The Brady Brunch (Or Ray Lewis Will Eat You For Breakfast)

I essentially have 2 great loves on a Sunday. Watching Tom Brady play football, and brunch. There is a shared excellence that these two seemingly unrelated sources of inspiration share that is undeniable to the well trained eye.

There is a reason that going into last weekend's AFC Championship game, Brady was 67-0 when leading at the half. There is a reason he is a 3 time Super Bowl Champion and passed Montana's record of playoff wins. Its a total commitment to the moment. How easy would it be for Mr. GQ, husband of Brazilian super-model, to coast through life, enjoying the fruits of his talents. Instead the man goes into every season, every game, every practice, demanding nothing short of perfection. Satisfaction is only as lasting as the last snap.

Brunch is a similar beast. Lets call a spade a spade. Merging tasty breakfast and hearty lunch, complete with booze-fueled afternoon bliss would be alot like making babies with Giselle. What sets apart the Golden Griddles from The Black Hoof's, and what seperates the Tom Brady's from the Mark "Butt Fumble" Sanchez's, is that glitter alone does not make gold. Gold is forged, with constant commitment and attention to detail. With equal parts purpose and poise, as well as unquenched thirst to be better.

Championships are no ones birthright. Sometimes the most physical defence in the history of the game, lead by the man-beast that is Ray Lewis will pound you into laying the biggest egg since a Brontosaurus stared down a falling asteroid down the Yucatan.

Fortunately, for the guests at One Restaurant on a weekend afternoon, there are no Dinosaurs, asteroids, or first ballot hall of fame Linebackers in search of their destiny to get in the way of their birthright. The most fantastic brunch since 'Nam.  Merely the incredible cuisine of Chef Matt Beasley, and a barman with attention to the moment.

COURSE ONE

Raspberry Point Oysters and 13th Street Below Zero

It was Kermit Lynch who suggested to me, quite counter-intuitively, that Sauternes made for the most incredible pairing with oysters that one could imagine. Ever since, I've been unleashing Canada's best answer to Sauternes, Icewine blended with Old Vines Riesling, to any guest who orders our oysters. The response has been staggering.

COURSE TWO

Lobster Spoons and The Bloodiest Ceasar

Eat your heart out dim sum spoon. You ain't seen anything like lobster poached in butter and vermouth paired with the Ceasar of Jess Koncz. It's as though a magical boozy cocktail sauce was playing placenta to the birth of Christ. You think I'm exaggerating....

COURSE THREE

Duck Eggs Benedict and The Avacado Margarita

Finesse is not a word associated with this dish. Its richness in its most celebratd form. Like Diddy. Or Donald Trump. We leave the finesse in this round to the cocktail, which strkes an obscene balance between its silky avacado side and its bone-tingling counterparts in lemonade and Tromba tequila.

COURSE FOUR

The Ultimate Burger and Caravan Cabernet

USDA prime beef and Cab. No one is reiventing the wheel here. But whats not broke is not in need of fixing. The fixings are pork belly, fried green tomato, Big Mac sauce and Darioush's second label Cabernet, truly the best value for dollar Cabernet in the Napa Valley. It's Brady to Moss (minus the stupid Eli Manning 2 minute drill that may or may not have lead me to go for a teary walk alone on a beach in Boca Chica DR back in Feb 2008).

COURSE FIVE

Fritters and The Orange County Manhatthan

Deep fried apples, in tribute to the donut. Homer Simpson suddenly stopped chasing his airborne pigroast. Add the single best cocktail I can put in your glass...well suddenly it all makes sense.

Its the type of meal that makes you want to go drop a few thousand dollars in Tiffany's. Fact. I've seen it. Or at the very least make a fallen warrior rise up, dust himself off from the disgrace of defeat, and get ready for that next battle. The Harbaugh Bowl might be a great day, but the Brady Brunch is who we are.

The Sommeliers Guide to the Best Records of 2012

Another year has come in the land of the Red Devil. This past was a particularly special one. There was an energy to it. Something special at every corner. The great untapped potential of the universe seemed to open like a flower before my very own busy bee. Maybe he was one of those zombie bees before, maybe he just didn't come across any orchids. Whose to say? But for at least this spin around the sun, sweet nectar baby.

Not missing a step, the soundtrack followed form, sockhopping (and songpopping) the shit outta this Social. So many killer records. So much so that truly great records from artists like Bruce Springsteen, Action Bronson, Brother Ali, Lamb of God, Cat Power, The Muse and Dispatch aren't even going to crack the list (which I upped to 21...cuz I can...no big deal).

This years pairings will be with my favourite cocktails. While the Great Hipster Cocktail Explosion that swallowed West Toronto from King St. to College St. this year, might be inspiring for some, I sort of rally against such massively self-congratulatory trends by instinct. Instead my rebirth in love with the cocktail stems from spending an afternoon learning from Stan Vadrna back in April. Fifteen years behind a bar was re-ignited by this singularly inspiring afternoon workshop, and was really the launching point for the most transformative year in my life. Heavy gear. The cocktail saved my soul.

Note that I never include proportions. I feel strongly that the bar, like the kitchen and the canvas, are forms of expression. Paint by numbers is for kids, but if you want to truly become an artist, find YOUR balance. Play. Paint in the glass. I have mastered these cocktails to my satisfaction (and more often than not, that of my guests), but by doing just that. I want the same for you and yours. 

So that brings us to the 3rd edition of one man's quest in celebrating outstanding vintages.

 1. Kid Koala's 12-Bit Blues
     Pairing: The wines of 13th Street

One has to merely check out my December piece on this record (Click here) to know that there could never be another record in this year's top spot. And I know, this isn't a cocktail. I make the rules, yes? In any event I could not say it better than I already have. The best record of 2012, for your consideration.

Kid Koala - 4-Bit Blues

2. The Alabama Shakes - Boys and Girls
    Pairing: The Manhatthan

This record has really been the soundtrack to the entire year. Bursting out of the annual SXSW hype machine, this was from very early in the year, the leading candidate. The lady absolutely slays every note in a collection of tracks that ooze southern charm. By the time I finally saw them live in the fall, this record had woven its way into my life the way certain records always do. It would be forever associated with a place and time. We don't get those back, but we always have their soundtrack.

