Bar Supplement 2006 - The Gauntlet
Bar Supplement 2006 - The Gauntlet
Bar Supplement 2006 - The Gauntlet
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U N I V E R S I T Y O F C A L G A R Y<br />
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<br />
section B
GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT SEPTEMBER 07.06 B3<br />
GITTIN’ URE DRINK ON<br />
Hit the sauce before it hits<br />
Hey Turds,<br />
Rookie here, ready to tell you how it<br />
is. Congrats if you’ve just graduated<br />
high school, but what do you want<br />
A Purple Heart<br />
Too bad, here’s a diploma—I hear they can<br />
be used as a pretty decent makeshift umbrella.<br />
If you’ve already been here for a couple years<br />
or been piddling about traveling or working<br />
or some crap, good for you too. In any case,<br />
school is about to begin and you’ll no doubt<br />
be looking for a good waterin’ hole or twelve<br />
to drown in after doing either really well or<br />
really badly on any of the hundreds of quizzes,<br />
assignments, papers and exams you’re about<br />
to encounter. Hell, hopping into a pint glass<br />
can even help celebrate a birthday, encourage<br />
socialization, lead to intimate—but sloppy—<br />
moments with members of the opposite sex<br />
or even just help pass the time.<br />
After four years of intensive research, I<br />
believe I am qualified to take you on a journey<br />
to the places where your only responsibility<br />
is leaving an empty glass and a decent tip. At<br />
each bar, you will notice footprints heading<br />
inside. Sometimes there will be two sets of<br />
footprints coming out, other times there will<br />
be one set of footprints coming out. At times<br />
when you see only one set of footprints coming<br />
out, you had to carry my drunk ass.<br />
Although choosing locations to have my<br />
drunk ass carried out of wasn’t easy, my<br />
mysterious mind mustered many. In the years<br />
gone by, <strong>Gauntlet</strong> drinking supplements have<br />
tried to cover everything, or focussed on a<br />
specific drunken mission. This one—despite<br />
my inability to do so—will be of the focussed<br />
nature. While last year’s Pubs vs. Clubs and<br />
2004’s thing about wings were enticing subjects,<br />
I decided to steer this supplement in a<br />
direction no man has ever been (at least since<br />
2001): <strong>The</strong> Pub Crawl.<br />
I’m not talking about those pub ‘crawls’<br />
involving a pricey ticket and busses to shuttle<br />
hundreds of drunks all over the city. For this<br />
supplement we brought it back to the good<br />
old days of 2001, when the <strong>Gauntlet</strong> was<br />
embarking on the now retired Ralph Klein<br />
Pub Crawl. Venture onwards and you will<br />
find four quick and easy routes to literally<br />
crawl with just a few friends and have the time<br />
of your life.<br />
However, before sending you on your way<br />
I must remind you of the terrible repercussions<br />
of whisking alcohol through the stomach<br />
and intestinal walls. While waking up beside<br />
a troll or feeling like shit the day following a<br />
bender may seem severe enough punishment<br />
for your indulgence, thank your lucky stars<br />
that’s as bad as you’ve had it. Not knowing your<br />
limits—or knowing but consistently pushing<br />
them anyway—can result in a night’s stay in<br />
the hospital as they pump your stomach after<br />
diagnosing you with alcohol poisoning, a hefty<br />
fine (see page 9) or even a night’s stay in prison<br />
when the cops see you doing something daft.<br />
Worse yet, alcohol causes a ridiculous number<br />
of deaths due to over-consumption and<br />
drunk driving. Finally, there are some crazy<br />
long-term, alcohol-related health problems<br />
you don’t want to deal with. So leave your<br />
wheels at home and if a friend or bartender<br />
is telling you to slow down, don’t be a hater,<br />
drink more later.<br />
That said, hopefully the following pages<br />
inspire you to get out there and have a dozen<br />
drinks. If not, I’ve probably already done it<br />
for you anyway. Cheers!<br />
Sean Nyilassy<br />
<strong>2006</strong> Drinking <strong>Supplement</strong> Editor<br />
you<br />
Are you<br />
Content<br />
Cover: Cover, dumbass<br />
3: You’re lookin’ at her<br />
4-5: Kensington pub crawl<br />
<strong>The</strong> drinking team<br />
Writers: Ændrew Rininsland, Emily Senger, Chris Beauchamp, Jon Roe, Kyle Francis<br />
Photographers: Chris Tait, Ryan May, Ændrew Rininsland, Ben Hoffman, Dan Pagan<br />
Drinking Support: Kenzie Love, Katherine Fletcher, Dale Miller, Ben Li, Laura Gerhardt, Jamie<br />
Abernethy, Garth Paulson<br />
Copyright <strong>2006</strong> <strong>Gauntlet</strong> Publications Society<br />
7-9: C-Train Madness<br />
11, 14: First St pub crawl<br />
12-13: Seventeenth Ave<br />
pub crawl
B4 SEPTEMBER 07.06 GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT<br />
KENSINGTON PUB CRAWL<br />
<strong>The</strong> fi rst of Calgary’s little hot spots we decided to visit was the Kensington area. <strong>The</strong> Sunnyside C-Train station is your best bet if you’re<br />
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,<br />
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.<br />
And don’t worry too much about getting thirsty between pubs, everything in Kensington is just a stone’s throw away.<br />
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.<br />
A short<br />
ride to<br />
Sunnyside<br />
<strong>The</strong> evening began for my roommate<br />
and I with a few beers at<br />
home and a leisurely bike ride to the<br />
Kensington area. As we locked our<br />
bikes up outside the first bar on our<br />
crawl, the Kensington Pub, another<br />
of our compatriots stepped out of<br />
the shadows. <strong>The</strong> three of us were<br />
welcomed inside by the traditional<br />
pub atmosphere: a fairly cozy space<br />
with multiple levels for tables, plenty<br />
of wood and cool decorations.<br />
We grabbed ourselves a table on<br />
the upper level and were promptly<br />
served a few cold pints. As our<br />
glasses magically emptied themselves<br />
our group quickly grew to<br />
eight thirsty bodies—one of them<br />
celebrating a birthday.<br />
One warning for those of you<br />
staying for the long haul: if you need<br />
to use the atm or can, do it before<br />
you get too hammered. I made quick<br />
work of three pints before doing the<br />
pee thing and the set of stairs to the<br />
basement loo and money machine<br />
was more than a little sketchy.<br />
Other than that we were pretty<br />
