Boycott

In all honesty, I rarely go to Loblaws anymore.

When DW and I first moved to Barrhaven, this large Canadian grocery chain was one of the closest stores to us and the prices were reasonable, if not better than other grocery stores in the hood. And shortly after we moved to the neighbourhood, Loblaws built an even bigger store, across the street from the old one, allowing for an Independent grocer to move into the old location.

But then Sobey's got better and moved to a bigger location, and a Farm Boy opened close by. Barrhaven got a Food Basics and a Metro, and eventually, a Costco. And Walmart also started selling groceries.

Our community has a lot of choices when it comes to groceries.

And because we have a lot of choices, you'd think prices would come down to be as competitive as possible. Loblaws used to be one of the least expensive grocery stores: it's now one of the most expensive.

DW and I have a Saturday routine. We get to Costco as early as possible. It officially opens at 9 but sometimes opens as early as 8. We aim to be there at 8:30. We get our groceries and supplies, and head out as quickly as we can, before the bigger crowds arrive.

If we need fresh produce, including meat, we head to Farm Boy, which opened a second location, taking over the space that Sobey's left when they moved out of Barrhaven. If we want name-brand items but don't want to overspend, we go to Food Basics.

And that's pretty much it as far as getting groceries.

I haven't considered Loblaws for a long time, now. Ever since they renovated the giant store, I find it darker and not as inviting. And, of course, things are overpriced.

Many people are upset with Loblaws. During the pandemic, prices were hiked up, citing distribution issues. In 2024, distribution isn't a problem but prices are continuing to climb.

Loblaws even lowered the discounted percentage for perishables that were approaching their best-before date, going from a 50-percent discount to only 30 percent.

So, starting tomorrow, May 1, people have called for a boycott of Loblaws and other affiliated stores. And I support it.

If you have other choices for groceries, consider supporting those stores, instead. If Loblaws is your only option, consider buying only essentials and not comfort foods or treats. Send this giant corporation a strong message that enough is enough.

Shoppers Drug Mart, also owned by Loblaws, should also be avoided. Go to a Rexall or Pharma-Plus, or Jean Coutu.

The price of groceries is not a result of inflation: it's a result of greedy executives.

I saw a great meme on social media and I'd like to share it here: "Poverty exists not because we can't feed the poor, but because we can't satisfy the rich." You don't have to be poor to participate in this boycott but you can send a message to the rich.

The End of a Cool Era

I remember when Merivale Road used to be only two lanes. But it must have only been for a short period.

When I was four, I learned how to ride a bicycle. I was living in the garden homes between Chesterton Drive and Bowhill Avenue, behind what was then the K-Mart Plaza, which included a Dominion grocery store, a TD bank, a Living Lighting store, Giglio's barber shop, Gow's Chinese take out, and a Brewer's Retail.

I've written about this old neighbourhood before, with some aerial shots from 1976 for reference.

Across the street from this shopping plaza were single-unit homes, which were separated by the two-lane Merivale Road. I remember riding my bike along this street, which, in 1969, didn't see much traffic. It wasn't the bustling thoroughfare of consumerism that it is today.

When the road widened to four lanes, a few years later, but still before the field was cleared for where the Merivale Mall now stands, my friends and I would have to look both ways and run across the street—often holding hands—to get to a little convenience store, Darly's, where we would spend our allowance on candies, chips, and pop, or buy either hockey or baseball trading cards.

I never watched either sport but all my friends collected the cards, so I did too.

There were two other places, further north on Merivale Road, where my parents would take my sister and me for an occasional treat: one was the Red Barn, a fast-food chain that preceded McDonalds on this strip; and, further up, where Merivale would bend but you had to make a left turn to get onto Clyde Avenue (today, you just have to stay straight, where Merivale meets Lotta Avenue), there was our ice-cream favourite spot: Dairy Queen.

Image: Google Maps street view.

This was not a Brazier Dairy Queen, meaning you couldn't get burgers or fries, or most other hot eats, though you could get a chili-cheese hot dog. It was the cool treats that made it popular and upon which it focused.

Also, for the longest time, it was only one of two DQs in Ottawa that kept its old signage. In the 90s, it eventually updated its sign, leaving the shop at St. Laurent Blvd. and Hemlock Road the last of the nostalgic holdouts.