The Manhatthan has long been my drink of choice. Only fitting then that 2012 also introduced me to my alltime favourite version. From Shonna Olendy, formerly of The Keg, & Michael's on Simcoe (and presently on mixology hiatus in pursuit of living the dream), comes the most excellent expression of the Mannhathan I have ever enjoyed. Maker's Mark, Grand Marnier, Antica Formula Vermouth, Orange Bitters and Orange zest. You'll never be the same.

The Alabama Shakes - You Ain't Alone

3. Action Bronson - Blue Chips
    Pairing: The Bloody Ceasar

With this mixtape (and 2011's Dr. Lecter) former Chef de Cuisine Action Bronson turned the hip hop world on its head. Curious as restaurants across the continent are switching to hip hop in their dining rooms, along comes Bronson to tie this new marriage together in the most literal sense. Those still talking about his similarities to Ghostface have their glass half empty (and those wanking on Kendrick Lamar & A$AP Rocky never had a glass), but those in the know have been jamming off his hookers-meets-Haut-Brion style of wordplay since the day this record dropped.

Now of course, EVERY Canadian barman makes the best Ceasar. Not unlike in Japan, where every chef's sushi is of course, the best there is. But unlike these guys on either side of me, I'm right. Kettle One Vodka (infuse with some Harbeneros fo some kick), Celery Salt, Celery Bitters, Black Pepper, Shaved Horseradish, Shaved Lime zest, Mott's Clamato Juice, Worchestershire, and Jungle Heat Scorpion Sting. I love adding some pickled vege, though after a recent visit to Rock Lobster on Ossington, I may be adding lobster tails to my masterpiece. Boss.

Action Bronson - Tan Leather

4. The Typical Cats - 3
    Pairing: The Gringo Paloma

So long awaited was this 3rd installment from Chicago's best kept secret, I hopped a plane for Chi City to see the hometown CD Release party live in person. The expectations were as lofty as North Korean rockets launched by their newest Supreme Leader (Sexiest Man Alive according to The Onion and the Daily Communist). And like them commy rockets, the trio delivered. Each MC on form , providing their unique rhymestyles to the blend, but its truly Denizen Kane who emerges as The Poet, and one of hip hops most extreme talents.

My love of tequila and grapefruit come together like a Toni Valencia cross to a Van Persie volley into the back of the net down Stretford. There is no point where I have had enough of these. Never will be. Tromba Blanco, Grapefruit Juice, Grand Marnier, Grapefruit Bitters, Grapefruit zest. Sexy and simple. The fratboys be getting excited.

The Typical Cats - Denizen Walks Away

5. Ceremony - Zoo
    Pairing: The Bloody Cuban

This was the crossover album for Rohnert Park's answer to punk rock revival. Having established a loyal following with 2 records of their Lemmy rocks the garage brand of hardcore, they shoot for the wider audience on this one and defy the odds in creating a more user friendly sound, without alienating their fanbase. As for the live experience they held their own opening before thousands in New York City for The Refused reunion tour. But they shine in the dive bar. Reckless abandon and flying bodies. Raw shit. Fully incredible.

Thus cocktail is a brand new one, inspired by my love of rum, using up ends, and the onset of Blood Orange season. Havana Club 7, 1 whole Blood orange, Squeezed into glass, zest kept for garnish.. Thats it. Absolutely perfect.

Ceremony - Brace Yourself

6. Frank Ocean - Channel Orange
    Pairing: Faux Mimosa

While everyone and their mother was busy vibing on this instant classic R&B jam, I was wondering for months why everyone was suddenly so into Billy Ocean. I'm an idiot, by the time I realized this and got onboard I sincerely wished I had that last 6 months back. SOOOOO sick.

This one was born out of my love of sitting in the sun on July afternoons (and my penchant for tasty brunches). Bored of the same old mimosa. Flip the shit on its head. Gazela Vinho Verde (which IS lightly spritzed) and San Palegrino Blood Orange. Your welcome.

Frank Ocean - Pink Matter

7. Django Django - Django Django
    Pairing: Lamb Chop

Apolgies to Tarentino but his Django was about 45 minutes too long. This ones just right. Following in the vein of the new breed alt rockers obsessed with the synth sounds of the 1980's, these guys deliver the requisite hook and charm to pull it off. Smart and fun. This record is the sleeper of the vintage.

The Lamb Chop is a self styled digestif (though works just as well as a shooter). The name is in tribute to pet name between a father and his daughter. The cocktail is one of considerable character, and is wholly befitting of its namesake. Lavender Infused Bombay Sapphire, Domaine Canton Ginger Liquer, White Vermouth, and Lemon zest.

Django Django - Life's a Beach

8. Blu & Exile - Give Me My Flowers While I Can Still Smell Them
    Pairing: Kentucky Bluegrass

Its not a summer jam if it ain't Blu. Man has exclusive rights to my jam box on a summer day. Despite exploring some edgier sounds on some recent solo work, Exile returns the focus to the Soul vibe. As always, Il Blu is the Soul Provider.

This was my first award winning cocktail, having earned my face a place on a bottle of Maker's Mark back in 2010. Maker's Mark, Blueberry Syrup, fresh Basil, honey, lemon juice, grilled orange slices for garnish, crushed ice. Alternatively puree the Blueberry and Basil and remove the need for the crushed ice.

Blu & Exile - Ease Your Mind

9. M Ward - A Wasteland Companion
    Pairing: Aperol Spritz

After years of listening to M Ward I am convinced at any given time, you can never be more bummed out than this guy. Someone give the man a hug. Not that this record lacks a toe-tapping side. I Get Ideas, & Primative Girl betrays a sneaky confidence between his sad-sack exterior. But truly he is at his best with the most desperately heartbroken numbers. Crawl After You is about as endearing a song as I've ever known.

Pairing something so downbeat with something as uplifting as the Aperol Spritz seems absurd...but you're talking to a guy who pairs oysters with Sauternes. Fight the war, fuck the norm. Some add soda but some are alcoholics. This ones for the latter. Aperol, Nino Franco Prossecco, Orange and Grapefruit Bitters.

M Ward - Crawl After You

10.. Gary Clark Jr. - Black & Blu
      Pairing: Pimm's Cup

Perhaps the best thing about the world finally catching on to The Black Keys the past few years, is that now a new generation of blues rock is bubbling to the fore. This guy you need to know. Just slays in all the right ways.

