A few hours in Seattle (part 2)

The closer we get to Seattle, the denser the traffic becomes. We come to a full stop a couple of times. Great. This was what I feared. A traffic jam. I’ve seen Seattle traffic before.

Luckily, it clears. Though it’s still dead busy. My other fear is an accident. We’ve seen plenty of those. And how some people drive. Scarily irresponsibly.

The last kilometre or so, off the motorway, to King Street Station, takes forever. But we still roll around the back of the station on time.

“It’s a handy place to get dropped off. Look! There’s the taxi rank.” I’m so observant.

“I’d already seen it.” Smartarse Andrew says.

Our taxi driver is very friendly. But tries to short-change me by $10. The cheeky bastard. He didn’t do much arguing when I pointed out his “mistake”.

I don’t have to show any proof of right of entry to Holland. It’s so stupid. Feeling brave, we check in three bags. They’ve always popped out like clockwork until now.

“Where’s the lounge?”

“At gate A1.”

That’s where we go. Not even pausing to grab some duty-free booze.

I have to pay for one of the kids $39. That’s cheaper than at Schiphol.

“You’d better eat and . . .”

“We know, Dad. We have to get our money’s worth.”

This is much bigger than the lounge in San Diego. With a much better spread of food.

“A double bourbon, no ice, please. What would you kids like?”

“IPA.”

“IPA.”

Hop Valley Kraken Stash IPA
Standard grapefruit stuff. Better than they have in the lounge back in Schiphol, mind. There your only choice is Heineken Pils.

We can see half of Mount Rainier. Sadly, it’s the bottom half.  Some stupid bridge between terminals obscures the interesting half.

I need to relax before the flight. In a whiskey sort of way.

It was a nightmare booking the seats. I ended up getting us all aisle seats, but on wildly differing rows. Less cramped – something important on a long flight.

“Whiskey time again.”

“Don’t go crazy, Dad.” Lexxie warns.

“When have I ever done that?”

“Is that a serious question? Because if it is, you’re delusional.”

“But fun delusional.”

“No. Just delusional.”

I watch the planes for a while. Grab some food. Get another bourbon or three.

“You’re not going to go crazy, are you, Dad?” Lexxie is still worried.

“Would I ever?”

“We’ve already had this conversation.”

I don’t go crazy. But start heading to our gate well before the 60 minutes recommended. Picking up some whiskey on the way.

“Welcome aboard our flight to Atlanta.” The pilot announces.

What the fuck?

“Sorry, our flight to Amsterdam. Definitely Amsterdam, not Atlanta.”

That’s reassuring.

The bloke in the window seat next to me moves to the row behind, which was empty. Leaving me two seats. Which is brilliant.

It helps me get a fairly decent kip. It must be at least six hours of OK sleep.

We use our reserve EU passports to get through the machines. Though the queue for other passports isn’t bad. It still seems crowded here, but not as chaotic as two weeks ago.

That’s a bit worrying. There are piles of luggage in the corridors. And even bigger piles of bags behind screens close to the carousels. That’s super worrying.

There’s a huge scrum around the carousel. Three flights are unloading at once. No sign of our bags. Even after it says all the baggage has been unloaded. Damn.

Then I spot my scruffy case. The other two are right behind it. Phew. Minutes later, we’re speeding along the motorway to Amsterdam. And an awaiting Dolores. Who – angel that she is – has tea ready.

Train, train!

Our train to Portland isn't until the afternoon. So, we arrange a late checkout. And try to get through at least some of our huge beer stash.

The kids make a fairly good job of it, brave little troopers that they are. I do my best to help, in my oldie person sort of way.

“Hurry up, Dad! You’re not drinking your share. We’ll never get through them at this rate.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“Well, it’s not good enough.”

It’s a terrible thing to be a disappointment to your children.

“Then try drinking faster.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes. Christ, you’re going senile. Shut up and get on with drinking.”

It's much warmer today, unfortunately. Much, much warmer. Which me and Alexei notice as we head over to the Mecca Cafe for breakfast.

It's a proper diner place. Exactly what I was after. We both order a three-egg breakfast. It turns out to be ginormous. Three eggs, three rashers of bacon, two sausages all on a massive bed of hash browns. And two big pancakes. No toast, mind.