Image: sfgamchick, via Openly.

My family loved going to the Merivale Road Dairy Queen. My favourite treat would be a green Mr. Misty Float—or as my dad called it, "a Mr. Misty with a blob on top." It was a lime-flavoured drink with vanilla ice cream that floated above it. I would let the ice cream melt and stir it into the drink, and sip it through a straw.

Ah, to be a kid again.

In my teens, my friends and I would often ride our bikes or walk to the DQ. Often, we'd grab a burger at Harvey's, which was further up Merivale, at Baseline Road, and then go to DQ for dessert.

Ah, to be an easy-going teen again.

As I got older and had my own car, we'd make the DQ almost a weekly summer event. Because this DQ wasn't a Brazier, it was only open from about the end of March to the end of September. But every time we went, there was always a long lineup that almost turned into a party scene. My friends and I would almost always run into someone we knew, and chatting it up with people made the lineup seem short.

DW and her best friend still like to build up and joke about a time that we went to DQ, when DW and I were just starting to date. While I was driving us to the spot, DW and her friend talked about what they were going to get, and then asked me what I was going to get.

Casually, I said, "I'll probably get my usual." In my early 20s, my usual was simply a chocolate milkshake, but in my response, they both let out an "Ooh!" as though my usual had suddenly become a great mystery.

The both laughed when, at the counter, I ordered my shake.

"We thought you were getting something extravagant," DW said.

Her friend started to mock me, saying, "I'll have... my usual..." dropping her tone at "my usual," making it sound seductive.

Every time they recount this story, the "my usual" part gets more and more exaggerated.

Even to this day, I roll my eyes when they start to tell this story again.

It was only the other month, as I was heading to the Merivale Photography Studio, just a few doors down from the DQ, that I noticed that the sign was bare of the DQ logo, that the words Dairy Queen were cut out from the sides of the building that has stood there for about 60 years.

At first, I didn't think much about it. After all, it was before the ice-cream shop normally opens for the season, and I thought that perhaps they were updating the sign and the lettering on the building. But last week, at the end of April, when I drove by the DQ and no one was there, I was curious.

DW and I were meeting a friend for dinner at Alirang Korean Restaurant, a few doors away, where a Dunkin Donuts used to be, long ago. After dinner, the three of us walked to the DQ, and DW and I realized that we were face to face with the end of an era.

A sign informed us that it was closed. Inside, not only did it look deserted, it looked abandoned. The menu board was missing its panels that listed all of the treats. It looked like appliances had been pulled off of the walls.

There would be no Mr. Misty Floats, no chocolate milkshakes.

After about 60 years, the Merivale Road Dairy Queen is dead.

I wonder what will replace it. Will someone tear it down and build something new? Will somebody occupy the space and run a shop with take-out windows like this DQ did?

Because my photo club always has something going on at the photo studio, nearby, I'll keep an eye on the lot at the bend in Merivale Road, where it intersects with Clyde Avenue.

Beer O'Clock: Don't Look Up

I really meant to have some of this ale with me when I was watching the solar eclipse, a couple of weeks ago. I even meant to have it reviewed for the Thursday that followed the celestial event.

A friend, Marc, had picked up the beer on the Friday before the eclipse and I had intended on driving to his place to pick it up, but weekends are tricky for driving to the east end of Ottawa. And I was also totally preoccupied with making sure that I had everything ready for the big day.

No matter. I received my six-pack on the following weekend, at the same karaoke night where my other friend, Perry, unexpectedly brought me some of his homemade brew. Guess which beer suddenly became my priority?

Anyway, thanks to Marc for thinking of me when he went to purchase this limited beer release and for bringing it to me on karaoke night.

When I saw the label of this ale, from one of my favourite breweries, I immediately knew I would be both in for a treat and a disappointment. Stray Dog is very good at making hazy, juicy, fruity ales. Every time they release one, I'm eager to try it.

I've never seen this Orleans brewery release an IPA. Like, a traditional IPA. Yet, on every label of their juicy pale ales, they've called it an "India Pale Ale" or simply an "IPA."