happy. We got all that we expected<br />
out of a pub. <strong>The</strong>y have a pretty<br />
standard selection of draft beer<br />
and your typical North American<br />
pub menu, though one thing they are<br />
unfortunately short on is patio space.<br />
<strong>The</strong>re is an outdoor balcony on the<br />
top level, but the space is very limited,<br />
and usually very occupied.<br />
After downing our pub grub and<br />
polishing off a couple of pints each,<br />
the short hour we had allotted for<br />
each bar was over and it was time to<br />
move on to our next destination.<br />
Have you ever had all<br />
Sean Nyilassy<br />
18 inches<br />
<strong>The</strong> Yardhouse<br />
1136 Kensington Rd NW<br />
Our party grew again just in<br />
time for our second stop: the<br />
Yardhouse. As a caffeine addict, I’ve<br />
walked past it many times to get a hit<br />
of espresso at Higher Grounds, but<br />
have never ventured inside.<br />
<strong>The</strong> changeover from Bass<br />
Brothers’ Pub—the previous tenant—to<br />
the Yardhouse saw the<br />
interior get a face-lift. While the<br />
new interior is pleasant and clean,<br />
it’s not overly interesting.<br />
Large leather booths and tables<br />
with high stools provide plenty of<br />
seating and give the place a restaurant<br />
feel. True to its name, the<br />
Yardhouse has a backyard with a<br />
small outdoor patio. Its size provided<br />
an intimate, rather than claustrophobic<br />
feel and the large wooden<br />
tables and sturdy chairs were easy<br />
to navigate.<br />
<strong>The</strong> Yardhouse’s signature drink,<br />
the half-yard, is served in a tall, thin<br />
glass, you guessed it, half a yard long.<br />
For those of us who are metrically<br />
inclined that’s 0.4572 metres of beer.<br />
Starting around $9.50, they’re more<br />
expensive than sipping from a pint<br />
glass, but it’s the novelty you’re paying<br />
for. <strong>The</strong> half-yard comes with its<br />
own wooden stand. <strong>The</strong>se become<br />
quite necessary after you’re about<br />
halfway through one—or for the<br />
metric crowd, 0.2286 metres into<br />
your beer.<br />
Along with the novelty of the<br />
half-yard, the bar boasts a superb<br />
view of its frontyard, also known as<br />
Kensington Road. Windows open<br />
along the front of the bar and high<br />
stools create another mini-patio. On<br />
a hot, summer day it would make a<br />
perfect locale to people-watch, and<br />
Kensington’s diverse crowd of indie<br />
kids, cyclists and yuppies provide<br />
plenty of ogle-material.<br />
Though the backyard patio<br />
and frontyard view make great<br />
places to drink a half-yard during<br />
the summer months, a winter<br />
excursion to the Yardhouse, when<br />
its backyard and frontyard are<br />
closed, would make for a rather<br />
generic and slightly over-priced<br />
bar adventure.<br />
At the end of our allotted hour,<br />
our slightly underwhelmed party<br />
skulled the remaining 0.0256<br />
metres of our half-yards and<br />
headed down the street in search<br />
of cheaper beer.<br />
Emily Senger
GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT SEPTEMBER 07.06<br />
B5<br />
Beagles<br />
have wings<br />
Regal Beagle Pub<br />
410 14 St NW<br />
Although the walk—or dangerously<br />
intoxicated bike ride<br />
in one brave soul’s case—was<br />
rough on the old legs, our search<br />
for cheaper fare was successful at<br />
the Regal Beagle. Though not on<br />
Kensington Road, the Beagle is<br />
just a few steps up 10th Street and<br />
worth a visit.<br />
With 15 cent wings on Mondays,<br />
Wednesdays and Saturdays and<br />
pitchers of house beer on special<br />
for the bargain-basement price of<br />
$12.50, the Beagle is a student’s dream<br />
come true. Sure, the patio furniture<br />
is plastic rather than solid wood, the<br />
bathrooms are tiny and the house<br />
beer tasted suspiciously like agd,<br />
but after the half-yards consumed<br />
earlier the subtle nuance of each ale<br />
became less important.<br />
<strong>The</strong> Beagle’s selling point is definitely<br />
it’s yummy economy-priced<br />
wings, available in the standard<br />
flavours like teriyaki, hot, salt and<br />
pepper and honey garlic. <strong>The</strong> Beagle<br />
also has its own signature flavour,<br />
which is a very tasty tangy Greek. A<br />
note though, the suicide wings really<br />
are deadly, and the fumes alone are<br />
enough to make your eyes burn. Be<br />
forewarned.<br />
Aside from the wings, the Beagle<br />
had another selling feature for me:<br />
it was the only bar of the evening<br />
where someone bought me a drink.<br />
Actually, the free beer was because I<br />
fell off my bike in a booze-induced<br />
accident the weekend before and<br />
my massive, oozing scab evoked<br />
some pity. But, scab or no scab, the<br />
pick-up potential for single gals<br />
at the Beagle is high. Fact: Single<br />
guys like their wings, and if you<br />
don’t mind a guy with barbeque<br />
sauce all over his face, this could<br />
be a good place to strike up a conversation<br />
over a mutual affinity for<br />
dead chickens.<br />
<strong>The</strong> service was also top-notch<br />
at the Beagle, despite the hopping<br />
crowd. Our server was prompt and<br />
friendly, and the manager even<br />
visited us on their spacious patio<br />
to see how we were enjoying our<br />
stay. I think we managed a positive<br />
response, somewhere between swigs<br />
of cheap beer and saucy wings.<br />
Wings devoured, beer chugged,<br />
our hour was up and it was time to<br />
finish off the night with one final<br />
stop.<br />
Emily Senger<br />
I rish I could<br />
remember more<br />
1153 Kensington Cres NW<br />
Irish pubs are everywhere. You love<br />
them, you hate them, or—in the<br />
case of our party—you’re mostly too<br />
drunk to care.<br />
As far as Irish pubs go, Molly<br />
Malone’s is a good one, and its<br />
rooftop patio made a fine destination<br />
for the last stop on our Kensington<br />
tour de bar. Molly’s rooftop patio is<br />
one of the larger ones in the city,<br />
and the dim lighting and potted<br />
flowers create a nice atmosphere<br />
for an evening drink or mid-week<br />
lunch break. <strong>The</strong> rooftop is also<br />
a favourite with service industry<br />
workers, so on this warm, summer<br />
Monday eve, it was packed just<br />
after 10 p.m.<br />
After the walk back to the heart<br />
of Kensington from the Beagle we<br />
were relieved to finally secure a dirty<br />
