The walk from the C-Train is a little frustrating when you’re parched—10 blocks can seem like the Sahara—but
you can proudly say there won’t be any driving later on.
There is at least a couple kilometres of prime bar-hopping to do right on 17th, but, as you’ll fi nd below, some
treasures lay just off the beaten path. While we managed to hit fi ve pubs on our crawl, we were just nibbling on
the tit of the iceberg. Did I say tit, I meant tip.
wingman
and a
Just me
They’ve also got a decently spacious
patio for soaking in the sun’s dying
rays before winter hits.
The location is unfortunately not
exactly in the heart of the action.
Watchman’s is pretty much the first
bar you will hit when you stroll down
17th from the west. It was, however,
agoodstartingpointtoputawing
Watchman’s Pub
1109 17 Ave SW
This was another crawl that began
with a couple of cold ones at
home with the roommate and a bike
ride to the first location. This time
it was Watchman’s Pub and it was
wing night. The two of us sat down
in the very busy bar and ordered a
couple of pints and three orders of
Double
trouble
Michelangelo’s
1401 11 St SW
With some cold beer and tasty
wings in our bellies, our
team of two set off for our next
destination: Michelangelo’s. Albeit
less frequented by the 17th crowd,
this bar still manages to be packed
more often than not. It is admittedly
towards the west end of the 17th
Avenue strip and a few blocks north,
but hot damn do they have some
sweet specials.
We managed to secure ourselves a
corner booth with a massive chest as
a table—and I don’t mean server-at-
Cowboys massive chest, I mean oldschool,
wonder-what’s-inside kind of
wings to k
patiently for our friends. The only
problem being we have no friends.
The two of us enjoyed our happyhour-priced
beers—the hour of
joy runs until 7:30 p.m. allowing
the dinner crowd to indulge—and
15-cent wings.
Watchman’s has the feel of a typical
sports bar. There are too many
televisions, dim lighting and a lot
of hungry and thirsty sports fans.
that we had stumbled in on the night
when hi-balls are on special. Four
dollars apiece for doubles didn’t set
us back too much considering the
strength of the drinks.
Interestingly enough, drinks this
cheap aren’t a rarity at Michelangelo’s.
They’ve also got nights dedicated to
$3 bottles of imported beer (from
38 countries), $3 pints of Trad and
Grasshopper, 25-cent mussels and
your typical 15-cent wings. The
atmosphere is super cool too, with
a dark interior and barely enough
room for all the thirsty patrons that
swing by.
Anyway, being bitter about the
lack of other people in our group,
our duo made very fast work of three
and no signs of any others showing
up at the Watchman’s, it was time
for us to hit the road. We fought
to the death (read: bickered like a
married couple) over who would
eat the last wing, ended up splitting
it, and finished off our pints.
But before heading east, we had
a detour.
Sean Nyilassy
double gin and tonics and two double
Caesars, respectively. As the six shots
of booze settled into my system, my
plan started to work. My disappointment
from being on a supposed pub
crawl with only one other dude was
rapidly fading and my desire to just
get hammered was beginning to rear
its ugly, familiar head.
On that note, our allotted hour
was over and it was time to head
to the next bar. On the way, it was
also time to go harass our comrade
working on 17th and encourage him
and his lady friend to join us. The
mission was a success and our party’s
population doubled for the next stop
on our tour.
Sean Nyilassy
Hot
dog!
We have a weiner
Tubby Dog
103 1022 17 Ave SW
It was with a smile on my face that
I locked up shop for the last time
at my part-time summer job and
walked the short block down 17th
to join the tiny, but spirited, twoman
pub crawl in progress. My
after-work thirst was compounded
by some after-work hunger, making
Tubby Dog an ideal locale for our
planned rendezvous.
Offering a selection of whackedout
dogs with ingredients ranging
from Cap’n Crunch cereal to crushed
potato chips to ginger and wasabi
(though it’s probably not a good
idea to mix them all on the same
dog), Tubby Dog has something to
satisfy any hunger. These dogs will
do the trick whether after a night of
bar hoppin’ (they’re open extra late
on Friday and Saturday) or just a
lazy afternoon of window-shopping
on 17th.