My friends, you've done it again. You've made a beautiful ale but have misidentified it.

And it makes me sad.

Please, call it a NEIPA or even a "Hazy IPA," if you must insist on keeping IPA in the name. You must differentiate your creations from simply an IPA. And if you really want to be brave and break this trend, call it a "NEPA" and throw away the I.

Your brew has nothing to do with India.

Okay, enough ranting. Let's look at what they've created.

Don't Look Up! IPA (6.7% ABV)
Stray Dog Brewing Company
Orleans ON

Appearance: pours a dense orange, much like orange juice, with a white head that doesn't pour thick but forms a solid cap of less than a centimetre in thickness. No bubbles stick to the glass but they're there. Yet, when I cracked open the can, there wasn't much of a hiss as the air escaped. I almost thought the can was flat.

Nose: orange peel and tangerine, with a touch of lime and only the faintest hint of pine.

Palate: full-on orange rind and some more pine, and a bit of grapefruit. There's a bitterness that fills the mouth and stays all the way to the finish. I have to admit that there are fewer tropical flavours and more of a traditional IPA taste, but I still wouldn't call this an IPA without another descriptor.

Overall impression: I had more treat than disappointment in this ale. While Don't Look Up! looks nothing like an IPA and smells nothing like an IPA, in a blind tasting (and I mean completely blind or at least wearing solar glasses so that you couldn't see what you're drinking), I would say that this is an unusual IPA that retains some characteristics in the mouth but has something more to it.

It's a good ale that is definitely quaffable.

But it's always going to bother me when a brewery puts only IPA on their label and creates the impression that inside the can is a clear, deep gold to copper liquid that has lots of hops, some grapefruit and pine, and a higher alcohol level.

And I'm always going to rate it lower because of that.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺 + .5

Don't Look Up! is still available for order from the brewery. Like the eclipse, it could be gone for a long time.

Cheers!

Morbid Thoughts

Let me start off at the very beginning by saying in all earnestness that I don't believe that I'm dying. I think that I'll be around for enough years that those closest to me will be wishing for my demise.

So, a few more years, anyway.

But seeing that I have no crystal ball and nobody has yet determined what's going on with my lungs, and I could get hit by a 10-ton truck tomorrow, there's no telling how long I, or any of us, really, will be around.

Lying awake in the middle of the night, after a serious coughing fit woke both me and DW up, where the hacking was so severe and unrelenting that I thought my head would split open, and where I exiled myself to our spare room so that DW could get back to sleep, my mind turned to dark thoughts.

What if my condition is serious? What if there is no cure and that the now five different inhalers are doing nothing?

I started with a red and a blue inhaler that weren't particularly effective, and after receiving the results of my chest x-rays, my doctor moved me to a green inhaler and moved the red inhaler to the maximum dosage.

The results of the chest x-rays also prompted my physician to contact the respiratory specialist, with whom she had already referred me, and see if I could be put on a priority list.

I was seen a few days later.

The specialist listened to my lungs and essentially ruled out pneumonia but suspected that it could be bronchitis, though he didn't want to stake any claims on either hypotheses. He ordered a CT scan and a lung-capacity test, and drew me a new prescription for another, stronger inhaler to replace the red one.

I could continue to use the green one, he said.

I don't think I'm dying, but since my visit with the specialist, since I've started using the latest inhaler, my coughing has worsted. I find myself short of breath just walking around the house and I have very little energy.

Lying awake at night, trying not to cough, massaging my aching head, I turn to morbid thoughts, and this is what I've decided:

I don't want a casket. I don't want an urn. I don't want to be buried in the ground nor turned to ashes.

I don't want a headstone nor do I want a nameplate. There will be nowhere that a person can go to look upon my name.

I want no funeral. Instead, my survivors can organize a party at a nice pub—one with beer that I would want to drink, myself. One that had fine malts and great wine. And non-alcoholic beverages for those who don't drink.

I'd want some photos of me to be displayed in a slideshow but more than anything, I'd want my best photos—the ones I've shot—to monopolize the slideshow. After all, they are just as much a part of who I am as are the photos of who I was.

I'd want singing. Maybe some karaoke?