table. <strong>The</strong>re we waited, and waited,<br />
and waited as the few servers ran<br />
around in their sassy short kilts<br />
serving thirsty patrons and raking<br />
in the tips. When the server finally<br />
got to us she was pleasant enough,<br />
and the warm summer’s night<br />
made the long wait for drinks more<br />
bearable.<br />
Though its rooftop patio is the<br />
highlight, Molly’s has a spacious<br />
main floor decorated in Irish pub<br />
kitsch, which can be enjoyed in the<br />
winter months as well. <strong>The</strong> laid-back<br />
atmosphere and large beer selection<br />
make it a fine destination for university<br />
students who want an Irish pub<br />
that’s not the Kilkenny. <strong>The</strong>re’s a large<br />
selection of beer on tap, but like most<br />
downtown drinking establishments,<br />
getting drunk will cost you upwards<br />
of $5 a pint.<br />
As I sipped my vodka-soda—on<br />
special for $4.50—and pondered<br />
how the servers managed to wear<br />
those kilts for an entire night without<br />
flashing anyone, the other end<br />
of the table got a little rowdy. This<br />
may have been due to their half-yard<br />
consumption a couple bars back, or<br />
more likely because the number of<br />
people doing shots with the birthday<br />
boy had suddenly increased. <strong>The</strong><br />
options seemed to be: get wasted or<br />
get going. I decided on the latter, bid<br />
goodbye to my companions and set<br />
out into the warm August night.<br />
<strong>The</strong> night did not end so smoothly<br />
for everyone however. <strong>The</strong> time<br />
between shots of Jagermeister<br />
decreased and a confused Stupid<br />
Rookie awoke the following morning<br />
wondering who he had to thank<br />
for getting his drunk ass to a couch<br />
and which shot of Jag it was that put<br />
him over the top.<br />
Was it a successful evening Hell<br />
yeah!<br />
Emily Senger
GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT SEPTEMBER 07.06 B7<br />
C-TRAIN MADNESS<br />
Wowsers trousers! <strong>The</strong> initial idea was simple: Get on the C-Train in the south, get off at each stop, fi nd the nearest bar, have<br />
a drink, rinse and repeat. However, at 26 stops, this was a tall wall to climb. Instead, we decided to make up a competition<br />
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<br />
hat.<br />
One team starts in the north at Dalhousie, the other team in the south at Bridlewood. At a pre-determined time, teams leave the<br />
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<br />
each drink in each photo. You can only take one picture in each bar to prevent drinks being included in multiple photos—take<br />
that cheaters. Double-fi sting is encouraged, but double hi-balls are no good because a photo can’t distinguish between them<br />
and a tall single. Whichever team has accumulated the most points when you meet up in the middle, wins. Bring a cell-phone<br />
so that you don’t miss each other.<br />
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<br />
if the server or bartender bought us a shot. Points doubled for teams bold enough to hit two bars at one C-Train stop.<br />
Feel free to give this one a go, but know that this challenge is not for the weak!<br />
Dalhousie<br />
At the far north of the C-Train line, we started the day<br />
off right: cheating. While we had agreed with the other<br />
team on a 3 p.m. start time, we were unspecific as to where<br />
we would be. Where we were was dank, smokey and full<br />
of old people—Bugaboo’s is a good bar to go to die in.<br />
We quietly finished our pints and carried on.<br />
Sommerset/Bridlewood<br />
When planning a crazy, cross-city C-Train pub crawl, it’s imperative to<br />
realize just how far south Bridlewood really is. About three-quarters of the<br />
way to Okotoks, and about a half-hour late, we finally found our starting<br />
point. After a quick jog to our rendezvous—the local bp’s Lounge—and<br />
a quicker two drinks each, we were set to begin our quest in earnest. A<br />
jog back to the train got the blood rushing and liquor circulating.<br />
Follow the score earned<br />
at each stop!<br />
10<br />
9<br />
Brentwood<br />
After a sprint across the pavement monstrosity<br />
that is Brentwood mall, we reached the doors of<br />
that great bastion of hot wings and Irish sensibilities:<br />
the Kilkenny. As much fun as the Kilk is to<br />
hang out in, eating wings and dancing jigs, we<br />
didn’t stick around. It was a shot of tequilla and<br />
a sprint back across the parking lot for us. We<br />
even made it back before the next train came.<br />
Eat it cyan team.<br />
9<br />
Shawnessy<br />
<strong>The</strong> train spit us out into suburban hell, where hot asphalt parking lots can<br />
dry out the most seasoned bar-hopper and soccer moms will lustily snatch<br />
any stray male university students. Finally, after a detour south, we found Mr.<br />
Schnapps in the corner of a strip-mall. <strong>The</strong> place looked ritzy, but the hi-balls<br />
were dirt cheap at $3 apiece so we had two each, again. <strong>The</strong> waitress wasn’t<br />
impressed with the challenge before us, however, so we made like a fat lady’s<br />
pants and split. After the long walk back, we watched in agony as a north-bound<br />
train sped off, leaving us with a fifteen-minute wait—valuable time we knew<br />
our hated magenta adversaries would be taking full advantage of.<br />
10<br />
14<br />
University<br />
<strong>The</strong> 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<br />
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<br />
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<br />
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.<br />
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<br />
to University Station, only misssing one train.<br />
Fish Creek<br />
Upon the advice of our still-missing fifth comrade—who was<br />
meeting us up the line—we burst from the train when the doors<br />
opened and sprinted up a nearby hill, only slowing near the top<br />
when it became painfully clear we weren’t all Donovan Bailey.<br />
We hit the aptly named Rip’s, and ordered a round of Jags and<br />
a hi-ball for the other hand to help us get, well, ripped. A quick,<br />
and slightly easier jog back downhill allowed us to be back on the<br />
platform just in time to yell at a good samaritan to hold the train.<br />
Morale was high, and with another teammate waiting at Canyon<br />
Meadows, our enthusiasm for the day was still safely naive.<br />
Banff Trail<br />
Banff Trail is home to the infamous Alcove, a<br />