The Pimm's Cup is that most noble of UK exports. Celebrate 150 years of the London tube, The queen's Jubilee, or the Olympics (not a bad year across the pond) with this adaptation. Chambord Vodka, Pimm's, Lemon Juice, Sprite, Lemon & Lime zest, cucumbers and strawberries.

Gary Clark Jr. - Bright Lights

11. The Heavy - The Glorious Dead
      Pairing: Mulled Cider

If The Black Keys made sweet love to the more obscure UK outfit, The Broken Keys, you would have The Heavy, and their glorious new record. Inescapably fun, this record is built for start to finish performance. Get into it.

My mulled cider recipe has been warming up the winter for several years now. Getting home from a long day skiing down Blue deserves this kind of finishing touch. Baccardi Oakheart Spiced Rum, Goldschlagger, hot Apple Cider, cinamon stick.Game over.

The Heavy - What Makes a Good Man

12. I Self Devine - The Sound of Low Class Amerika
      Pairing: The General Lee

Rugged and raw, I Self Devine has arrived as another gem from the Rhymesayers family. This thing is yet another testament to Golden Era hip hop ressurecting before our very eyes. And while Nas may have let slip on his new record, you can count on the generation raised on Illmatic to carry the torch.

I love me a bourbon sour. Nothing makes bbq like hot sun and a sour. Mine is a makeover that tips its hat to the greatest of Southern symbols, The Dukes of Hazzard and their chariot of fire. Maker's Mark, Southern Comfort, egg white, Rhubina Syrup, Lemon Juice, Grapefruit Bitters. SHAKE!

I Self Devine - Hold On

13. Jack White - Blunderbuss
      Pairing: The Camper

Michigan's answer to Damon Albarn can be counted on to stay relevant and does so here, capturing the sound of the day (Blues rock overdose much?) with a sincere integrity. Catch, quirky, its oh so Jack White.

The Camper is as simple as a White Stripes chord progression. Grapefruit Juice and Campari. Low alcohol and quenching acidity drives this as a flavorful summer slammer. Cant stop. Wont stop.

Jack White - Trash Tongue Talker

14. Jimmy Cliff - Rebirth
      Pairing: The Mint Julep

This could have been ugly. A long absense from studio recording can be a taxing journey on the elder statesmen of music (read David Bowie, The Rolling Stones, Toots & The Maytals). But Tim Armstrong proved to have a deft touch in bringing to life all that made Jimmy Cliff one of THE names in Jamaican music.

The Mint Julep is a singular tribute to the noble status of the classic cocktail. I'll leave my well-tattoo'd counterparts to barrel age their cocktails so they can be the featured in the next GridTO feature. Me, I'm just gonna stick with what works. Which in this case is Maker's Mark 46, Lime Juice and Fresah Mint. Feel free to play with some syrups to achieve your ideal blend.

Jimmy Cliff - One More

15. The Lumineers - The Lumineers
      Pairing: The Avacado Margarita

Not my fault. That is all.

As for the cocktail, this one was a patio favourite this past summer at One. Tromba Blanco, Agave Nectar, Avacado Lemonade, shaved Lime zest. Crisp and creamy at the same time. Its a mystery, wrapped inside an enigma, stolen Inception style from the dreams of M Night Shyamalan. As is the reason this record is ever played during my extremely manly day to day existence.

The Lumineers - Stubborn Love

16. Plan B - Ill Manors
      Pairing: Irish Coffee

Having returned from his self-styled soul man outing that made Strickland Banks the most dynamic record of 2010, loud mouth Ben Drew gets back to his roots. Grimey UK hip hop. This one dives deep into the perilous state of the Youth Culture in the UK. Without pointing fingers, but rather displaying a deft understanding of the socio political powers that undermine Britain's youth, this is equal parts anthem and condemnation. And its hauntingly beautiful.

One feels a carbomb is more Ben Drew than a coffee. But for me, my weekly dose of UK Culture comes from sucking these down in front of Sky Sports and weekend footy. Jameson and Black Coffee. Goal!

Plan B - Ill Manors

17. Titus Andronicus - Local Business
      Pairing: Maple Mojito

Another instant classic from this outfit not afraid of being themselves amidst the ironically conformist world of punk rock. Smart, fun, clever and cool. Its a rare breed but they have now proven their last gem was no fluke.

Also not afraid of doing things different, this became my summer thing. I like mojitos. And what is more Canadian than Maple Syrup? Somewhere in Quebec, Martin Picard just smiled. As will you blending Bacardi 8 Year, Maple Syrup, Mint, Lime, Lime Juice and Soda.

Titus Andronicus - In a Big City

18. Murs & 9th Wonder - The Final Adventure
      Pairing: The Oxley Martini

Not the first time a rapper has claimed to putting out a final record, but there is something to the integrity of these 2 hip hop heavyweights that suggests the Final Adventure will be a farewell for the dynamic duo. A fitting conclusion then, delivering the expected dose of awesome that this collaboration has come to define over the past decade.

Proof that stellar ingredients, left to sing on their own, will do just that. Oxley is a unique and fantastic small batch gin that is truly heads and shoulders above its peers. Oxley Gin, Grapefruit Bitters and Grapefruit zest. Bumpin.

Murs and 9th Wonder - Get Together

19. Cloud Nothings - Attack On Memory
      Pairing: The French Quarter

The critical darling of the Indie Rock scene this is every bit worth the praise. As well crafted a rock album as I've seen in years. Alluring, aggressive and daring. Would love to catch this live.

My entry into this years Grey Goose Pour Masters. A twist on the French 75, this one captures the spirit of the drink, while standing on its own. If you're going to switch on a classic, be sure everything has its purpose. Grey Goose Citron, Champagne, Lemon Juice, and an Orange wheel, soaked in Hennessey VSOP.

Cloud Nothings - Wasted Days

20. DZ Deathrays - Bloodstreams
      Pairing: Negroni

Such a hip debut from these kids. Famed roadie/protester/cultural icon Adam Wordsworth Nobody put me onto this band during festival season here in Toronto. It was months later the record came out. Nobody knows what he's talking about.

If I had a buck for every barrel-aged Negroni on a Toronto cocktail list this year, The Red Devil Wine bar would be opening next month. Assuming I don't know more than well paid master distillers, I simply buy good gear and get into the glass. Bombay Sapphire Gin, Antica Formula Vermouth, Campari & Sliced orange. You fancy, huh?