As for my remains, I want to be placed in a cardboard box or a burlap sack. Something biodegradable. I don't need clothes.

I want to be taken out to nature at an approved place where that nature could just do it's thing. No muss, no fuss, and totally green.

Yes, these are dark, morbid thoughts, but so many people die unexpectedly, without plans, and it is left to others to decide what arrangements are to be made.

If anything, writing this out, as I lay awake, at least my coughing has stopped.

For now.

An old tombstone at St. Andrew's Kirk, North Berwick, Scotland (taken in 2010).

Beer O'Clock: A Glass of PP

Many years ago—decades, actually—I would walk into a Glebe pub and if one of the owners, Rose, was behind the bar, I would greet her and then say, "A pint of PP, please."

Rose knew what I meant and she'd reach for a clean pint glass and go to a tap that had a picture of a black Labrador on it. Around the picture was the proper name of the porter that flowed into the glass: Scotch-Irish Brewing Company Black Irish Porter.

But I affectionately referred to the beer as PP—Perry's Porter. Perry, the owner of the brewery and brewmaster (and very good friend of mine), came up with the nickname at its release party, at the Arrow & Loon Pub (though, when he said it, he used a bit of a French accent and made it sound like he was saying "pee-pee"). Rose and Paul, the original owners of this now-gone establishment, became friends with Perry just before he started his brewery and just before they opened the pub, and they were the first pub in Ottawa to serve Perry's beer.

They automatically put any of his releases on rotation and they always sold out.

Perry's third release was his Irish-styled porter, following on the success of his session ale and IPA, and followed by a cask-conditioned ale that was hand-drawn and served at room temperature.

And I'll never forget Perry's 2005 Imperial Stout, which he said would hold up for 10 years, assuming that people kept it that long. I wrote about it a few times: when it was six years old,  at the beginning of 2015, when the brew was still pouring well, and in December of 2015, when the beer reached its tenth anniversary, proving that Perry hadn't lied about the stout's longevity.

(I had my final bottles of Tsarina Katarina 2005 Imperial Stout a couple of years later and while there was no fizz left, the flavours were still sound.)

Perry's brewery is long-gone, having sold the business to Ottawa's Heritage Brewery, which in turn was bought up by what is now Kichesippi Beer Company. None of Perry's recipes survived the transfer and that was purely Kichesippi's loss in retiring them.

And though Perry is out of the beer industry, he has never stopped making beer, though he only makes small batches for himself, nowadays. Until this past weekend, that is.

In addition to being a great beer maker, Perry also has a great singing voice, and he has joined my other friends, DW, and me for a few karaoke nights. Last Saturday, he was out with us again at Bistro-Bar l'Original, in the Hull sector of Gatineau.

"Don't let me forget that I have some beer for you in the trunk of my car," he said as we sat down. "It's a cask-conditioned version of my porter."

I was immediately excited. I loved PP and missed it over the decades since I last had a bottle, which I had picked up at my friendly neighbourhood LCBO. It was the Irish-styled porter by which I've measured every dry porter I've come across.

And I was excited to try a cask-conditioned version.

"Just remember that there'll be sediment at the bottom of the bottle, so you won't want to pour it all out into your glass," he said, as he handed me an 8-pack at the end of the night, "unless you like pooping a lot."

I poured my first glass a couple of days ago and here are my thoughts. I hope I don't sound like I'm rubbing in the fact that this beer is not for sale anywhere, and that if I share any of it, it'll be with a special friend or my father, who also loves dark ales.

Here goes:

Cask-Conditioned Porter (5.3% ABV; 40 IBUs)
Perry Mason (formerly, Scotch-Irish Brewing Company)
Ottawa ON

Appearance: pours a dark, walnut brown with a fizzy, taupe head that quickly settles to a fine lace. Bubbles cling to the inside of the glass but dissipate, and the beer turns less fizzy to flattish by the time you reach the bottom of the glass. And when I reached the bottom of my glass, I noticed only the slightest traces of a greyish, silty sediment (I had left about a teaspoon or so of beer in the bottle when I poured, and even at that, I didn't see much sediment when I looked into the bottom of the bottle).

Nose: cocoa and a touch of prunes.