’70s era lounge complete with puffy chairs and<br />
dark colours. It was our lucky day as black sambuca<br />
was on special for $2 a shot. Only our recent<br />
female addition refused to take part in the liquor<br />
bonanza provided by the sweet black-licorice nectar.<br />
After demolishing the dark liquor, we hit the<br />
C-Train platform in time for the next train.<br />
11<br />
Canyon Meadows<br />
<strong>The</strong> day was getting hot, and after another gruelling parking<br />
lot saunter, we stumbled upon oc’s Billiards. <strong>The</strong> legitimate bar<br />
and grill allowed us to keep up our perfect record of five-point<br />
bonuses. After forcing our tardy teammate to drink three hiballs<br />
to our two, we enjoyed a good chat with the owner of oc’s,<br />
whose name, unsurprisingly, is Oc. On the trek back to the train,<br />
we spotted a sign flanking Macleod Trail that pointed to the<br />
U of C, even though we were clearly still nearer to Okotoks.<br />
Cyan team written by Sean Nyilassy and Chris Beauchamp<br />
Magenta team written by Jon Roe and kyle francis<br />
12<br />
15
B8<br />
SEPTEMBER 07.06 GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT<br />
Lions Park<br />
We were making pretty good time at Lions Park on our way to Tipperary’s, a pseudo-English pub on<br />
smarter choice of taking the sidewalk rather than risking disaster at the hands of the fence.<br />
Anderson<br />
We had to break down for the second time and get our fix at<br />
a franchise establishment, Moxies. Right away, we noticed the<br />
staff at Moxies are foxy, and our tardy teammate wasted no<br />
time in attempting to give a sauve lesson in photography to the<br />
nearest bar-maid. Alas, true love was not to be had, despite us<br />
ensuring his number made its way into her hands. We did meet<br />
a few cool new U of C students though, and the shots of liquid<br />
cocaine—Jagermeister und Gold Schlagger—kept us buzzing on<br />
15<br />
10<br />
SAIT<br />
One would think sait would’ve been our easiest stop of the day, as the Gateway<br />
minutes wandering sait, drunkenly misreading maps several times over before<br />
16th Ave and a bar called Loco Lou’s.<br />
27<br />
12<br />
choice to leav<br />
team; this is w<br />
hazy. We wer<br />
Mongolian an<br />
that this strin<br />
ers. <strong>The</strong> cuis<br />
trading our fi<br />
consumption<br />
our task. We<br />
of the origin<br />
continued the<br />
Southland<br />
interpretation of the rules we ourselves had written. Our Southland stop was<br />
the Black Swann—a nice dark pub with an exterior reminiscent of medieval<br />
Europe. Ye olde bartender Ali was awesome too, as she served us each two<br />
glasses of their finest house wine (straight out of the box), and was impressed<br />
enough by our quest to buy us a round of shots. This prompted us to phone<br />
the other team to remind them that drinks on the house are worth triple<br />
points. Heading back to the tracks, one of our most-valuable players managed<br />
to spot a short cut to the C-Train platform. His rush helped him become the<br />
first to spill blood for our cause, despite the lack of any real urgency.<br />
17<br />
28<br />
Sunnyside<br />
Our arrival at Sunnyside was marked by an extraordinary<br />
piece of graffiti proclaiming: “Lesbians to the rescue.” Let’s<br />
hope so. Our target bar was Fats, a sports bar with a decent<br />
enough atmosphere. We managed to convince the bartender<br />
that by doing a C-Train pub crawl we were deserving of<br />
the featured ladies’ night special—though it was no doubt<br />
our singing along with the Gwen Stefani playing over the<br />
speakers that pushed him over the edge. Regardless, we<br />
enjoyed our $2.95 Crantinis and left the bar, eager to finally<br />
reach downtown.<br />
Heritage<br />
Our quest took a turn for the seedy, as we found ourselves<br />
exiting the train in desperation, smack dab in an<br />
ugly industrial sprawl. Luckily the flickering neon sign of<br />
Studio 82 caught our eye. It’s a trashy place. For our benefit<br />
though, the establishment is split into two bars, offering us<br />
the chance to earn double points for hitting both at one stop.<br />
A quick, double-fisted drink in the downstairs sports bar<br />
left a working-class taste in our mouths, and the upstairs<br />
bikini bar was even worse. <strong>The</strong> severe lack of bikinis doused<br />
our curiosity, but we drowned our disappointment with<br />
another round of Jag.
GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT SEPTEMBER 07.06<br />
B9<br />
Eighth Street West<br />
We hit the 8th Street West station in pure skipping jubiliation and decided we were through<br />
with this on-again, off-again relationship with the C-Train. From now on, we were walking<br />
down Stephen Avenue and hitting up every bar on the way.<br />
<strong>The</strong> first bar we walked into was Soho, another sports bar that seemed to be making some<br />
sort of lycanthropic transition to a night-time dance spot. We tried bargaining for deals and<br />
after several minutes of drunken reasoning, we managed to score one free shot from the bartendress.<br />
Happy with that, we finished off our drinks and made a pit stop at the urinals before<br />
moving on.<br />
<strong>The</strong> next bar we managed to stumble across was Murph’s, a traditional Irish pub. No one<br />
drinks quite like the Irish, evidenced by their chalkboard that proudly announced: “<strong>The</strong> liver<br />
is evil. It must be punished.” We ordered a few pitchers and engaged in some merriment and<br />
gaelic activities.<br />
Nearing the end of our journey, we hit a truly English pub dubbed the Unicorn. By this<br />
point, some of our team had fallen under the spell of “beer eyes:” when the liquor accumulates<br />
just above the brow until even the strongest man cannot keep his eyes open anymore. Our<br />
waitress, wrongly diagnosing “beer eyes” as “completely fucking shit-faced,” instructed us to<br />
awake our friend or face the chilly cool of 8th Avenue again. We persisted, managing to finish<br />
our beers and some munchies before hitting up the next location.<br />
Chinook<br />
he directions of a moderately intoxicated Studio<br />
decided to forget about the C-Train altogether<br />
a string of nearby Macleod Trail watering holes.<br />
ections were sound, our growing inebriation<br />
g more difficult than we had anticipated. Our<br />
e the train marked another departure for our<br />
here memory fades and things start to get really<br />
e forced to hit up our first restaurant, Palatal<br />