Add an order of Tubby’s uniquely
battered T-rings or a one dollar
pickled egg and it’s clear that
what the menu lacks in nutritional
value it more than makes up for in
unapologetic (and often messy)
deliciousness.
Tubby Dog also offers veggie dogs
for those not interested in tubes of
ground up animal bits and Ukrainian
sausage for those who can’t get
enough. Your doctor would probably
tell you not to eat here everyday, but
what the hell does he know anyway
The dogs are an affordable feed,
in the $5–7 range. The beer is pretty
cheap too—especially if you pick up
one of the oversized imports.
All things considered, the charm of
Tubby Dog comes primarily from the
interior decoration, complete with
ketchup-red and mustard-orange
’60s-fast-food-joint tables and
benches. The place fronts on 17th
and opens a street-side patio when
weather permits. There’s also a jukebox
stacked with music to make an
indie fanboy cream his tight jeans,
but the best part is the wall projection
of old cartoons at the back.
There’s nothing quite like watching
the Amazing Spiderman wrap up
case after case (and criminal after
criminal) with his trademark note
to police, mouth full of half-chewed
bits of bacon, beef and sauerkraut,
Newcastle in hand.
The staff are friendly and make
the place that much more appealing,
especially on one of the movie
theme nights or dj parties. Though
Tubby Dog is probably not the best
place to kill three or four hours, it
is well worth a stop during any 17th
Ave debauchery, if only to refuel on
pork and beef tubes and take a break
from the smoky bar scene—which is
exactly what our small band needed
before moving on to more serious
stops.
Chris Beauchamp

GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT SEPTEMBER 07.06
B13
Partying
like sailors
Ship and Anchor Pub
534 17 Ave SW
As we left the crazy land of
Spiderman and the most excessively
topped hot dogs ever, we went
to a familiar spot for many students:
The Ship and Anchor. Right in the
heart of 17th, this is one of a select
few pubs that sees line-ups on certain
evenings. We luckily didn’t
have to line up and quickly found
ourselves staring at a massive row
of taps trying to decide what draft
to slam first.
For me, being as classy as I am, the
choice was simple; what’s cheapest
on the menu Having been to the
Ship before, I knew it was agd at
$4.75 a pint—the choice of the rich
and famous. It is pretty rare to find
this alluring lager on tap, making the
Ship a gem in Calgary. They’ve also
got a huge selection of other beers
for a slightly higher premium.
Along with a prime location and
great beer selection, the Ship offers
a fairly large seating area and dual
patios flanking the main doorway.
However, show up early as the Ship
gets full every night of the week.
For our purposes, the Ship allowed
us to meet up with a couple more
friends and got some more booze
sloshing around the stomach. While
the bulk of the alleged pals we met
up with at the Ship decided against
continuing on our crawl, our group
of four became one stronger for our
fifth and final stop of the eve. For me
the night gets a little hazy after this
Just this old
guitar...
and an empty bottle of booze
A Bar Named Sue
1410 4 St SW
You’d think a city known affectionately
as “Cow Town” would
have honky tonks and saloons on
every street corner, two-steppin’
barn dances in every neighbourhood
and live country music in more
places than any city north of Texas.
Unfortunately, the closest Calgary
comes to being the Nashville of the
North is a ten-day, overpriced, gongshow
shit-fest we call the Greatest
Outdoor Show on Earth, and rational
observers call a ten-day, overpriced,
gong-show shit-fest.
Luckily for all involved, the
Stampede only lasts a fortnight.
Plenty of time for trendy local bars
to slap up some hastily crafted corral
fencing around their patios and
book acts like Shania Twin and the
dregs of the cmt world. Plenty of
time, too, for downtown yuppies to
don brand new Stetsons and pretend
they’re real cowboys.
Luckily for Calgarians who hate
the ten-day sham that has more to
do with turning our city into a tourist
trap than celebrating real cowboy
culture, there’s a year-round venue
that honours the country music of
a simpler time, and lucky for our
rag-tag team of pub crawlers, it was
at the Sue that we decided to end
our adventure.