Palate: rich espresso and cocoa, paired with tobacco and prunes. There's a bit of alcohol that swirls around in the mouth but doesn't steal the show; rather, it holds everything together in a lingering finish.

Overall impression: Perry has never made a beer that I didn't like, and I don't think I'm being biased because he's a good friend. There was one time, when he invited me to join him for Volo Cask Days in Toronto, and he had submitted a firkin of a pumpkin ale. After setting up and tapping the mini keg, he poured us each a sample.

It was awful and I told him so. He agreed but suggested that we let the firkin settle, as it had just come from the car after the four-and-a-half-hour drive. We had a few hours before the event started, so we went to grab a meal and wander this Toronto neighbourhood.

When the festival started, we tried the ale again and it had completely transformed into one of the best pumpkin ales I've ever had the good fortune to try. And many people at the festival agreed, as it was voted the best pumpkin ale of the show and outpoured all other pumpkin ales by three to one.

I love a good porter and Perry makes a great one. Even though it loses its effervescence before you finish your glass, the flavours make you not care about bubbles. Everything else comes together and goes down easily.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺🍺

Cask-conditioned beer doesn't have a long shelf life so I'll likely finish the rest of Perry's porter over the next week or so. I'd like to save a couple of the bottles, to take to Toronto to share with a good friend, who I'm meeting in early May. I think the bottles should last and I'm hopeful that they handle the trip to Toronto well.

Cheers!

Style

When it comes to photography, I don't know if I have a style.

I tend to think that I have a wide range of styles. I shoot landscape. I shoot nature. I shoot portraits, including models (either dressed or not). I shoot abstract. I shoot long exposure and I freeze action.

I shoot wide-angle and I shoot closeups. Occasionally, I shoot macro. I shoot in the day and at night. Indoors and out.

Recently, I drove nearly 300 kilometres to capture once-in-a-lifetime images. It was totally worth it.

I think my photography centres on capturing life moments that I am experiencing but there's more to my photography than that. My studio work can't be said to be a moment in my life in the same way that travelling for a vacation and witnessing a sunset on a beach, for example, which in turn isn't the same as sitting near a window in my house, watching birds feeding at our feeder.

One of my favourite photos of 2022 was captured when I was sitting in my favourite chair, watching TV. During a commercial break, I happened to notice the planter of orchids that was sitting on the window ledge, next to me. The light that hit the flowers at that particular time caught my attention and I decided to photograph them. Without moving from my chair, I took my smartphone and snapped the photo. In post processing, I made some dramatic edits and the resulting photo was a keeper.

I still love the photo.

I have a super-wide lens that can really distort a subject, and I like to use it to take pictures looking up. But I also use that lens to take level shots, which tend to not be as distorted, or at least don't appear as distorted.

I suppose that when it comes to studio photography, I've developed a preference for low-key shooting: that is, a black background and minimal lighting to illuminate the subject. In the last four times that I've signed up for a meetup with my photography club, I've chosen themes where we're mostly or totally in the dark.

Have a look by clicking studio photography in the Keywords area, in the right-hand margin (just be aware that some of the posts are NSFW).

That's another thing. I like photographing nude images. DW thinks I'm being "pervy," in her words, but I disagree. It's fine art. I do with a camera what artists have done for centuries with a paintbrush or pencil.

I've never heard her refer to Michelangelo as a pervert for his work on David. (And Zeus, I'm not comparing myself to Michelangelo!)

Do I have a style? The digital age has allowed me to do more with my photography than I ever could in the days of 35mm film. And because I can do more, I shoot more and experiment. Maybe, someday, I'll develop a style where someone can look at one of my photos and know that I shot it, but I doubt it. I want my photography to be as fluid and ever-changing as life itself.

What do you think? Do I have a style? If you can describe it, leave me a note in the Comments section.

Happy Tuesday!

Sharing the "Best"

I don't know why it bothers me so much, but it does.

I'm finding that I have a love-hate relationship with Threads. I love that I've reconnected with some of my virtual friends after leaving the dumpster fire that's marked with an X. I love how the algorithm has connected me with some new folks who seem like-minded, particularly those who share my love of photography.

The algorithm doesn't always get it right and sometimes I find some head-scratching posts in my feed.

