Jack Hollenbach

Generally speaking, I avoid beer festivals. They're always crowded, usually overpriced, and often the beer list isn't all that different from the top two shelves found in one of the many beer shops around town. Belgianfest, however, took no arm-twisting at all for my attendance.

Twenty-five Washington breweries--an impressive figure on its own--came together for one day to showcase a common love: Belgian beer. To have this many breweries on hand offering up their take on over fifty different Belgian style beers is a dream come true. And to top it off, also in attendance were Dante's Inferno Dogs, Bluebird Homemade Ice Cream, and oh-my-god-amazing Sweet Iron Waffles.

First, the space. The Engine Room at Georgetown Studios (the original Rainier Brewery in Georgetown) was the perfect space for this festival--a large, airy room with sky-high ceilings and lofty windows filling the festival with natural sunlight. This made the crowd only more happy to be here.

The only downside to this festival was the epic fail of restroom planning. Hundreds of people drinking ten healthy samples each of beer equates to a hell of a lot more than the two single-stall restrooms on the premises. Luckily, the Jules Maes Saloon across the street was very accommodating to the folks who simply could not wait to do their business. To their credit, the organizers did realize the error of their ways and ordered up a truckload of porta-potties for the evening session.

Here are a few notes on each of the beers I sampled, along with an extremely complicated and scientific rating system to tell you how much I liked it:

• Une Terreur Sainte (Belgian Golden) by Naked City Brewery: Rating = 5.0 (out of 5.0). This beer had a golden amber color, a touch of spice, and just the right amount of fruitiness. It was crisp, refreshing, and was one of my favorites of the day.

 

• Pour les Oiseaux (Wine Barrel Aged Saison) by Black Raven Brewing Company: Rating = 2.5. This Saison (also known as a farmhouse ale) was a dry, blond ale, aged in French oak Chardonnay and Viognier wine barrels. The wine barrel flavor was very subtle, but it was there. Overall, a pleasant beer, but not very exciting.

 

• Bete Noel (Belgian Strong Ale) by Elysian Brewing Company: Rating = 4.0. This strong ale stood out as something very unlike many of the other Belgian ales I sampled, as it is very dark in color with a wonderful flavor of roasted barley, black malts, and a sweet finish courtesy of Turbinado sugar.

 

• Boundary Bay Tripel (Belgian Tripel) by Boundary Bay Brewery: Rating = 4.5. A strong, medium-bodied ale with mild spice notes and a warming alchohol flavor. Though in some ways very similar in taste to Naked City's Belgian Golden, I didn't find this one quite as refreshing. That's not to say, however, that this wasn't an excellent beer.

 

• Polywog Grand Cru (Grand Cru) by Issaquah Brewhouse: Rating = 5.0. Dee-licisous. Bing cherry juices added during fermentation and then put in Pinot wine barrels that had Rogue's Pink Gin aged in them. This beer was the winner of the day in my book. That is, until I tasted the next beer...

 

• Grand Cru (Grand Cru) by Dick's Brewing Company: Rating = 5.0. Hands down, best in show--one of the most delicious beers I've ever had. At first taste, very similar to Polywog Grand Cru until I did a side-by-side taste test. First difference is appearance. Polywog Grand Cru is more cloudy than Dick's. It's also more rich with hints of egg nog or vanilla notes. Dick's Grand Cru was more clear, crisp, and refreshing. The flavor profile more complex and fruity.

 

• Donkey Deux (Belgian Dubbel) by Georgetown Brewing Company: Rating = 3.5. This was a very good middle-of-the-road Belgian ale. I feel like I need to try this one again outside the context of all these other great beers. By the time I got to this one it had already been overshadowed by Dick's amazing Grand Cru.

Great Beyond shares yet another piece of irrefutable evidence that Chucks (red ones especially) will always and forever be in style.

There is a special, symbiotic relationship between dog and tennis ball. It wasn't always this way, of course, but evolution has made it so. Thanks to shawnmebo for sharing this wonderful example of the complexities of our universe.

"One of the things I love about Seattle is how the Space Needle is visible from such a variety of locations," says ozmafan. We love that too.

Here's to more dazzling sunsets like this one captured by zenobia joy, just one of many talented members of our Flickr pool. Got a camera and a good eye? Join us!

Innocent condiment counter or scene of a ghastly crime? Thanks to Paul Swortz for sharing this compelling capture.

Moments later, Santa was pulled into the cage and nearly killed.

Ed. note: This story was originally posted last year on Seattlest and I'm bringing it back this year in the hopes it will become a treasured holiday tradition. Rest in peace, smelly cat.

