Belgian Beer Bonanza! Cantillon Brewery Tour, Brussels

It's impossible to forget the first time your taste-buds are left smarting from a slap of Belgian beer.

Like most, I was weaned on traditional lager or pilsener, the kind of stuff 'Johnny Sixpack' might pick up in his, well, pick-up.

To make watching sporting events palatable, such as our failing local hockey team's perpetual first round exit from the playoffs, or as an adjunct to a post-work barbecue in someone's suburban backyard, our greatest concern was a six-pack that wouldn't tax the wallet---and would leave us comfortably under the $10-dollar mark to to grab a bag of Doritos and pay for the last bus of the night without having to scramble for change.

If any of these bargain garage sale suds strayed too far from having what we came later to realize was a distinctly "beer" finish, it wasn't uncommon to hear "it's got a bitter aftertaste" bellyaching. This was odd, given that whenever anyone would inhale a candy bar, you'd never hear a "isn't that a sweet aftertaste?"

Belgian beer, as I came to learn, not only has aftertaste, but a heady "before" and "during" taste as well, and furthermore, some types weren't bitter at all.

Like the first time I guzzled a Guinness and realized it wasn't a facsimile of orange juice, like a Corona, or the first time I took a belt of whiskey left out in the bedroom of an older acquaintance whose jail-bait sis was hosting a party for precocious 9th grade tipplers, I realized it was a flavor distinctly unlike I'd ever encountered.

Most people's experience with Belgian beer comes via Stella Artois, which goes to show just how damn spoiled the Belgians are as that is the worst beer they make.

However, their other, more interesting beers trace their origins back to monasteries from the Middle Ages, and the product was so damn good many a monk broke their vow of silence to say as much. Unlike a lager, where the yeast ferments at the bottom at cooler temperatures, or an ale, the opposite, where the bits of goodness rise to the top, Belgian 'Lambic' beers do so spontaneously within the bottle itself.

This is admittedly a bit weird, and leaves the drinker wondering if the little bits floating around in the bottom of the bottle aren't the result of the local bog water source, rather than natural springs. It's also closed with a cork, so that you couldn't give it to the guy who got straight A's in shop class to remove the cap with his teeth.

Lambic beers are also laid down like fine wine to age, and sparkle as well. One of the sub-types (Kriek) is given a second fermentation with sour cherries, and another (Gueuze), is sometimes called Brussels Champagne.

For a country with a population only slightly higher than that of New York City, Belgium has 125 breweries, and an eye-popping 1000 + brands. Having been recently wowed by fruit beers, not for sissies as it turns out as they often pack a 10 and 12% alcohol punch, I figured I'd make a beer pilgrimage to the land that makes, and it pains me to say this with a mother and grandparents who hail from Germany, the world's finest beer.

I visited the Cantillon brewery, and if anyone is interested reading more about the brewing process, you can do so here, as this is not the forum to bore you with minutiae.

-- Chris

For more Shark Guy travels, check out what happened to Ireland's supply of a certain stout called Beamish when Noel visited the Emerald Isle by clicking here.

Hillary Clinton Takes Shots, Not at Rival Obama but of Whiskey

Based on the dismal two-term bargain basement presidency of George W, we can make this blanket statement: tipplers make better presidents than teetotalers as anyone up to this point, including notorious booze-hound Dick Nixon, has been a better president.

Dubya, who was a lot more fun back when his nose was more full of the white stuff than a face-planting Picabo Street or when he indulged in the occasional brew, hasn't enjoyed a drop in nearly a decade (he was photographed at a 2007 summit in Germany, swilling a piss-poor non alcoholic 'near beer', a nearly punishable offense in that country, not to mention a product brewed by mediocre foreign rival Heineken that luckily didn't result in an international incident)

The current crop of Oval Office aspirants, though, are no strangers to the odd bevvie, and currently reaching out to voters, by reaching for the occasional pint.