Breakfast totally defeats me. I can't eat that much. I leave my pancakes and most of the hash browns untouched.

We Uber it to the station. Which is quite crowded. We seem to have arrived at exactly the right time. The queue behinds gets much longer soon after we join it.

At least there's always plenty of legroom in Amtrak trains. Even if they are a pain in the arse to get into, with the stupidly low platforms and steep steps.

I'm feeling quite knacked and doze most of the way. About two-thirds of the way in, the airco starts struggling. The temperature in the carriage rises. Not as high as outside, but enough to make it uncomfortable.

It's boiling outside Portland Union Station. Where we wait for our Uber to show up. It's not a very big car. And we all have to sit in the back. Which is incredibly uncomfortable. Luckily, it isn't far to our hotel.

Checked in, we crowd around the ac to cool down.

"We'd best drink some more of this beer, Dad." Andrew suggests.

"Sure. I'm always up for more beer."

“Remember to keep up the pace. We’ve a lot to get through.”

“I will Andrew. Just don’t shout at me again.”

Lexxie, diligent lad that he is, has found somewhere for us to eat.

"Red Robin. It's just down the road."

The sun has fallen in the sky and it's somewhat cooler. Though still not exactly cool. Red Robin is, indeed, fairly close by. It looks a bit closed, as all the blinds are drawn.

It is open. I think they've just been keeping the sun out.

We order some drinks from an enthusiastic waitress. The kids get a large beer. I order a diet coke. And a margarita. It goes with the hot weather.  

The waitress asks for the kids’ IDs. They show her their UK passports. But she can’t seem to work out where the date of birth is.

“Well, if you’re old enough to drink in the country you come from, that’s good enough for me.”

I’m amazed at such a cavalier attitude to drinking age. Though both kids are well over it. And almost 7 foot tall.

Hydrated, we order food. Nothing too large for me. Just a BBQ chicken wrap and a salad. The kids both opt for burger and chips.

I can't finish mine. And get a box to take it home. I'm sure I'll eat it later.

We drop by Wahlgreens on the way back. To get some water. And beer. Not sure why the kids want 12 more cans of beer when we already have so much.

It's baseball and beer in the hotel. The Mariners just edge out the Rangers in an exciting finish. I hope the kids aren't expecting something similar next week when we see the Padres.

“Don’t expect the Padres game to be as exciting as this. Baseball is mostly much less exciting.”

“Like cricket?”

“No. Nothing like cricket. That’s just wall-to-wall excitement.”

“Yeah, right.”

I do finish my wrap, my hunger perhaps awoken by a whisky or two.

I don't stay up very late. In fact, I struggle to keep my eyes open. "Stay awake, Dad." They're afraid that I'll fall asleep in one of their beds and they won't be able to wake me up. Ever.

I make it to my own bed. And collapse immediately into unconsciousness.




Mecca Cafe
526 Queen Anne Ave N,
Seattle,
WA 98109.
https://mecca-cafe.com/



Red Robin Gourmet Burgers and Brews
1139 NE Grand Ave,
Portland,
OR 97232.
https://www.redrobin

 

If you liked this post, maybe consider buying the book about my trip to Japan and South Korea with the kids.

 

Seattle downtown

We're changing hotels today. It's too late when we rise to get breakfast. Instead, we pack and pile into an Uber.

Why aren't we on the motorway, I wonder. Surely that's the way to get downtown? It turns out that there's been a mix up. The Uber was provided by the hotel and they'd given the driver the same address as yesterday: Foggy Noggin. Just as well we're in no rush.

We're staying fairly well downtown. Which means there's lots of stuff nearby. Like somewhere to eat.

There's a taco place, Dos Chamucos, over the road. Just $3 a taco. Ok, they're quite small, but it's still cheap. As I'm not that hungry, I order two. And a margarita. Don't fancy a beer, this time. I'll be drinking lots of that over the next few days.

I do like a margarita. A caipirinha, too. Especially when it’s hot. They slide down a treat. The kids are sticking with beer.

“It’s very colourful in here.” I opine.

“That’s Mexico for you.”

“We’ll be experiencing it first hand in a few days.”

“If we make it across the border alive.”

“Crossing which way?”