d Japanese Cuisine, after it became apparent<br />
g of mythical bars had eluded our finest trackine<br />
was excellent however, and it was worth<br />
ve bonus points for five fried octopuses as the<br />
of food had been neglected due to the nature of<br />
didn’t neglect the drink however. While some<br />
al cast were beginning to slow down, others<br />
two-fisted tradition.<br />
5<br />
39 Avenue<br />
While we had to review a map<br />
and pictures later to fill in the<br />
details—including the name of<br />
the place, and the fact that we’d<br />
been there at all—the team had a<br />
blast posing as cacti in front of the<br />
trendy Cactus Club. We had a blast<br />
drinking inside too, although the<br />
Stupid Rookie had begun chugging<br />
our points before we could capture<br />
the photo evidence.<br />
5<br />
Erlton/Stampede<br />
Apparently we went to the Trap and Gill. Who<br />
knew A photo helped us remember making<br />
friends with some strangers and drinking cans<br />
of our first beer of the day. Alpine Lager was a<br />
fitting choice, considering it’s brewed in Nova<br />
Scotia and the Trap is Calgary’s premier maritime<br />
bar. Being served beer in a can is pretty classy,<br />
and so were we by the time we left.<br />
8<br />
34<br />
8<br />
One bonus point for every<br />
dollar of criminal infraction.<br />
In this case, $115 equals<br />
115 points.<br />
Way to go cyan team!<br />
Unknown<br />
Our final destination of the C-Train crawl turned out<br />
to be another English or Irish pub… or something. Are<br />
all pubs either English or Irish Where are the Japanese<br />
pubs We ordered our drinks and sat down at a table,<br />
wallowing in a sense of accomplishment from beating<br />
our foes through downtown.<br />
<strong>The</strong>re we received a phone call detailing the location of<br />
the cyan team. It seemed we had slipped by each other on<br />
our mirthful stumbles. <strong>The</strong>y were at the Unicorn, where,<br />
after much discussion, we decided to return in order to<br />
celebrate our joint victory over our mutual foes: transit<br />
and that damned evil liver.<br />
9<br />
10<br />
Victoria Park<br />
At our last stop before meeting those bastards on<br />
the magenta team, we b-lined it to the first place we<br />
stumbled upon. <strong>The</strong> Embarcadero was too ritzy for<br />
our thin blood and the owner reluctantly served us<br />
a round of shots. We continued north on foot, set<br />
for our final rendezvous with the opposite team, and<br />
while we wouldn’t know the final results until the<br />
photos were analyzed, we already knew a few of the<br />
results: headache, dizziness, nausea and a strange<br />
urge to sing really bad karaoke.<br />
End of the line<br />
With the teams finally united at the Unicorn it should have been time to say our congratulations, go home and begin the long<br />
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,<br />
it was about 9:30 p.m.; time to start drinking, not stop.<br />
So we exchanged tales of adventures with the other team, gloating about our successes and weeping over our failures. After trying to<br />
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<br />
our pride, dignity and inhibitions scattered all over Calgary, we were in the perfect mindset for some top-notch Alcove karaoke.<br />
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<br />
an epic journey than to sing a little Journey at our favourite local dive <strong>The</strong> slurred, off-key squawking even had the classy regulars<br />
looking at us irregularly.<br />
As the $2 black sambuca shots flowed and the irritating melodies thinned out, there was only one way the long day of boozing could<br />
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<br />
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<br />
morning, the paper turned out to be the receipt for a $115 taxi ride. That’s 115 bonus points for the cyan team. <strong>The</strong>y win.<br />
135<br />
135<br />
criminal<br />
115<br />
bonus<br />
250<br />
winner!
Shaken, , not stirred<br />
GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT SEPTEMBER 07.06 B11<br />
FIRST STREET SW<br />
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<br />
Avenue. <strong>The</strong> C-Train is nice and close, though you’ll fi nd a few more vagrants stumbling about than on our other crawls.<br />
<strong>The</strong> four bars we hit were all so close you will have your next round before the condensation from the last one evaporates<br />
off your hand. Another added bonus of this little crawl was the variety. Our journey took us from traditional pub to snazzy<br />
martini bar and back again.<br />
A primate-ive good time<br />
1201 1st SW<br />
We kicked things off at the<br />
Drum and Monkey. From<br />
their front door, we could literally<br />
see the other three bars we intended<br />
to hit, making it a seemingly ideal<br />
starting point. A step inside confirmed<br />
our assumption as we felt at<br />
home right away.<br />
Things were just getting going<br />
for the bar as well as for us, with<br />
the number of patrons in the small,<br />
old-fashioned establishment slowly<br />
rising. We chose one of the booths<br />
along the wall—an ideal place to discuss<br />
what sort of mischief previous<br />
pub crawls had gotten us into.<br />
<strong>The</strong> rest of the bar was what you’d<br />
expect from an instrument-and-animal<br />
pub. It was dark, the taps were<br />
spewing out Big Rock products<br />
along with the usual suspects and<br />
the walls were adorned with posters<br />
and objects from years gone by. <strong>The</strong>re<br />
was also a small patio that looked out<br />
onto 1st Street—an ideal spot to get<br />
one’s fill of sun and beer before Jack<br />
Frost shuts it down for a long six to<br />
eight months.<br />
Our server was crucial to the success<br />
of the night of drinking ahead;<br />
she had to bring us our first round.<br />
<strong>The</strong>re were definitely no problems<br />
there, with pints being promptly presented<br />
as our glasses emptied their<br />
contents into our stomachs. However,<br />
the pints don’t pour forever, and the<br />
time to settle up with our friendly<br />
server and make a one-block journey<br />
north came quickly.<br />
Sean Nyilassy<br />
in a vicious<br />
circle<br />
bottles<br />
Booze and bull<br />
balls<br />
Vicious Circle<br />
130 1011 1 St SW<br />
It was about nine when we<br />
trundled over to Vicious Circle,<br />
a martini bar. Sitting beneath a<br />
well-placed heater to stem off the<br />