When I looked down and saw the small pool of copper brown gel on the soft white cuff of my Santa uniform, the scent that had been offending me for nearly half an hour was suddenly made very clear. Just to be sure, I brought the sleeve to within an inch of my nose for a little sniff. Yes, there it was--a decidedly potent Preparation H-like substance that must have come from the small, terrified dog I'd met earlier who would have nothing to do with me. As the dog had struggled and pushed away, kicking violently at my ribs with its pointed little feet, it had slimed Santa with its anal gel.

After washing the cuff with soap and warm water, I could still smell the offensive odor. A further examination presented yet another smear of the brown slick mingling among the coarse white hairs of my beard, mere inches from my mouth. Luckily for me, a back-up beard waited in the employee lounge. Does this happen often? I wondered. Clean and newly bearded, I walked back to my post at the front of the store, thinking to myself that however sorry I felt for the little dog and its apparent discomfort, I thoroughly hated the human who'd set its exposed, hemorrhoid gel-covered anus in my arms.

During lulls in the photo-taking, I would occasionally walk outside for fresh air and wave at people at random. I would also wander the aisles of the store, often catching people off guard. I found it amusing to imagine someone suddenly seeing Santa in the corner of their eye, flipping through a book regarding the proper care of ferrets. It was during these expeditions that I made an interesting observation. Often, adult men would give me an accusing look as if to say, "Just who the hell do you think you are?" Women, however, would almost always smile and say, "Hi Santa," thereby proving my theory that all women want to sleep with Santa, which, comforted by this knowledge, is how I made it through two long days dressed as him.

Early on in my first day, I got very hot in my hat and beard, so I took them off. I was there for the pets, right? It wasn't long before the store manager came along and said, "You should never not be Santa when you're out here, especially when there are kids around." Not knowing what else to say, I replied grumpily, "They know I'm not the real thing." Ultimately, however, she was right. Once the first little girl lit up and exclaimed, "It's Santa!" my heart melted. From then on, the uniform became a weighty social burden and I did my very best not to let any small children see a Santa compromised by lack of beard or hat.

And then there were the other children.

As I sat on my bench, waiting for the next set of photo ops, a young boy stopped a few feet away and began pointing at me and calling me "a fake." That's how he said it too. "You're a fake! Mommy, he's a fake!" "No," she replied tenderly. "He's a helper. He helps Santa by working here and then he sends daily reports to the real Santa." I squinted and smiled agreeably at the boy, thinking this would be the end of it, but it wasn't long before he resumed his pointing and accusing.

Now, the beard I wore was held in place by a pair of elastic bands which stretched from my chin, over my poor ears, to the top of my head, the whole apparatus feeling much like a tight fitting jock strap meant to keep my chin firmly in place. I believe this is to keep Santa's mouth shut when faced with snot-nosed brats such as this one. Had the torturous beard not been there, who knows what I might have said to the innocent child. "Your mommy told me you were a mistake," came to mind. Or perhaps, simply, "Santa hates you."

But this was about animals, not kids, so I concealed my contempt for this little boy calling me a fake and instead concentrated on smiling for the camera and not dropping various cats and dogs as they squirmed in my arms.

I met many wonderful dogs including a great big Newfoundland (or "newfie") who took up most of the photo, and an affectionate pug named Bruno who helpfully cleaned out my sinuses with his tongue. I even met a few charming cats. One cat, however, was very old and smelled as though it had already died, perhaps the prior day. It was sad, knowing that this would be its last Christmas, but the nice thing about a nearly-dead cat is that the expectations are quite low in terms of its on-camera performance.

At the end of the second day, tired and wondering what I had become, I was leaning against a wall outside the store, very much wanting a cigarette. I don't smoke, but something about the scene made me think I should have a cigarette hanging from my mouth.

My mood instantly changed, however, when I locked eyes with a young couple practically skipping toward the store with their dog, all three of them wearing the loudest red Christmas sweaters I'd ever seen. "I hope you're here for a photo," I said. They were so excited that I imagined they either must have been planning this for weeks, or they'd just had the idea a couple hours before and had managed not only to procure the hideous sweaters, but also to make it to the PetSmart on time, Santa waiting for them outside.

By the end of the weekend, a lot of people had left the store quite giddy to have a framed photo of their beloved pet sitting or squirming with Santa. Half of the proceeds went to Oasis for Animals, a local no-kill rescue organization. Once home, I took a very thorough shower.

Want to have your pet's picture taken with Santa? Simply find your nearest participating PetSmart and skip your merry way there (I'll be at the Woodinville store this Saturday).

Please be nice to Santa.

This weekend, Urban Craft Uprising--"Seattle's largest indie craft show"--will be taking over Exhibition Hall at Seattle Center. No matter what you're looking for, short of a flat-screen TV, you can probably find it here, handmade by local artists, knitters, potters, jewelers, and other crafty types. One look at the vendor list and one can see the endless gift possibilities.

Personally, I love these shows. It is immeasurably more fun to spend an hour or a whole afternoon around these clever vendors than it is to visit the mall or Bed Bath & Beyond or any other brightly lit chain store coffin. Also many of them are quite foxy.