Fed, we laze in the air-conditioned delight of the hotel. Where, ironically, I warm myself up for the evening with a whiskey or two.

“Leave some for me, Dad.” Andrew objects.

“Who paid for it?

“If you’re going to be picky, Mum did.”

I'm due at Machine House (or Machine Head as Lexxie keeps calling it) for my second and final event of this trip. As usual, we get an Uber there.

It's quite full. And everyone must be there for me, as they don't usually open on Monday. That’s a fairly good sign.

This is a more formal talk. Complete with a Powerpoint and everything. To go with the event, Bill, the English owner, has brewed five cask Mild Ales of varying vintages. It's like heaven, really. Dolores was so jealous when I told her.

The talk runs smoothly, though I'm feeling pretty hot. The kids shelter outside in the breeze, watching BNSF freight trains roll endlessly past.

When I start flogging books after I'm done jabbering I notice that I've forgotten to bring from the hotel the volume I specifically lugged across the Atlantic for this event: Mild! plus. Damn.

Bill packs us off with a load of stuff. T-shirts and beer. The kids are reluctant to take so much beer. Especially as we're already packing quite a bit Jim gave us at Foggy Noggin.

“You can never have too much beer.”

“It’s easy for you to say that, Dad, when you aren’t the one carrying it.”

They’re so ungrateful. No-one was giving me free beer when I was their age.

“When I was your age . . .”

“Shut up, Dad, we’ve heard it all before. You slept on a block of ice and ate nothing but gruel. Times have changed.”

Feeling a bit peckish when back at the hotel, we nip over the road to Dick's, an incredibly cheap burger place. Just $2.60 for a cheeseburger. Bargain. It’s incredibly stripped-down, just a counter and a big open space. No tables, no seats, just open space. Seems, sort of, a waste of space.

We eat our burgers in the hotel. Topped off with a little Tomintin to glide me down sleep's deep valley.

You can hear my talk at Machine House here.




Dos Chamucos Taqueria
550 Queen Anne Ave N,
Seattle,
WA 98109.
https://www.doschamucos.com/



Machine House Brewery
5840 Airport Way S #121,
Seattle,
WA 98108.
https://www.machinehousebrewery.com/beer/

Dick's Drive-In
500 Queen Anne Ave N,
Seattle,
WA 98109.
https://www.ddir.com/

 

If you liked this post, maybe consider buying the book about my trip to Japan and South Korea with the kids.

 

Bothell

We don't rise very early. Well, the kids don't. Me and Lexxie head down for breakfast at 10:30. And just miss breakfast. But they are serving brunch.

Luckily, I can get something with fried eggs: pork hash. It's quite nice, but the broccoli is almost raw and very tough. As we eat, the dining room fills up a bit. Still far from full, though it is pretty big.

Our hotel is in the middle of a state park, with various trails. We decide to take one down to lake Washington. It's very peaceful amongst the towering pine trees. Well, apart from all the people with dogs. And runners. And families with small kids. At least they're all on a lead. The dogs, I mean. And runners with kids and dogs with families. Near as dammit totally deserted.

We don't make it all the way down to the lake. If we had, I'd be well and truly fucked. 

“Kids. My lungs can't cope with these slopes. If I don’t stop now, I’ll never get back up.”

“Wimp.”

“Thanks for the sympathy, Lexxie. Just wait until you get old.”

“At least you’ll be long dead by then.”

“Lovely, Lexxie, lovely.”

“And they’ll probably have found some way to stop oldies getting useless the way you are.”

“Thanks.”

“Shut up with that thanks shit. And don’t just switch to another language.”

Damn. It’s as if Lexxie can read my mind.

“You’re so predictable.”

And I keep saying things out loud?

“And you keep saying things out loud”

As it is, I have to take multiple rests on the way up. While the kids waltz ahead, whistling. The bastards.

We're due at Foggy Noggin between 14:00 and 14:30. With my talk scheduled to start at 15:00.  Leaving us an hour or so to chill in our very classy hotel. Just as well I have that bottle of whisky to entertain us. And the kids that beer.

Suitably warmed up for my gig, I get a hotel shuttle. Well, Uber. We sit outside and wait. And wait. So long, I go back to reception and ask where the fuck it is. Obviously, I don’t put it that way, as I’m English.