DZ Deathrays - Cops Capacity

21. Wu Block - Wu Block
      Pairing: Pear Lychee Martini

Ghostface. That is all.

Another One classic. Grey Goose Pear, Soho Liquer, Lime Juice, and fresh lyuhee fruit. Candy.

Wu Block - Been Robbed

Rum Ham and Wildcard Weekend



It is an inescapable fact that men have an unquenchable fascination with large chunks of meat. This is not meant as some social commentary rather a simple empiricle statement of fact. Its the driving force behind such uniquely manly endeavours such as big game hunting, deep sea fishing, bear hugs, T-bone steaks, Mideval Times & occasionally a go round of a Stranger (define THAT and stay fashionable).

Take for your consideration my recent fascination with weekend roasts. It began 3 weeks ago when I decided to braise a rather large brisket, enjoy a tasty dinner, and then live on the leftovers for a week to follow. In addition to the glorious fatness of a braised beef dinner, the resulting days of experimentation lead to the most gangster Bucatini Brisket. Then it was the holidays so it was only natural I find nearly 20 pounds of bird, brine that turkey, and unleash an unfinishable feast upon my family and friends. Like your Chem teacher with a bunson burner, I mad scientist'd my way into a firey, turkey club kafta.

Cue this weekend, and the launch of that other, oh so manly of activities, NFL playoff football. This was a next level. A simple piece of meat would no longer suffice. Bigger. Better. Faster. Stronger. I am flexing even as I type this.

And thus (with a little bit of assistance from "Its Always Sunny In Philadelphia") Rum Ham was born. Started things off with a sexy, skin on, bone-in, pork shoulder roast. Brined that bad boy in rosemary, sage, thyme, peppercorns, garlic, onion, sugar and salt. Timing required a 30 hour brine, so i busted out the pen and the pad and math'd my way into a lower seasoning-to-water ratio that kept everything in balance. How I came to having notes on all my previous brines is not important and should be ignored by the concerned reader. Fired up the oven to 450 and with the skin face up, docked the beast for 30 minutes of searing heat and removed to cool it down to 325. Its a key step in getting that eventual crackle into that just right state of crispy perfection. the next 5 hours were a slow bath in a baste of Havana Club 7 and pineapple juice.

And we weren't done there. Braised apples were to make that special side (which doubled as sauce). And with the braised apples being simmered in riesling, the final, most epic piece of the puzzle came to light. The guests assembled, the Seahawks spotted the Skins a 14 point lead, and I guided them through a 6 wine flight pitting the best of Niagara Rieslings vs 3 German counterparts.

We began with a 2011 Estate Riesling from Thirty Bench. Sous Chef and world traveller, Sir Alex Guido began right away calling out the distinct petrol notes jumping from the glass. Its a varietal signature I feel is central to the experience of Rieslings from both Niagara as well as Alsace. But those crazy krouts love their fruit-forward Rieslings and with our next glass we could see how these off-dry gob-monsters need some time to really show their stuff.

While super tasty, the 2011 St Urban Hof Kabinett riesling was mad young, and all that ripe fruit and residual sugar just masked what could be only assumed lied beneath.

Next up was the Vineland Estates St Urban Vineyard 2011 Riesling. This seemed to tie the best of both previous wines incredibly well and was instantly the crowd favourite. Oddly enough the one guest who didnt like the wine, was someone who I tasted this same wine with 2 months ago over a tasty lunch at Vineland Estates and found it one of that days bests. Its proof that there is no science to this. Wine is like our lovers. Some days we love them, others we loathe them. In wine as in romance, the best we get is something we always want to go back home to.

I cannot sum up wine 4 any better than Sir Alex Guido.

"Does anyone else find this wine reminds them of weed brownies?"

Best.Wine.Descriptor.Ever.

While I couldnt quite wrap my twisted brain around that number, the crowd built the bridge, bringing to light a buttery, baked goods side, that wrapped in the unctious fruit, gave birth to a momentous fan favourite. The 2007 Dr Herman Riesling Spatlese was as demonstrative as some old bearded deity parting the Red Sea for the Isrealites. There is no shame in fruit driven rieslings. In their youth they cannot hold a candle to the leaner, acid-driven styles of Niagara and Alsace, but give them time and something special can happen.

Something special was happening inside the glass tubes of my terribly antiquated television set too. Russel Wilson and the Seahawks were doing that thing that makes playoff football so incredible. They were playing for their lives (insofar as death is an early trip to the golf course and a possible ticket to the Pro Bowl in Hawaii).

As we rolled into round 5 we were most definitely burned out under an avalanche of pig fat and riesling. Pity then it was the round that showcased, MY pick of wine of the night with the 2010 Old Vines Riesling from 13th Street. I once made the comment that this wine reminds me of a 2001 Ostertag Heissenberg Riesling I recently enjoyed (read the last article for proof). The nose truly delivers this old school, Alsatian vibe, that I can only compare to listening to old Beach Boys records. while waxing ones 57 Chevy, upon returning from exploring the grimey wine caves of the Loire Valley. Cool beans.

We finished the flight with a 2005 Spatlese from Bollig-Lehnert. Not the best wine of the night, but the most fitting conclusion in the demonstration. Another off dry heavyweight, its most advanced age, really showed us what Riesling can do in time. Everyone is in such a hurry to age their Cabernet and Grenache that they forget whites like Riesling and Chenin Blanc are every bit worthy of that MILF treatment.

Behind the wine, the big game finally turned, a stubborn coach risking his clearly ailing franchise QB, leading to a collapse rivalled only by the kneee of Robert Griffin III. Those rugged upstart Seahawks gave birth to a new playoff legend. While Wade Davis and Jared Diamond warn us of the perils in the extinction of oral history through vanishing ancient language, a new digital history is being created before our eyes. New legends for a new world, telling that same story. That ongoing struggle in rising above our enemies and setbacks in salute to defiance and victory.

I'm thumping my chest. Believe that.

The Sommelier's Guide to the 12-Bit Blues

You can't stroll through Niagara wine country these days without hearing some beaming winemaker absolutely effervescent over the fruits of the 2012 vintage. Coming off the heels of spectacular runs in 2010 and 2011 it seems absurd that we could enjoy something even better, but the fact remains that  in just about every varietal grown in Niagara, 2012 bestowed an as yet unseen level of excellence.