• December 5 and 6, 11 a.m. to 5 p.m., at Seattle Center Exhibition Hall; free admission.

The boys from Broken Lizard (Super Troopers, Beerfest) paid a visit to Pike Place Fish Market Friday afternoon to promote their new movie, The Slammin' Salmon, which hits theaters December 11.

Supposedly the Troopers were going to try their hand at tossing fish like the pros, but I either left too soon or it never happened. No matter, the guys were extremely friendly and seemed to be having a good time taking photos with everyone.

Also in attendance was the tank-top-clad Hooters "Spirit Squad." Say what you will about Hooters girls, they know how to draw a crowd. To their credit, they did a smash job of making sure everyone who wanted to got photos with either them or the Broken Lizard guys, or both.

November is a strange time to visit our large cousin to the north. It's cold, but there's very little snow. Every new day loses another five minutes of daylight from the previous. The whales have gone south. The bears have had their fill of salmon and are working on making their dens nice and cozy for the winter slumber. You can count the number of actual vacationers on one hand. Most of the out-of-towners appear to be there on business, as was the case with my wife. I tagged along because I can't pass up an opportunity to go to Alaska no matter what time of year it is.

We spent our first few days in downtown Anchorage without a vehicle. We stayed at a bed and breakfast called the Copper Whale at the West end and spent most of our time walking the streets, ducking into shops, boutiques, cafes, and brewpubs. There was a lot of bundling up, covering the ears, neck, and hands, only to shed it all again minutes later.

The high temperature during our stay was 35 degrees, though at times it was much colder than that. Still, I felt kind of silly, wrapped up as I was inside my snowboarding parka while hardened locals strolled by in little more than a flannel shirt. I told my wife I was glad it was so cold. "It makes the trip seem more exotic," I said. Luckily for us, the sky was clear, even sunny, so we were able to keep an eye on the surrounding mountains to be sure they were not misbehaving.

If you visit Anchorage, I recommend you not leave until you've consumed the following: the Crabby Omelet from Snow City Cafe, the Big Orso Burger from Orso, beers from Glacier Brewhouse and Snow Goose Restaurant and Brewery, and trivia night at Humpy's Great Alaskan Alehouse.

After a few days in Anchorage it was time to drive south to the Kenai Peninsula in a rented mid-size SUV. This is a breathtaking drive. First one must drive around the Turnagain Arm, a large inlet ringed by snow-capped peaks which seem to launch straight up from the icy water. The highway then ducks into the mountains and snakes its way through the gorgeous Chugach National Forest. The road then nuzzles the turquoise glacial waters of Kenai Lake and the Kenai River before eventually straightening out into a more even landscape dotted by marshes and small lakes.

Moose love Kenai. I don't think a day passed without seeing one of these huge, goofy-looking things in someone's lawn, on the side of the road, or, as was the case once, crossing the road right in front of me. I'm happy to report that the brakes worked wonderfully in my rented Toyota.

Located at the south end of the peninsula is the beautiful town of Homer. If you believe the bumper stickers popular in the area, Homer is "a quaint little drinking village with a fishing problem." If you ever get the chance to visit the area, you must visit Homer. It is stunning. And it has a spit.

As my wife was busy working for two days, that left me with a vehicle, some magnificent country, and ample time for exploration.

I drove around the first day, somewhat aimlessly, without an agenda or a destination in mind. I took photos, watched the sun rise over the Kasilof River, visited an old Orthodox Russion Church in the town of Kenai, and then drove around some more. Feeling like I must be missing something, I decided that my second day of solo exploration needed to be a little more organized.

After having breakfast at a little diner in the town of Soldotna, where Fox News played on the television and a table of old men complained about big government, I drove to a wildlife refuge outside of town and stopped at a visitor's center to hopefully get an idea as to how to spend my last full day in Alaska. They told me about a nice scenic bypass off of the Sterling Highway out to Skilak Lake. I bought a good map, thanked them and set off on my way.

Now for a drive like this one, alone and in the woods on a winding dirt road, one must have the proper music to travel by. This meant a quick stop at the Soldotna Fred Meyer where, after a brief perusal of the CD racks, I found the perfect companion: a 2-disc collection of the best of Willie Nelson.

Willie and I hit the road and this was it. Perfection. This dirt road, taking us higher and deeper into the trees. It rose and fell and wound its way around many of the smaller lakes and beaver ponds surrounding Skilak Lake. The air was crisp and bit at my nose whenever I got out to look around and take pictures. It was quiet.

Very quiet. Not a soul to be seen, or heard, but for the geese flapping their wings on the other side of the lake. It was peaceful, and yet I couldn't help but feel like I wasn't supposed to be there.

I didn't feel threatened. Just small and alone. Some people never truly know solitude. It was thrilling.