slight chill that was in the early<br />
September air, we ordered a round<br />
of drinks.<br />
In doing so, we noticed Vicious<br />
Circle’s vicious metal menus. You<br />
could honestly kill someone with<br />
them, and not just with their contents.<br />
Despite having rounded corners,<br />
you could easily cleave somebody’s<br />
head clean off if desired. <strong>The</strong>y could<br />
also be used for protection in case of<br />
nuclear holocaust or a sudden hailstorm<br />
of ninja shurikens. <strong>The</strong>y also<br />
helpfully break down the 141 exotic<br />
martinis offered.<br />
While the Vish does serve beer,<br />
that’s no real reason for going to<br />
Vicious Circle. Carrying an insanely<br />
wide variety of martinis, each with<br />
its own rating—no stars for very<br />
dry, all the way up to five stars for<br />
Count-Chocula-levels of sweetness—you’re<br />
sure to find something<br />
that will get you your daily sugar<br />
fix, make you severely inebriated,<br />
or both.<br />
Our group was adventurous<br />
enough to try the “Peanut Butter and<br />
Jelly” martini, which genuinely tastes<br />
like the sandwich, and the “Captain<br />
America,” a sweet, blue drink with a<br />
sour, syrupy end. On the other end<br />
of the spectrum are the Godfather<br />
and the Gibson, both of which are<br />
strong enough to remind you that<br />
you are indeed drinking alcohol, not<br />
Orange Crush. Finally, we had to try<br />
the Cecil, which, contrary to urban<br />
legend, doesn’t come with a cigarettebutt<br />
garnish. <strong>The</strong> fact that it wasn’t<br />
horrible was disappointing.<br />
Our one caveat was that it’s a little<br />
on the expensive side. However,<br />
this is balanced by the quality of<br />
the drinks and food served. And<br />
honestly, it’s a martini bar. It’s<br />
not a place to go to get shit-faced<br />
on cheap Rickard’s Red. Vicious<br />
Circle is an excellent place to bring<br />
friends from out of town who think<br />
Calgarians are a bunch of rednecks<br />
without an ounce of culture or<br />
style.<br />
Ændrew Rininsland<br />
Bottlescrew Bill’s<br />
140 10 Ave SW<br />
After a few tasty—and a few<br />
dirty—martinis, we were<br />
ready to leave the cocktail lounge<br />
atmosphere behind in exchange<br />
for a much more familiar pub feel. A<br />
short walk brought us from Calgary’s<br />
largest martini selection to Calgary’s<br />
largest beer selection, at Bottlescrew<br />
Bill’s Old English Pub.<br />
This place is a beer-drinker’s<br />
Mecca, with over 200 varieties<br />
available. Bottlescrew Bill’s is famous<br />
for its 80 Beers Around the World<br />
passport in which a patron must<br />
collect stamps from 80 imported<br />
beers over the course of a year. Upon<br />
tributes—the wall plaque. Though<br />
our ambitions weren’t quite that<br />
heady, we did manage to sample a<br />
good eight to 10 brands ourselves,<br />
meaning we travelled at least to<br />
Halifax.<br />
<strong>The</strong> service at Bottlescrew’s is<br />
also top-notch, and our server had<br />
no problem recommending some<br />
tasty beers for us to try. He also<br />
had no problem serving us one<br />
of Bottlescrew Bill’s most, uhm,<br />
unusual appetizers—the famed<br />
(and often dreaded) Prairie Oyster.<br />
Yes, it is a bull’s testicle, and no, it’s<br />
not really all that bad. Smothered in<br />
gravy and served up Bill’s way, it was<br />
actually quite good. If nothing else,<br />
Read more about Bill’s and our fi nal stop on page B14
B12 SEPTEMBER 07.06 GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT<br />
SEVENTEENTH AVENUE<br />
<strong>The</strong>re have always been a number of bars on 17th Avenue, but the Flame’s Stanley Cup run in 2004 turned it<br />
into the world-renowned Red Mile. Although just heading out on a random Wednesday evening doesn’t quite<br />
duplicate the experience, there can still be plenty of debauchery if you are willing to create it yourself.<br />
<strong>The</strong> walk from the C-Train is a little frustrating when you’re parched—10 blocks can seem like the Sahara—but<br />
you can proudly say there won’t be any driving later on.<br />
<strong>The</strong>re is at least a couple kilometres of prime bar-hopping to do right on 17th, but, as you’ll fi nd below, some<br />
treasures lay just off the beaten path. While we managed to hit fi ve pubs on our crawl, we were just nibbling on<br />
the tit of the iceberg. Did I say tit, I meant tip.<br />
wingman<br />
and a<br />
Just me<br />
<strong>The</strong>y’ve also got a decently spacious<br />
patio for soaking in the sun’s dying<br />
rays before winter hits.<br />
<strong>The</strong> location is unfortunately not<br />
exactly in the heart of the action.<br />
Watchman’s is pretty much the first<br />
bar you will hit when you stroll down<br />
17th from the west. It was, however,<br />
agoodstartingpointtoputawing<br />
Watchman’s Pub<br />
1109 17 Ave SW<br />
This was another crawl that began<br />
with a couple of cold ones at<br />
home with the roommate and a bike<br />
ride to the first location. This time<br />
it was Watchman’s Pub and it was<br />
wing night. <strong>The</strong> two of us sat down<br />
in the very busy bar and ordered a<br />
couple of pints and three orders of<br />
Double<br />
trouble<br />
Michelangelo’s<br />
1401 11 St SW<br />
With some cold beer and tasty<br />
wings in our bellies, our<br />
team of two set off for our next<br />
destination: Michelangelo’s. Albeit<br />
less frequented by the 17th crowd,<br />
this bar still manages to be packed<br />
more often than not. It is admittedly<br />
towards the west end of the 17th<br />
Avenue strip and a few blocks north,<br />
but hot damn do they have some<br />
sweet specials.<br />
We managed to secure ourselves a<br />
corner booth with a massive chest as<br />
a table—and I don’t mean server-at-<br />
Cowboys massive chest, I mean oldschool,<br />
wonder-what’s-inside kind of<br />
wings to k<br />
patiently for our friends. <strong>The</strong> only<br />
problem being we have no friends.<br />
<strong>The</strong> two of us enjoyed our happyhour-priced<br />
beers—the hour of<br />
joy runs until 7:30 p.m. allowing<br />
the dinner crowd to indulge—and<br />
15-cent wings.<br />
Watchman’s has the feel of a typical<br />
sports bar. <strong>The</strong>re are too many<br />
televisions, dim lighting and a lot<br />
of hungry and thirsty sports fans.<br />
that we had stumbled in on the night<br />
when hi-balls are on special. Four<br />
dollars apiece for doubles didn’t set<br />
us back too much considering the<br />