The same can be said about the world of underground hip hop. There has been a magical run of records from the likes of Action Bronson, Ghostface, Blueprint, Brother Ali, The Typical Cats, J-Live, Jay Electronica, Saigon, Murs & 9th Wonder, The Roots, Common, Phonte, Blu and Exile, I Self Devine, Lupe Fiasco, Pharoah Monche & countless others that have been complete game changers. Its enough for even this hardcase old soul to grant that we might be at the cusp of a new Golden Era.

And that's when I dropped the new Kid Koala record.

My jaw dropped through the floor like an acidic bathtub in Breaking Bad. The 7th Trumpet had sounded and suddenly I knew the Mayans knew what they were doing with their Calender. This record is "Deadringer" for a new generation. I remember when I first heard Bronson, we hatched the phrase "There is no longer music, only Action Bronson." Apologies to the Chef De Cuisine, but after "12-Bit Blues" there is no longer a planet Earth. Game Over (insert coins for credit).

Inspired so by this magical tidal wave of awesome that surfed so excellently upon my earwax, I am compelled to dedicate a "Sommelier's Guide" piece not to the best records of the year...but one solitary piecee of musical magic.

"5-Bit Blues" - Kid Koala - you'll want this clicked for mood from here on out.

And what better way to celebrate this Canadian excellence on the turntable, but with my most recent Canadian wine obsession. My mind was similarly blown over a recent visit to 13th Street Winery. Our most righteous host guided us through their little slice of Olympus pie, taking us from their garagiste roots, to the world class evolution they are now enjoying. So gangster. They are literally the underground MC, shying away from the mass production world of spinning rims and songs about SHOTS, to deliver hand crafted wine of the soul.

It would appear as though someone is reconsidering their choice of beverage 

This record, and these wines are a match made in Red Devil Hell.

Without further adieu...I give you my 12 course pairing program.

"1-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2010 Old Vines Riesling, 13th Street

"The Kid is in rare form" is heard kicking off the track, and without a doubt the term "classic" resonates throughout. Thus I go with this wine that exudes classic. I at once compared it to a 2001 Heissenberg Riesling I so enjoyed. The nose explodes with that oily/terpine quality that is quintessential riesling. Music and mood for the old soul.

"2-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2008 Premier Cuvee, 13th Street

This is the kind of toe-tapping dancehall crasher that commands you to get on the floor. What's cooler than being cool? Ice Cold. Nothing says party like this zesty fresh sparkler that brings the bubbles. Rick James might just call it a celebration.

"3-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2011 Gamay, 13th Street

Suddenly, things turn grimey. With the grit of a blues bar in a neighborhood you dont want to visit, you are suddenly staring down the dark heart of the soul. And you are loving every minute. Thus there is no better pairing for the adventurous spirit within, than the wild child that is this Gamay. More wild child Syrah than bubblegum Beaujolais, this is a wine for those who love that wild, gamey, bacon-fat, leesy underworld of wine. GANGSTER.

"4-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2011 Below Zero Riesling, 13th Street

Blues can be so smooth and so rugged in the same glorious note. This song captures that magic with an ease that's hard to wrap my head around. Meet the Below Zero. Blended icewine and old vine riesling, there is a smooth mystique wrapped in a dangerous acidity that elevates this thing into something that you need to taste to believe.

"5-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2010 Cabernet Merlot, 13th Street

The kind of blues that pours itself into a bottle because that is the only escape from the pain of a broken heart. The kind of blues  that defines why we have the blues. This is that bottle you want to get lost in. Pour your heart out into its rich dark complexity...and grieve brother.

"6-Bit Blus"
Pairing: 2010 Sauvignon Blanc, 13th Street

This is the soundtrack to being alone at some desserted way-station in the sweltering wastelands, awaiting a coach that just aint coming. Your companion on the journey is this thirst quenching number that screams of French Sauvignon blanc. Its hot in this hell, quench that thirst.

"7-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2011 13 Red, 13th Street

This is blues for the rebellious heart. The renegade of funk. The bitches bastard. Bring then this wine that takes no heed to the dogma that value-priced Niagara reds cannot be serious wines. This wine plays by no such rules, and changes the game.

"8-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2011 13 Pinot Noir, 13th Street

Back to the gritty, grimey heart of the blues. If grit and grime exists in grape form, it is most certainly in Pinot Noir. In its best expression it hides its inner poet, with the surly disposition of a dangerous man. Get into it.

"9-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2010 Sandstone Reserve Chardonnay

Slow blues. Buttery. Soft and alluring. I forgot if I am describing the song or the wine.

"10-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2011 Viognier, 13th Street

Harkens one back to a simpler time. A time when you tossed mud at the girl you were crushing on, rather than cyber bully some undeserving victim. Do we romanticize the past more than we should? Maybe...but remember when kids were kids? Speaking of romance, have you met Viognier?

"11-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2011 June's Vineyard Riesling, 13th Street

Baby making music deserves baby making wine. Enough said.

"Denouement"
Pairing: "2011 BGPP Rose, 13th Street

The record ends as it starts. With charm, charisma and that stylish amount of real world grime. Looks just as good in a 3 piece suit as mud covered work boots. Style that comes from an authentic heart, not some insecure follower of fashion, trying so desperately to be what he is supposed to be. Thats how I feel about this wine. Flies in the face of convention. Does its own thing, and tastes so damned good along the way. Pinot rose man. The bees knees.


So here's the deal. Get yourself this record. Get some friends. Maybe a couple of enemies just to keep things spicy. Roll out the party pack of some 13th Street juice. Throw down this record on the loop. I promise you something  you'll be telling your kids about...when they're 18 of course...and you're suddenly falling victim to email scams from Nigerian princes looking to get their fortunes out of Africa. Ah the Adult Diaper years...they're coming for ya. Best to live some in the interim.

Dear Toronto, A Message to You Rudie

Dear Toronto,

I am writing you over a matter that concerns you directly. It comes from the heart of a Hamilton Tigercat fan, and if from that perspective alone, I might well have let sleeping dogs do their thing. But I am also a proud Torontonian. I live this city. I breathe it. I cough out its flegm in the mornings, I savour its sensations in my every step, and I sleep in short spells lost in dreams about it. I believe in this place and its people. And its this faith and passion in Toronto, that compels me to reach out to you now.