“Do you know where my car might possibly be?”

It cancelled. Great. He books another.

“Thank you so much.” Remaining polite at all times is my super power.

We arrive at the back end of the time slot. Apart from the delay, it's further than I thought from the hotel.

Most of the attendees are already here so we kick off pretty much straight away.

It's an informal affair, which I conduct seated. Much better, as it takes a while. I really can’t be doing with standing for an hour or more, If I can avoid it.

 

Jim, the owner, has brewed six AKs of various vintages. Which we go through in reverse chronological order. It makes sense, as that's moving up in strength.

There's lots of interaction with the audience, who ask loads of questions. When I'm done, I hang around and chat. And shift a few books, which is always good. Especially as they’re dead weight I’ll be lugging around for the rest of the trip.

When the crowd has thinned out, a couple from the audience introduce the kids to cornhole. Lexxie, in particular, seems to enjoy it. Probably because of Beavis and Butt-head, which he’s always quoting. He’s worse than me and Barclay Perkins.

We finish on the deck, where we eat pizza, drink bourbon and chat away.

It's quite late when we leave. There's just time for a Tomintin eye-closer back at the hotel.

You can watch a video of the talk here.

Foggy Noggin Brewing
22329 53rd Ave SE,
Bothell,
WA 98021.
http://www.foggynogginbrewing.com

 

If you liked this post, maybe consider buying the book about my trip to Japan and South Korea with the kids.

 

Leaving Amsterdam

You lucky people. You're about to experience the vicarious thrills of my last trip to North America. Hear every insult the kids throw at me, feel every blow the little bastards strike me with. And drink along with every beer, stuff down every plate of chips.

It'll take a while to get through the whole trip.

 

 

Our flight isn't until 14:35. But, knowing the chaos at Schiphol, we left home at 9:30. Just as well.

"That's a long queue for the car hire." Lexxie says when we enter the airport.

It isn't. It's the queue to get upstairs to departures. Great.

"At least it's the last queue we'll be in, kids."

It isn't. We get through the Sky Priority lane, but when we try to go to security, some jobsworth won't let the kids through. We have to queue with the plebs. At least we have plenty of time.

“At least we have plenty of time, kids.”

“That will make the waiting seem so much shorter.” Andrew replies.

“No need to be sarcy.” This bodes so well for the next two weeks. Will I get through them without strangling one of the bastards?

An hour, it takes. I've had worse. But mostly much, much better.

We haven’t checked any bags. On the news, I’ve seen the piles of bags all over the airport. I don’t trust them to get a bag on the plane. We’ve crammed everything into carry-on. At least Schiphol has free trollies. They lighten the burden of luggage.

After picking up a bottle of hotel whisky, we go directly to the lounge. With two hours until our flight. 49 euros it costs for a lounge pass for one of the kids. I’m still deciding which one.

"You need to eat and drink at least 50 euros worth of stuff. Otherwise, I've wasted my money."

“25 euros, surely? There are two of us.”

“And one was free. The other I paid 49 euros for. I haven’t which, yet.”

“That’s a bit mean.”

“That’s why I’m such a good dad.”

“In your dreams.”

My dreams are wonderfully child-free.

“That’s even meaner.”

“Did I . . .”

“Yes, you did say that out loud. Sponge Dad.”

“Thanks.”

“That wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

“Thanks, anyway.”

“Christ, you’re stupid.”

“Thanks.”

“Stop saying fucking thanks.”

"Merci."

“Can you just shut up?”

Lexxie accompanies me to the bar. A beer each for the kids. A Jim Beam and a Teachers for me.

It's wonderfully quiet in the lounge. Very relaxing after the chaos outside. We have several more drinks. And me and Lexxie have a little to eat. That's why I skipped breakfast at home.

“No point wasting my money when I get food here for free.”

“Don’t forget the whisky, Dad.”

“Do I look like I’m forgetting the whisky?”

Which prompts me to fetch another Jim Beam and a Teachers. I’d be a fool not to.

Andrew isn’t hungry.

“Eat something. You’re not getting your money’s worth.”

“I’m doing my best with drinks.”

“At least you’re trying.”

No problem getting Lexxie to eat. He fully explores the food options.