Automaton former first lady Hillary has been urged to 'loosen up a bit' and is taking this to heart as she compounded her populist rhetoric recently by pounding back a few on the campaign trail at a Fort Wayne, Indiana watering hole. [Editor's note: forced banter with someone sporting a 'DAD' sweatshirt and prominent under-bite, in a state more backward than the Hebrew alphabet is best undertaken with a few dollops of liquid courage]

According to a local wine-and-spirits representative with no vested interest whatsoever, "I think she'd loosen up better" [if she had a few]

In terms of jump starting the economy and decreasing income inequality, her campaign platform would be well served to include the following bit of wobbly, booze-friendly research (correlation not implying causation here, unless the profs are springing for the tab). According to a study out of San Jose State U, where you can major in advanced beachcombing, "drinkers earn 10 to 14 percent more than those who refrain from drinking", with females representing the higher end of the spectrum.

Also, and this will provide a built-in pretext for browbeaten hubbies to have a few hours' respite from the missus--men who go to a bar at least once a month earn an additional 7 percent on top of the 10 percent drinking premium. Of course, we'd expect diminishing returns if this figure were to include more than ____(insert double digit figure deemed appropriate here)

Here's rival Obama gingerly sipping on a pint in PA, perhaps aiming to close the gap between beer drinkers and wine drinkers, the former predominantly GOP voters according to the latest CNN Lou Dobbs book-ending filler poll.

Toothpaste for Boozehounds: Get your choppers your whitest, with wine, whiskey flavors

For the average boozehound, dredging themselves out of bed and scraping a toothbrush across their hairy tongue, is part of the pre-work grooming regimen (after dousing less than fragrant loafers with the remainder of a bottle of cologne).

The taste of toothpaste though, is second only to a whiff of the previous night's poisons when it comes to potentially launching that morning bagel into an anti-gravity, toilet-bound trajectory.

So, it's a wonder that at Toothpasteworld.com, speaking of gravity, you can procure all sorts of boozy flavors that would turn your stomach worse than a NASA gyroscope.

Michigan dentist and self-professed 'toothpaste collector' Val Kolpakov features American-produced bourbon, whiskey, wine, and for the high-rolling set, champagne flavors.

Why these exist is anyone's guess, as the market

for people looking to give themselves booze breath when they're not drinking is likely a small one and those who are drinking would like to rid themselves of it.

Of interest, Jigger Bourbon Whiskey Flavored Toothpaste, pictured here: The 'refreshing' [source's quotation marks] morning-after pick up. It contains real alcohol - no more than 3% alcohol by wt., 2oz, so if you haven't slept all night, you can refresh your hellfire and asbestos-singeing breath with the flavors of the night before.

Don't forget to floss.

Drunk teen and his massive bar tab! He's got it 'made in Japan'

Getting a fake ID from that guy who will, once you've drunk yourself stupid in various lenient bars, supply you with a bogus highschool diploma, is a common rite of passage for many young keeners.

More often than not these sorts of identification cards could not pass muster anywhere other than the All-blind and Half-smart Society's annual barbecue and booze-up, but the teens, long having exhausted the liquor cabinet of mom's secret stash of Baby Duck (for all our foreign readers, the worst plonk in the Great White North, unfit to scour sink basins in the southwestern part of France), go for it anyhow.

In Japan recently, a 16-year-old raised the bar (and nearly bankrupted one) for under-aged drunken antics the world over when he sauntered into a Tokyo hostess club in the guise of a rich young playboy and began whooping it up in grand style.

The teen, who the manager later said ordered drinks and spoke with hostesses as a man experienced in such matters would, and was presumably not asked for identification because of that (the minimum drinking age in Japan is 20, and rumoured to be lower if you're not a fussy drinker), sat down with the hostesses and over the course of the evening managed to order an astonishing 60 glasses of whiskey, beer and cocktails, along with two bottles of Dom Perignon Champagne.

A lover of the high life, the youngster had apparently not read the chapter in the con-man's handbook that says when you are in the midst of a deception, it is best to blend in with the crowd and not draw attention to yourself. It's unlikely that he could have made himself more conspicious given his heavy bar tab --- 370,000 yen (US$3,490) by night's end (!) -- and the fact that he repeatedly picked up the microphone to serenade the various karaoke lovelies with some jukebox faves.