Something very strange happened this weekend. OK alot of strange things happened. Our mayor has been evicted, more people were talking Argos than Maple Leafs, and there was a horse inside the lobby of the Royal York hotel.

Canada celebrated its one of its longest standing traditions, with the 100th Grey Cup, here in the self-established centre of the universe, Toronto. It was always going to be a big deal for CFL fans from coast to coast, some 40,000 folks from Halifax to Vancouver (and even some from Baltimore) who annually make the trek across our vast expanse of Tundra to get together and jam down many beers in celebration of their favourite game. I'm amongst that set. I had my ticket since the spring. But I didnt really expect much beyond that. Toronto hosted the game back in 2007 and it was easily the worst Grey Cup I had ever attended. Poorly executed, and lost in the comings and goings of the worlds greatest little city, the sellout crowd at the SkyDome (sorry Ted, you dont get my naming rights for 30 million dollars when we the taxpayer shelled out exponentially more to build the SKYDOME) couldn't help but feel that this game would have been alot better, ANYWHERE else. I'd have put Baghdad on that list.

Now it was never going to be that bad this time. It WAS the 100th Grey Cup. Too important a thing to be left to the lingering downsides to its surroundings, this was always going to be SOMETHING. But then some shit went down. First, a bunch of millionaires and billionaires decided that their pie was unfairly sliced. They took their bickering over who gets the Cherry's and whose stuck with the crust into an NHL lockout, robbing fans of their game, sports networks of their content, and breweries of their most coveted months of beer sales.

Then, as luck, and a conspicuously dropped pass in the endzone in the Eastern Final, would have it, the Argos did the impossible, upsetting the Als and got themselves into the game they were hosting. Its been awhile since this market has had something to cheer about. The NHL strike changed nothing insofar as a Leafs playoff run, the Jays haven't been to the playoffs since Joe Carter, The Raptors might have a tough night against an NCAA squad, and TFC might just be the worst franchise in pro sports. It has been a liesurely stroll through the Sahara Desert for Toronto sports fans. FINALLY, this nearly unknown group of players did what no one else could do in this town. WIN.

It also didnt hurt that the CFL finally got its shit together and joined the 21st Century. I have been harping on this for years, even putting it in front of Tigercats President Scott Mitchell last year. Why were we not producing legacy films ala NFL Films? Why were we not getting latched on to Madden games, when it would cost next to nothing to gain access to it? Then as if on cue, TSN produced the absolutely captivating Engraved On A Nation series and Mark Cohon announced we were close to having CFL content on future versions of Madden. I didnt need the credit. I was just happy to see it happening.

Finally, after 2 days of golfing weather, Grey Cup weekend arrived, with a 20 degree drop in temperature and it was officially football time. Nobody likes cold the way CFL fans like cold. For just about everyone who lives outside of Southern Ontario, the COLD defines our lives in a much more intrinsic way than our careers, our homes or our flags. Its not the Grey Cup without banding together like a bunch of idiots, drinking ourselves numb and screaming away the sensation of our bloodflow grinding to a halt.

It was the perfect storm. For the first time I can remember, people were talking CFL football in this town. There was genine interest. Genuine excitement. At long last Toronto had caught on to what the rest of the country has known for years. Game On!


I spent Saturday night at the Wreckers Ball, the Tigercats party in the Metro Convention Centre. Spent the night drinking and dancing with the players and their wives from the 1999 Grey Cup Champion Tiger Cats. If Danny McManus had the feet of his wife when she's fired up on booze and music, he might never have been sacked his entire career. I got to wear Andrew Grigg's Championship ring. Rubbed shoulders with the fastest man in the CFL, Chris Williams. Gave GM Bob Obilovich shit for the haggard state of affairs on the defensive side of our team. Spent 10 minutes talking transit, wine lists and the temporary home for the Ticats in Guelph with team owner Bob Young. WHERE ELSE DOES THIS HAPPEN? I'd enjoy dancing with Giselle, but I'm not holding my breath on the chance to dance with Tom Brady's better half. But here in the CFL the legends of the game and their spouses get why its a big deal to get down with the little people. To evoke the ghost of the late Rick James, "Its a celebration bitches!" The CFL is like nothing else on the planet. And its ours.

Now sorry to veer off a bit Toronto, because none of this is that truly STRANGE thing that went down. That eerie sense of trouble that has me so concerned.

What worries me, what genuinely frightens me, is that while the home crowd screamed on their suddenly beloved Argos to victory, at home in the biggest game of games....almost no one clad in the colors of the visiting teams, could be heard jeering against those arrogant clowns from Toronto. In fact most clad in Rider green, BC orange, Edmonton green, Winnipeg Blue and Montreal red were openly cheering on the double blue. Aside from the Stamps fans and most (but frighteningly not all) Ticat fans, nearly the whole park was cheering on Toronto.

WHAT THE FUCK?

Toronto, what happened to us? That hogtown swaggar. That strut that evoked our place as centre of the universe. That persona that called forth so much bitter resentment and jealousy from the rest of the nation. Where did it go? I remember those days. The afforementioned Engragraved on a Nation series highlighted it on their film on the 1971 Argos, featuring the likes of Joe Thiesman, Gene Mack and Leon Mcquay. Playboys the lot of them. The most hated team in the country. Hating on Toronto has long been this country's national sport yet, here we were in the midst of a 50,000 strong pity party.

Have we been so bad for so long that Canadians actually feel sorry for us? Have we been embaressed by one two many batshit crazy mayors that we are now the laughing stock rather than the leaders of men? I mean Mel calling in the army for snow removal was one thing, but maybe Rob Ford has taken it to a place no one could have imagined ridiculous could go.

The good news is maybe this very strange weekend gives us our way back. We are winners again. Not the winners I would have wanted (go Cats go) nor the winners most of you would have wanted (happiness and fulfilment will always reside in Lord Stanley's return to Yonge St), but they are WINNERS. Soak that in. Live it. Breathe it. Tastes fucking good. And that hemoraging butt-wound of a mayor can go back to coaching the Don Boscoe team tomorrow, minus the TTC escort of course. Maybe we are on the way back Toronto.