We get to the gate just in time to board. The flight is full. Mostly of Americans.

I have a window seat and get a good view of Greenland as we pass overhead. It's not very green. Mostly beige, with the odd thin white dash of ice.

Immigration is an absolute doddle. No queue and we're straight through. We don’t even have our fingerprints taken. I suppose since they’re still on file from previous visits.

Not having checked in any bags, before you know it, we're in a taxi bearing down on our hotel. Which is a former seminary in the middle of wood.

It’s a dead impressive place.

“It reminds me of the hotel in The Shining.” I told Lexxie after booking.

“Cool.”

When we get there: “I see what you mean, Dad.”

Soon after checking in, we head for the nearby Stoup brewpub. Where I get an IPA and the kids a Pils. It's pretty quiet for a Saturday night.

“I wonder where everyone is?”

“Probably at home having a barbecue.”

 

Andrew is impressed by one of the beers on the menu: Belching Beaver Nitro Peanut Butter Milk Stout. It Sounds lovely" He says.

"It's never a good sign when they need that many words to describe what it is." I reply.

We have a few beers, but don't stay out very late. Which is in the middle of the night, Amsterdam time.

On the way back, we drop by a supermarket. The kids need beer for the hotel. Well, Andrew does. Bud Light is his choice. Only because they have no Pabst Blue Ribbon

A Tomintin nudges me gently down the road to sleep.

Stoup Brewing Kenmore
6704 NE 181st St,
Kenmore, WA 98028.
https://www.stoupbrewing.com/kenmore/

 

If you liked this post, maybe consider buying the book about my trip to Japan and South Korea with the kids.

 

US Northwest in May

I've got either end of the trip in Seattle sorted out. Now I just need the sandwich filling.

I'm looking at setting up a couple of events in Idaho and Montana. These are the days that I need to fill:

Sunday 17th May
Monday 18th May
Tuesday 19th May
Wednesday 20th May

I'm pretty easy about exactly where, though I do need to be able to get there easily from Seattle.

If you're a brewery or a home brew club and would like to hear one of the world's leading beer historians*, get in touch.





* There are only around a dozen of us.

US Northwest in May

I'm planning a trip to the Northwest in May. And would like to cross off a couple of new states.

Idaho and Utah are in my sights. If you'd like to do some sort of beer-related shit with me, get in touch.

Third week of May is the plan.

Foggy Noggin is obviously at the heart of my trip. I'll be talking my beery stuff a couple of nights.

Seattle there we go

The kids turn up at 11:30. Just after the maid. I’m pretty much ready to go. I’ve finished off the bourbon and beer. Plus done some writing. I’m so diligent nowadays.

Final packing done, we stroll down to reception just after noon. Dump our bags and head for the diner Andrew has found. It sounds dead good. But is over the other side of the motorway. That is, up a dirty great hill.

“It’s not as bad as yesterday, dad. See, it goes off to the left rather than straight up the hill.” I’m not totally convinced. But it does look like a good diner.

The road may not be as steep. But the climb is longer. We end up walking up to about the same height. But I’m too out of breath to argue.

When we arrive at Glo’s, we’re informed that we’ll have to wat 30-45 minutes for a table. Just as well we’re not in any great rush.

One of the lessons I’ve learned in my travels is not to rush. Leave plenty of time for everything. Stuff always takes longer than you expect. Even without unexpected delays. I’d rather wait for two hours in an airport bar than have to run to my gate.

“We could have a coffee over the road, in the meantime.” I remark. There’s a Starbucks there. The kids just get a medium black coffee. Being flash, I go for a caffe latte. I have to wait for mine.

We notice four cops drinking coffee on the patio. After a while the only female officer gets up, runs up the hill and jumps in her squad car, which departs with lights and siren blazing,

“That’s a bit odd. It would only make sense if she’d suddenly remembered that she’d left the front door open.” I’m puzzled as to why none of her colleagues accompanied her.

We finish our coffees and trundle back to Glo’s. We’re next on the list. Though it does take another 10 minutes before our arses are parked inside. Me and Alexei choose exactly the same: 2 egg breakfast with bacon and wholemeal toast. Andrew has exactly the same, just with a single egg.