A Bar Named Sue has been kicking
it for about two years now, and
has grown from a bar that may have
found itself limited by the fact that
it was geared around a Johnny Cash
novelty song—a bar trapped in its
own cliché—to an establishment that
offers the type of honesty and integrity
that gave Cash his own staying
power. With live music every night,
the cozy Sue has established a loyal,
and ridiculously friendly, group of
regulars. It is probably the only
place in the city where your bartenders
and service staff frequently
swap roles with the musicians as
each tries a hand at the others’
craft. The role-switch is damned
entertaining, not just because the
bartenders are talented musicians,
but because the change breaks down
the barriers between performer and
friend, patron and participant. It’s
this attitude that gives the Sue its
unique vibe.
The decor is authentic country
kitsch, complete with a model train
performing unending laps around
the ceiling. The patio has the corral
fencing up year-round, and on
most nights the small stage is as
tightly-packed with rotating musicians
as the rest of the place is with
cheerful drinkers. A couple rounds
of the house’s Sue Shooters—Fireball
Whiskey and Jack Daniels—virtually
wiped out any detailed memory of
speaking to Brad, the Sue’s owner,
but his friendliness and casual attitude
stick out as a testament to his
fine waterin’ hole. The Sue was the
perfect spot for us to wrap things
up, even if this reporter ended up
losing his inhibitions on the dance
fl o o r,h i sm o n e yo nt h eb e e ra n d
his notes on the way home. Then
again, maybe it is the perfect spot
exactly for those reasons. Either way,
it beats the hell out of going to the
Stampede.
Chris Beauchamp

B14 SEPTEMBER 07.06 GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT
FIRST STREET CONTINUED
The Hop In Brew
213 12 Ave SW
much more than pizza and nachos,
but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
The pizza is fantastic, arguably some
of the best in the city. Their variation
Abrief stumble from Bottlescrew on the classic standby of Hawaiian is
Bill’s took us to the Hop particularly good, and if you’re into
In Brew, an always-bustling copious amounts of garlic and not
pub and the perfect way to finish
much else, the Gunther may be your
off an evening of moderate new favourite.
alcoholism.
The bottom floor has plenty of
The Hop In Brew, in a hyphenated
tables, while the top has a pool table
word, is laid-back, though the and tiny balcony offering a view of
operative term all those crazy kids the downtown skyline.
Our final
are using nowadays is “chill.” It’s The atmosphere is unique to the
intimate, but not small; moody but Hop In Brew: somewhere between
not dark. It doesn’t take too much an English pub and a house party.
effort to acquire a large glass of The staff is damn friendly and worth
encounter with
beer, despite there being only one striking up a conversation with. The
bar in the place and some ultralong
patrons are often willing to chat or
lines on busy nights.
perhaps play a game of pool. It’s
A wide range of different beers are the perfect place if you’re wanting
on tap, with everything from Wild
a pint and good conversation,
Rose to local house brews such as away from the noise of the normal
the Gold Spur. They also have some bar scene.
interestingly obscure bottled beers For our group, it was an ideal spot
from Quebec.
to wind down after hitting nearly 40
Food-wise, the Hop doesn’t have bars on four grueling pub crawls.
the pink
elephant
Ændrew Rininsland
Bill’s cont’d from page 11
the prospect of earning bragging
points will help you choke one down.
The house wings are also excellent.
The decor is typical, but
Bottlescrew’s goes a step beyond,
offering a cigar room, darts, pool
and a “three-season” patio, complete
with heaters, a fireplace and
outdoor leather chairs. The cigar
room is well-suited to the place, and
makes for a perfect place to enjoy
one of Bottlescrew’s 65 single-malt
scotches.
All-in-all, this place is a must for
anyone who considers themselves a
beer aficionado, and although some
of the foreign beers are steep on a
student budget, the selection alone
makes it worth a trip on payday.
World travel aside, it was time to
take our buzzing heads to our final
stop of the night, an old Gauntlet
favourite, the nearby Hop In Brew.
Chris Beauchamp
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