But one thing is clear. We gotta be rude. We gotta be reckless. We gotta be Sinatra at the opera. We gotta be the best. We may have been asleep at the wheel there for a stretch, but this is who we are. May the rest of country get back to sipping on the Hater-aid.

A message to you rudie.

Jess Koncz

Good Night Ivor Wynne Stadium

Saturday was the last time I ever walked through Ivor Wynne Stadium.

I haven't been contributing to the Red Devil Blog for quite some time. That's mostly to do with the fact I have had the most engaging six months in my adult life, both personally and professionally, and with all of that living, there's been precious little time for reflecting. Its reflection after all, what spawns our uniquely human desire for expression. I've managed to keep the Red Devil meme alive through the world of Twitter, which has been a surprisingly valuable tool in keeping a pulse, but this project has always been about long-winded exploration of passions, and getting back to that remains on the horizon. On the horizon because this is not a Red Devil piece. Its a quivering mound of sentimental pudding that I posted on facebook for the benefit of some loved ones. It was only due to the persistant response of those who read it, and the way they shared it to others, that I decided it was only fair to have a proper publication, however innappropriate to the only forum I have to do so. You've been warned.

 Here we are. The end of an era for a community, a club, a family and for myself. Its difficult to overstate the importance this building has had in my life.

Dad and I have been season ticket holders for 3 decades. When I moved to Guelph...then Toronto...no matter how far apart our lives became, 9 weeks a year I can count on sharing time with my old man. That's pretty sacred shit. He is equal parts my hero, my best friend, my teacher and my inspiration. A younger me used to resent his CONSTANT positivity. His unending belief in the fact that things would be better than alright, but exactly as they should be, used to drive me insane. That is before I somehow fell ass backwards into seeing this in its infinite wisdom. And now here I am, annoying the shit out of those I love with the KNOWLEDGE that everything will be alright. I believe in my friends because he believed in me. If I ever con some poor woman into bearing my children this silly process will continue. Onward and upward.

First and foremost this building is about family.

Family and this club are inseperable. My uncle Dennis worked as a vendor at Ivor Wynne when I was a pup. Probably the coolest thing I ever recieved at Christmas, was a signed ball from the 86 Championship team. Every player signed that ball, and that happened because of family. My dad had been going to games since he was a pup. He saw the Golden Era years of the Mosca generation live and in person...hopping over fences and drunk as fuck. Relating to my dad as a young adult, seeing him as he might have been when he was my age...for the first time I began to see that the stupid shit of youth wasn't a sign of incompetance....but of success to come. If my dad was who he was today coming from places I knew so well...Jesus H Christmas I might just be alright after all.

When I played as a kid, where other kids imagined they were Joe Montana in the Super Bowl, I was Mike Kerrigan. I was Pete Giftopolous. I never hoisted the Lombardi on those grasslots, it was always The Grey Cup, won at home at Ivor Wynne.

My 19th birthday was there. It was the home opener. We DESTROYED our opponents. I remember (through the fog of 19 year old birthday haze) running down to the bench to high five Joe Montford and thank him for making my birthday. Later my boys shared a cigar with my dad in a peeler bar, laughing at me while my ass was whipped 19 times on stage.

In 1996 I saw my first Grey Cup there. It was amongst the greatest football games I have ever seen. A snow bowl. With 90 some total points scored. We sat beside the entire Argos office staff...That got heated. Some Simcoe boys were in front of us...hoodies stocked with mickeys of whiskey that were shared in short order.

Two years later Ozzy kicked the greatest game winning kick I have ever seen in the Eastern Final. Over 50 into the blow. It was impossible. I couldnt watch. My head was buried into Dad's chest and in the last second I looked up, saw the ball sail through and ensued a moment so charged with life, with happiness...I don't know that I've ever been quite so excited in my entire life.

A decade of futility has followed. But that just further evokes the passion. Here we remain. Day in day out, the most committed of believers. Here is my religion. My faith. My hope. That in spite of all the setbacks, the weakness, the insecurities...that our day will come. It will be glorious.
I am who I am because of this park. My unflinching loyalty. My passion. My persistance. Its all rooted here.

Now days I see the park from an entirely different view. I spend time with the team President. I meet the coaching staff. Drink in the alumni lounge. I see the place through the eye of a grown man. Its been a strange evolution. But so has my life. It seems even in my recent growth, so grown has my rellationship with my club. Today still a reflection of my very existance.

I love everything about this place. I love its rusty core. I love we make noise ratthling the tin press box. I love that the visitors dressing room has no hot water. Welcome to the jungle. It is so fucking Hamilton it borders on surreal.

Gameday decended upon the city as the rains decended upon the grounds. What a perfect manifestation of the collective sadness in our hearts. I'd think it self-indulgent and absurd if not for the fact that the past months of my life have seen a bizzare set of physical manifestations, both in the positive and the negative. Skeptic I may be I cannot discount the idea our hearts do not manifest in the physical world. I might have to go back to Leonard & Murphy's "Future Of The Body" if this keeps up.

Before kickoff we honoured the Alltime Tigercat Team. The best in their position over the clubs history. Sharing this day with Danny Mac, Troy Davis, Earl Winfield, Rocky DiPietro, Garney Henley, Grover Convington, Paul Osbaldiston and company was the whiskey. That magical poncho of warmth that rendered the rains into irrelevance.

And what a dance our boys gave the old lady. We knocked 2 quarterbacks out of the game. A defence that single handedly cost us a playoff birth, for one afternoon, channelled the ghosts of Mosca, Barrow, Montford, Hitchcock, Schelling, O'Shea, Tiggle, Browne & Zambiasi. And while the rain unleashed its discomfort, the crowd rose above. The 13th man was every bit a force, with noise disrupting no less than half a dozen Bomber snaps. It was loud, hard nosed Hamilton football. Everything this theatre had spent 80 years delivering to the hungry blue collar generations that poured through the turnstyles.

The final whisatle gave way to a thunderous ovation, and as if on cue, the clouds parted, the rains ceased and for the next hour, the sun snuck out for a gander. Again. Perfect.

I had never felt such a somber exit from such a fantastic win.

We shared our goodbyes to our season seat neighbors. Four families that have shared a patch for 2 decades. While the rest of the clan made their way to the car, Dad and I walked the grounds one final time in complete silence. We left alot of shit behind here. Alot. More than a silly essay could convey. More than we could verbalize to each other.

Its just a building right? There'll be a next one.