Alas, all good things must come to an end (and how much better could they get than a night of high-end booze-up on the arm in some den of ill repute?) and end they did when the teen was presented with the bill. Rather than creating a distraction by, say, requesting some Kenny Chesney and then making a break for it, the teen stuck around until the bill arrived and once it did he announced that he had no money.

Staff kept him there until police arrived, and we, find it a bit disconcerting that the coolest person we can think of at this moment is a 16-year-old kid.(Full story here)

Woman, 110, credits her longevity to whiskey...For a taste of her whiskey, we'll give you some advice.

The life of London's Minnie Smith's has spanned the Spanish American War to the recent Vegas debut of the world's largest TV and New Hampshire primaries. In order to experience such a rich lifetime's worth of accumulated experience you'd have to either switch to a Soylent green exclusive diet, sleep upside down or develop a time machine.

Naturally, anyone traveling back in time will have to sign a release form guaranteeing they won't pervert the natural course of history and disrupt the future development of a time machine by say, telling Kennedy to duck or thwarting the Titanic ice-berg collision. The latter, for example, would excise the calamitous event from history books, add a few hundred souls who otherwise wouldn't have been conceived (if this vessel's a rockin', don't bother knockin') and remove any and all future references to the Titanic from the obits of very old people.

Minnie Smith, it should be said, is not dead yet, but 110 years young--her namesake on the tombstone pictured above an unfortunate coincidence and oversight we blame on a guest editor---we wish her many happy returns on her recent B-Day. According to the Independent, she was 14 when the Titanic set sail on its maiden voyage and her life spanned six monarchs, 21 prime ministers, nearly every Stanley Cup, the invention of the flashlight and annexation of the island of Hawaii (it should be noted at this point, that the relevance of each particular cultural touchstone varies according to region--though who doesn't like Hawaii?)

Smith, according to reports, credits her Grim Reaper-defying existence to regular drops of whiskey and boiled onions (not together).

The authors of The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death first noted the healing properties of whiskey while on a tour of the Jack Daniels distillery in Lynchburg, Tennessee and credit going an entire year without a head cold to a 'walk slow, and breathe deep' injunction while ambling through the oak barrel storehouse where the hard stuff ages, so you don't have to, apparently.

[Editor's note: The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death and Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery is available in the United States on Amazon.com, today, January 9th, the birthday of Joan Baez, Jimmy Page, and Richard Nixon]

Single Malt Scotch Fire-water sale: For a taste of your whiskey...the kids aren't going to college

For small-ticket items like umbrellas, polyester money-belts emptied of cash or novelty hats, bargain hunters and holiday-shopping cheapskates can save a few shekels when shopping for those who have nothing by hitting their local public transit auction.

If you’d like to get your greasy mitts on bigger-ticket items with the serial numbers filed off, you can always hit a police auction and take your pick of the repository of stuff confiscated from local riffraff—a station wagon with the tires shot out, an outboard used for immigration excursions into the Florida panhandle— before your friendly neighborhood beat cop has a chance to sell it back to them.

For bona fide high rollers who would like to squander their riches on things like a a thong that once flossed the arse of Demi Moore or a bottle of Elvis' halitosis breath, there are auction houses like Sothebey’s and Christie’s where there’s also a lucrative market for those heirlooms that mysteriously came into your family’s possession after the war.

At an auction held by Christie's in New York State recently, the paddles were flapping faster than a round of amphetamine-fueled table tennis when a bottle of 81-year-old Macallan Scotch sold for $54,000, the highest price the fire water has ever fetched at the auction house.

The whiskey was distilled in 1926 in Scotland and bottled in 1986 before being purchased by a private investor. An expensive wine of that vintage that had been exposed to air would most likely prove useful only to wilt flowers and ward off bats in an enclosed space, but, fortunately for the purchaser of the rare bottle of hooch at Christie's, whiskey suffers from no such limitations.

"You can open it up, have some, close [it] and enjoy it again at your leisure. It's not going to spoil," according ot the head of wine and spirit sales for Christie's America.