strength of the drinks.<br />
Interestingly enough, drinks this<br />
cheap aren’t a rarity at Michelangelo’s.<br />
<strong>The</strong>y’ve also got nights dedicated to<br />
$3 bottles of imported beer (from<br />
38 countries), $3 pints of Trad and<br />
Grasshopper, 25-cent mussels and<br />
your typical 15-cent wings. <strong>The</strong><br />
atmosphere is super cool too, with<br />
a dark interior and barely enough<br />
room for all the thirsty patrons that<br />
swing by.<br />
Anyway, being bitter about the<br />
lack of other people in our group,<br />
our duo made very fast work of three<br />
and no signs of any others showing<br />
up at the Watchman’s, it was time<br />
for us to hit the road. We fought<br />
to the death (read: bickered like a<br />
married couple) over who would<br />
eat the last wing, ended up splitting<br />
it, and finished off our pints.<br />
But before heading east, we had<br />
a detour.<br />
Sean Nyilassy<br />
double gin and tonics and two double<br />
Caesars, respectively. As the six shots<br />
of booze settled into my system, my<br />
plan started to work. My disappointment<br />
from being on a supposed pub<br />
crawl with only one other dude was<br />
rapidly fading and my desire to just<br />
get hammered was beginning to rear<br />
its ugly, familiar head.<br />
On that note, our allotted hour<br />
was over and it was time to head<br />
to the next bar. On the way, it was<br />
also time to go harass our comrade<br />
working on 17th and encourage him<br />
and his lady friend to join us. <strong>The</strong><br />
mission was a success and our party’s<br />
population doubled for the next stop<br />
on our tour.<br />
Sean Nyilassy<br />
Hot<br />
dog!<br />
We have a weiner<br />
Tubby Dog<br />
103 1022 17 Ave SW<br />
It was with a smile on my face that<br />
I locked up shop for the last time<br />
at my part-time summer job and<br />
walked the short block down 17th<br />
to join the tiny, but spirited, twoman<br />
pub crawl in progress. My<br />
after-work thirst was compounded<br />
by some after-work hunger, making<br />
Tubby Dog an ideal locale for our<br />
planned rendezvous.<br />
Offering a selection of whackedout<br />
dogs with ingredients ranging<br />
from Cap’n Crunch cereal to crushed<br />
potato chips to ginger and wasabi<br />
(though it’s probably not a good<br />
idea to mix them all on the same<br />
dog), Tubby Dog has something to<br />
satisfy any hunger. <strong>The</strong>se dogs will<br />
do the trick whether after a night of<br />
bar hoppin’ (they’re open extra late<br />
on Friday and Saturday) or just a<br />
lazy afternoon of window-shopping<br />
on 17th.<br />
Add an order of Tubby’s uniquely<br />
battered T-rings or a one dollar<br />
pickled egg and it’s clear that<br />
what the menu lacks in nutritional<br />
value it more than makes up for in<br />
unapologetic (and often messy)<br />
deliciousness.<br />
Tubby Dog also offers veggie dogs<br />
for those not interested in tubes of<br />
ground up animal bits and Ukrainian<br />
sausage for those who can’t get<br />
enough. Your doctor would probably<br />
tell you not to eat here everyday, but<br />
what the hell does he know anyway<br />
<strong>The</strong> dogs are an affordable feed,<br />
in the $5–7 range. <strong>The</strong> beer is pretty<br />
cheap too—especially if you pick up<br />
one of the oversized imports.<br />
All things considered, the charm of<br />
Tubby Dog comes primarily from the<br />
interior decoration, complete with<br />
ketchup-red and mustard-orange<br />
’60s-fast-food-joint tables and<br />
benches. <strong>The</strong> place fronts on 17th<br />
and opens a street-side patio when<br />
weather permits. <strong>The</strong>re’s also a jukebox<br />
stacked with music to make an<br />
indie fanboy cream his tight jeans,<br />
but the best part is the wall projection<br />
of old cartoons at the back.<br />
<strong>The</strong>re’s nothing quite like watching<br />
the Amazing Spiderman wrap up<br />
case after case (and criminal after<br />
criminal) with his trademark note<br />
to police, mouth full of half-chewed<br />
bits of bacon, beef and sauerkraut,<br />
Newcastle in hand.<br />
<strong>The</strong> staff are friendly and make<br />
the place that much more appealing,<br />
especially on one of the movie<br />
theme nights or dj parties. Though<br />
Tubby Dog is probably not the best<br />
place to kill three or four hours, it<br />
is well worth a stop during any 17th<br />
Ave debauchery, if only to refuel on<br />
pork and beef tubes and take a break<br />
from the smoky bar scene—which is<br />
exactly what our small band needed<br />
before moving on to more serious<br />
stops.<br />
Chris Beauchamp
GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT SEPTEMBER 07.06<br />
B13<br />
Partying<br />
like sailors<br />
Ship and Anchor Pub<br />
534 17 Ave SW<br />
As we left the crazy land of<br />
Spiderman and the most excessively<br />
topped hot dogs ever, we went<br />
to a familiar spot for many students:<br />
<strong>The</strong> Ship and Anchor. Right in the<br />
heart of 17th, this is one of a select<br />
few pubs that sees line-ups on certain<br />
evenings. We luckily didn’t<br />
have to line up and quickly found<br />
ourselves staring at a massive row<br />
of taps trying to decide what draft<br />
to slam first.<br />
For me, being as classy as I am, the<br />
choice was simple; what’s cheapest<br />
on the menu Having been to the<br />
Ship before, I knew it was agd at<br />
$4.75 a pint—the choice of the rich<br />
and famous. It is pretty rare to find<br />
this alluring lager on tap, making the<br />
Ship a gem in Calgary. <strong>The</strong>y’ve also<br />
got a huge selection of other beers<br />
for a slightly higher premium.<br />
Along with a prime location and<br />
great beer selection, the Ship offers<br />
a fairly large seating area and dual<br />
patios flanking the main doorway.<br />
However, show up early as the Ship<br />
gets full every night of the week.<br />
For our purposes, the Ship allowed<br />
us to meet up with a couple more<br />
friends and got some more booze<br />
sloshing around the stomach. While<br />
the bulk of the alleged pals we met<br />
up with at the Ship decided against<br />
continuing on our crawl, our group<br />
of four became one stronger for our<br />
fifth and final stop of the eve. For me<br />
the night gets a little hazy after this<br />
Just this old<br />
guitar...<br />
and an empty bottle of booze<br />
A <strong>Bar</strong> Named Sue<br />
1410 4 St SW<br />
You’d think a city known affectionately<br />
as “Cow Town” would<br />