Tell that to anyone whose ever lost themselves in this place. Something very unique is being lost. We grow, we progress, we build families, but we never, ever replace our first true love. Some things are only done once.

Saturday everything changed. And that's life...so great, Ivor Wynne has one last lesson for me. But it doesn't mean I have to like it.

Good night rust bucket. You've been a thing.

 

The Eternal Cowboy Takes On Thomas George Estates

Cavalier eternal, I found myself in need of a hitching post while traversing the coastal side of the Mayacamus mountains in Northern California. Pulling off of US 101, travel weariness began to supercede the glorious viticultural sprawl in evidence around me. The Golden Gate's distant memory was no longer romantic enough to derail the chorous of my tired bones. A grueling firefight at the airport rentalcar counter had left me damaged and the end was creeping in like an evil samaurai. When suddenly like an oasis in the dessert, I came upon a relic of a bridge, 1 lane serving both ways, leading across the Russian River. Awaiting on the north side was Westside Road, and the weary Gunslinger's ultimate hitching post.. A bridge at home in the Wastelands, the secret path to Thomas George Estates Winery.

Beyond the bridge was exactly the oasis I envisioned. Passing through the gates at Thomas George, I was greeted by the Frederick Hart masterpiece, "The Source", an impeccable symbol of the life-giving waters which flowed throughout the Estate. I tied my buggy to its post and made my way inside the Estate hall. Graciously awaiting were Sean and Adrienne, my most excellent hosts for my brief respite in my journey through the wastelands of food and drink. Wasting no time, they unleash the hounds, though instead of guard dogs hellbent on my destruction, it was a team of the most adorable pet pooches one can imagine. Turns out in addition to their own little guy, they were dog sitting for owner, Jeremy Baker, who was in LA for a trade show. Knee deep in dogs and hospitality, they really hit the spot by breaking into some wines.

We start things off with a Brut rose sourced from pinot grapes from their Starr Ridge vineyard. Sparkling rose is a pretty much the way to my heart, and as such this delicious 90 point offering is the ultimate medicine. We move n to the single vineyard chardonnays, which each express unique terroirs without relinquishing anything to taste. These are the Burgundian styled chardonnays that make their Chateau 2x4 counterparts a bitter lesson in what not to do with the most noble of white grapes. Elegance, individuality and taste drive these wines like Schumacker would steer an F1 racer. The same pedigree plays out from the pinot noirs, with the coolest, Cresta Vineyard, scoring amongst the best California wines I've ever tasted. Perhaps the coolest wine of the tasting was the Sauvignon Blanc Musque, a clone (sadly soon to be decommissioned in California) not unlike chardonnay musque with which Niagara vintners have enjoyed many recent hits.

The Baker Family may have scored the biggest hit yet when they purchased this property, which stood as the last wine making home to the elderly Sonoma legend, Davis Bynum (the first man to craft a single vineyard pinot in the Russian River Valley). Having fallen into disrepair they devoted considerable resources into making one of the most state of art facilities in Sonoma County, all the while keeping a keen eye for cultivating the most majestic sense of atmosphere on display in viticulture.

Amongst the greatest achievements on the property is The Cave, built into the side of one of the properties sizable ridges. It was here Sean and Adrienne took me on the most enlightening aspect of the Thomas George experience. A comprehensive barrel tasting is the quintessential means to really grasp the process from vineyard to glass. Tasting the various barrels, maturing in oak until their trip to the bottle, you not only discover the differences in each vineyard, but even in the individual parcels within. We hit one barrel from a plot on the Baker ridge that was close to a small brush fire, and doubt you could fully taste and smell a smoky character in that batch. The wine maker's pallet is on full display for those fortunate enough to see this side of a winery.

Armed with some of the tastiest burritos I have had the pleasure of stuffing my face from nearby Mexican joint, La Rosa I descend to my on site cabin, The Grenach House. Rustic life never seemed so luxurious. The wear ands tear of the wanderer were cured in an instant. We had shared a laugh over a recent article in Food And Wine magazine celebrating Thomas George's astounding guest quarters, in that there was an implied breakfast cooked by Jeremy himself. "That's never happened" I was assured. Nonetheless, this was zen. This was hardcore zen.

Morning came with the calls of the Estate rooster and was promptly chased down with some french press with Sean, preparing for his day in the fields. We drove up to the adjacent Baker Ridge Vineyard, as clearly my hosts once again had sites on blowing my mind.

We came to the crest of the Baker Ridge vineyard to the site of a guest pavilion under construction. Designed with an eye for weddings or other similar gatherings I was presented a view of the entire Russian river Valley rising back toward the Mayacamus Mountains. In an instant the cavalier eternal decided he needed to abandon his life of bachelorhood debauchery to the end of finding himself a lady to get married on this very spot. Floored. In all the right ways. There was something so alluring here. From the views, to the wines, to the people who made it all happen. I could die on this very spot. Everything would be ok.

After an afternoons expedition into the vineyards of Sonoma's greatest gems, I returned to my new home. I walked the grounds. I shared more bottles with my hosts. We came across a bottle of skunky, sulphur-laden chardonnay from a nearby winery. It was here Sean introduced us to the coolest of coin tricks. Turns out the soon to be extinct copper penny, is the secret weapon in the battle against sulphur tainted wine. Swirl away a penny in the glass....and like magic...its back to what it should have been. I wouldn't have believed it had I not tasted it myself.

During my last nights stay, Jeremy had returned from the trade show in LA. Having driven a trailer of barrels from LA all the way to Sonoma after a night that included enjoying the sunrise from the home of Dr. Dre, the man of the estate was understandably drained. Yet this did nothing to curb his enthusiasm for the evenings winemakers party being thrown in his Cave at the estate. He lead his team with the charm of Rasputin, pouring out his best wines for the regions most prolific wine folk. I got to spend some time talking shop with the passionate pioneer, Ulyses Valdez, whose syrah vineyards were sourced for my favourite Thomas George Syrah of yesteryear. While Napa is all Disneyfied with its bells and whistles, Sonoma remains at its heart, farm country. Its legends are the everyman. Icons and grunts in the same stroke. While the juice in the flesh, and the soil the bone, in Sonoma its the people who are the blood.

I would enter Thomas George Estates as the eternal cowboy. I would leave the enchanted, the poet and the lover.