I hated how my feed seemed polluted with porn bots but after blocking any that showed up, they now seem to be far and few between.

But one type of post that seems to end up in my feed more and more, due to my love of seeing photo threads, are posts by folks that set up a theme of the day, in which they rate and then share what they feel are the most noteworthy images.

I have no issue with anyone who wants to start a photo thread based on a theme. I've participated in many of them: I have a large enough body of work that I can usually find at least one photo that matches whatever theme I spy.

In participating in these photo themes, I find several photogs who I then start following. I find their photos inspiring. And many on these threads, in turn, follow me.

That's the whole point of social media, right?

But getting back to what bothers me, I've seen some folks on Threads start a theme and add that they will rate each photo from "not bad" to "outstanding," and they'll share their opinion with everybody. Others claim that they will share the "top three" or whatever number they feel are sharable.

Who are these people? What are their credentials? And why should we care what they think of somebody else's work?

I share photos that I've taken and that I like, with the hope that someone else likes the photo. If anyone does, I can usually see that through them tapping the Like button or leaving me a comment. Some might even like my photo enough to share my post, and that makes me feel good.

But I'd never want anybody to rate one of my photos. I don't want to compare my photo against someone else's. I don't want any ranking.

Photography is so subjective. Either you like it or you don't. Either it moves you or it doesn't. Either you relate to it or you don't.

Ranking someone else's work against others, to me, is insulting. How dare you look at someone's photo—someone who decided to put their photo up to match your set theme, because they liked it—only to have you respond with "not bad"?

How would you feel if you started a themed photo thread, adding a photo that you like, only to have someone respond with "not bad"?

I consider this photo to be my best work. I don't care what others think.

I don't participate in photo threads in which the originator will rank the photos or share what they feel are the best photos at the end of the day. But now, when I see one of these posts show up in my feed, I've started blocking the OP.

Let's see how the algorithm deals with that.

Beer O'Clock: Hazy Maitland IPA

There was no mistake about what I was getting. But as a newcomer to this brewing company, I wasn't sure what it was called.

You see, the first thing that grabbed my attention was the top of the can, which clearly reads Hazy IPA. Good. I was in the mood for one.

Filling the top half of the can was an image of a fish with two legs, a top hat, and cane, a la Loonie Tunes Singing Bullfrog, surrounded by the words Something In The Water. Hazy IPA is repeated, toward the bottom of the label, with Maitland, in a different font, separating the two words.

Was Maitland the name of the brewing company, I asked myself. There's a Maitland, Ontario, which rests along the St. Lawrence River, between Prescott and Brockville. It's quite possible.

I don't like to look too closely at a label on a beer can or bottle because I don't want to be influenced by any descriptions of the contents. For me, it's best to open the can, consume some of its contents, make some deductions of aroma and flavour, and form an opinion before I learn more about what I'm drinking.

After finishing my first can, I learned that Something In The Water is the name of the brewery and that Hazy Maitland IPA is the name of the beer, itself. And no, the company is not located in this small town.

Here are my impressions:

Hazy Maitland IPA (6.5% ABV)
Something In The Water Brewing Company
Toronto ON

Appearance: a cloudy, dirty orange that reminded me of grapefruit juice, with a creamy, off-white head that pours thick and settles to a solid cap, which clings to the inside of the glass as the contents go down.

Appropriate, considering this IPA is named after the "Muddy" Maitland River, in Listowel (north of Stratford, ON), where a partner of the brewery, Mike, spent his childhood, catching frogs.

Nose: ripe oranges and grapefruit, with a touch of pineapple.

Palate: dank fruit, mostly of orange rind (the inner part) with ever-present, though mild, hops. There's solid body to it and a lingering finish that brings the bitterness out. The alcohol is discernable without being boozy.

Overall impression: it's a good, solid ale that has fruit and a bite to it. Apparently, Mike almost lost a finger at the Muddy Maitland to a snapping turtle. Coincidence?

I'd be interested in trying the other offerings of SITW, hoping that they're just as solid.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺

You can find Hazy Maitland IPA in your friendly neighbourhood LCBO. A $50 purchase online will get you free delivery in Toronto or Kingston (where they have a second location).

Cheers!