have honky tonks and saloons on<br />
every street corner, two-steppin’<br />
barn dances in every neighbourhood<br />
and live country music in more<br />
places than any city north of Texas.<br />
Unfortunately, the closest Calgary<br />
comes to being the Nashville of the<br />
North is a ten-day, overpriced, gongshow<br />
shit-fest we call the Greatest<br />
Outdoor Show on Earth, and rational<br />
observers call a ten-day, overpriced,<br />
gong-show shit-fest.<br />
Luckily for all involved, the<br />
Stampede only lasts a fortnight.<br />
Plenty of time for trendy local bars<br />
to slap up some hastily crafted corral<br />
fencing around their patios and<br />
book acts like Shania Twin and the<br />
dregs of the cmt world. Plenty of<br />
time, too, for downtown yuppies to<br />
don brand new Stetsons and pretend<br />
they’re real cowboys.<br />
Luckily for Calgarians who hate<br />
the ten-day sham that has more to<br />
do with turning our city into a tourist<br />
trap than celebrating real cowboy<br />
culture, there’s a year-round venue<br />
that honours the country music of<br />
a simpler time, and lucky for our<br />
rag-tag team of pub crawlers, it was<br />
at the Sue that we decided to end<br />
our adventure.<br />
A <strong>Bar</strong> Named Sue has been kicking<br />
it for about two years now, and<br />
has grown from a bar that may have<br />
found itself limited by the fact that<br />
it was geared around a Johnny Cash<br />
novelty song—a bar trapped in its<br />
own cliché—to an establishment that<br />
offers the type of honesty and integrity<br />
that gave Cash his own staying<br />
power. With live music every night,<br />
the cozy Sue has established a loyal,<br />
and ridiculously friendly, group of<br />
regulars. It is probably the only<br />
place in the city where your bartenders<br />
and service staff frequently<br />
swap roles with the musicians as<br />
each tries a hand at the others’<br />
craft. <strong>The</strong> role-switch is damned<br />
entertaining, not just because the<br />
bartenders are talented musicians,<br />
but because the change breaks down<br />
the barriers between performer and<br />
friend, patron and participant. It’s<br />
this attitude that gives the Sue its<br />
unique vibe.<br />
<strong>The</strong> decor is authentic country<br />
kitsch, complete with a model train<br />
performing unending laps around<br />
the ceiling. <strong>The</strong> patio has the corral<br />
fencing up year-round, and on<br />
most nights the small stage is as<br />
tightly-packed with rotating musicians<br />
as the rest of the place is with<br />
cheerful drinkers. A couple rounds<br />
of the house’s Sue Shooters—Fireball<br />
Whiskey and Jack Daniels—virtually<br />
wiped out any detailed memory of<br />
speaking to Brad, the Sue’s owner,<br />
but his friendliness and casual attitude<br />
stick out as a testament to his<br />
fine waterin’ hole. <strong>The</strong> Sue was the<br />
perfect spot for us to wrap things<br />
up, even if this reporter ended up<br />
losing his inhibitions on the dance<br />
fl o o r,h i sm o n e yo nt h eb e e ra n d<br />
his notes on the way home. <strong>The</strong>n<br />
again, maybe it is the perfect spot<br />
exactly for those reasons. Either way,<br />
it beats the hell out of going to the<br />
Stampede.<br />
Chris Beauchamp
B14 SEPTEMBER 07.06 GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT<br />
FIRST STREET CONTINUED<br />
<strong>The</strong> Hop In Brew<br />
213 12 Ave SW<br />
much more than pizza and nachos,<br />
but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.<br />
<strong>The</strong> pizza is fantastic, arguably some<br />
of the best in the city. <strong>The</strong>ir variation<br />
Abrief stumble from Bottlescrew on the classic standby of Hawaiian is<br />
Bill’s took us to the Hop particularly good, and if you’re into<br />
In Brew, an always-bustling copious amounts of garlic and not<br />
pub and the perfect way to finish<br />
much else, the Gunther may be your<br />
off an evening of moderate new favourite.<br />
alcoholism.<br />
<strong>The</strong> bottom floor has plenty of<br />
<strong>The</strong> Hop In Brew, in a hyphenated<br />
tables, while the top has a pool table<br />
word, is laid-back, though the and tiny balcony offering a view of<br />
operative term all those crazy kids the downtown skyline.<br />
Our final<br />
are using nowadays is “chill.” It’s <strong>The</strong> atmosphere is unique to the<br />
intimate, but not small; moody but Hop In Brew: somewhere between<br />
not dark. It doesn’t take too much an English pub and a house party.<br />
effort to acquire a large glass of <strong>The</strong> staff is damn friendly and worth<br />
encounter with<br />
beer, despite there being only one striking up a conversation with. <strong>The</strong><br />
bar in the place and some ultralong<br />
patrons are often willing to chat or<br />
lines on busy nights.<br />
perhaps play a game of pool. It’s<br />
A wide range of different beers are the perfect place if you’re wanting<br />
on tap, with everything from Wild<br />
a pint and good conversation,<br />
Rose to local house brews such as away from the noise of the normal<br />
the Gold Spur. <strong>The</strong>y also have some bar scene.<br />
interestingly obscure bottled beers For our group, it was an ideal spot<br />
from Quebec.<br />
to wind down after hitting nearly 40<br />
Food-wise, the Hop doesn’t have bars on four grueling pub crawls.<br />
the pink<br />
elephant<br />
Ændrew Rininsland<br />
Bill’s cont’d from page 11<br />
the prospect of earning bragging<br />
points will help you choke one down.<br />
<strong>The</strong> house wings are also excellent.<br />
<strong>The</strong> decor is typical, but<br />
Bottlescrew’s goes a step beyond,<br />
offering a cigar room, darts, pool<br />
and a “three-season” patio, complete<br />
with heaters, a fireplace and<br />
outdoor leather chairs. <strong>The</strong> cigar<br />
room is well-suited to the place, and<br />
makes for a perfect place to enjoy<br />
one of Bottlescrew’s 65 single-malt<br />
scotches.<br />
All-in-all, this place is a must for<br />
anyone who considers themselves a<br />
beer aficionado, and although some<br />
of the foreign beers are steep on a<br />
student budget, the selection alone<br />
makes it worth a trip on payday.<br />
World travel aside, it was time to<br />
take our buzzing heads to our final<br />
stop of the night, an old <strong>Gauntlet</strong><br />
favourite, the nearby Hop In Brew.<br />
Chris Beauchamp<br />
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