At least that’s the idea. “I’m sorry, the chef got carried away and yours has two eggs as well. I’m just charging you for one.”

The breakfast is good. Damned good. Even Andrew eats most of it. I feel stuffed. In a good way.

I plan on getting to the airport really early. Partly because we couldn’t check in online yesterday for some reason. Best to have plenty of time in such circumstances.

We pick up our bags and a taxi at our hotel. And soon we’re on the highway. Which is crazily busy for an early Sunday afternoon. Where the hell are all these people going?

We go straight to a Delta counter and explain that we couldn’t check in online. It seems our country of residence was the problem. It hadn’t been filled in. 100% certain I filled that in for all of us on the way out. Why didn’t they still have that information?

I drop by the duty free. The bourbon selection is worse than disappointing. And far worse than what I can get around the corner at Ton Overmars. Let’s get some wine for Dolores instead. I’ve forgotten to get something earlier.

Washington wine will do nicely. Except most of it is hideously expensive – in the $70 - $100 range. Oh look, this one is just $17. A bit pricey for Dolores, but not too crazy. I’ll annoy rather than impress Dolores if I get something expensive.

“That’ll be $37 please, sir.” You what? I must have looked at the wrong price. Dolores is going to garrotte me when I get home.

Our flight is from gate S1. Handily, there’s a seafood place right next to it. Which has a dozen or so draught beers. That’ll do nicely. We get a table and order beers: Sam Adams Lager for Andrew, Pike IPA for me. And cola for Alexei. As usual, Andrew’s knocking back two or three beers to my one.

Alexei is getting anxious about boarding time. Even though we can literally see the board at the gate from our seats.

“You know what I need to finish off the trip?”

“What dad?” the kids ask unenthusiastically.

“A double bourbon. That’s how I usually say goodbye to the US.”

“How predictable, dad.”

The waitress explains that they have a special. If I buy a beer and a bourbon, I get a discount. Though it’s only a single. Oh, go on, then. You only live once.

“Didn’t you say that you only do doubles?”

“Don’t spoil dad’s day, you nitpicking bastards.”

As we’re queueing up to board someone says behind me “Hello neighbours.” I’m confused for a while, but then recognise the American woman who lives a few doors down from us. Now there’s a coincidence.

I’ve the luxury of an empty seat next to me again. What a jammy bastard I am.

As usual, I pull on my noise-cancelling headphones and fire up the in-seat entertainment. It’s the best way to pass the time. I plump for my usual intellectual fare. I watch “Enter Player One” then start watching “Blockers”, but fall quickly asleep. Only to awake when it’s time for breakfast. Perfect. I must have been out for 5 or 6 hours.

My bag appears fairly quickly. And within minutes we’re in a taxi bouncing down the motorway. Racing back to the iterative reality of normal life.



Glo's
1621 E Olive Way,
Seattle,
WA 98102.
Tel: +1 206-324-2577
http://www.gloscafe.com/

Vancouver to Seattle

We arise really fucking early. Earlier than I would like to. By two hours. 4:30. Six hours, really, than I’d prefer to get up.

I asked the kids to come to my room at 4:45. The unreliable twats are three minutes late. I’ll be docking their pocket money for that. Or their gin ration, once we get home.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Chill out, dad. We’ve still more that 10 minutes until our taxi is due.”

We quickly check out and stand outside in the silent darkness. Where’s that taxi? It should have been here ten minutes ago. I’m starting to panic until Andrew says “There it is.”

“Thank the fucking fuck for that.” Little things like a non-appearing taxi can really bugger up a journey.

“You’re very sweary this morning, dad.” Andrew says.

“It must be this fucking ridiculously fucking early fucking start.”

“You’re getting as bad as Lexie.”

“But I only swear in one language. That’s less than half as much, really. As he swears in at least four languages.”

“That makes no sense, dad.”

The recommendation is to be at the station an hour, at least, before the 6:35 departure. Because of the US immigration procedure we have to undergo before boarding.

The station is already busy when we stumble in at 5:20. We join the pleb queue.

“Do you fancy any food or drink for the train?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I’ll get some stuff anyway. Sandwiches and drinks.”

I quickly nip into the shop and get sandwiches and cola. They’ll thank me later. And I may as well spend some of these Canadian dollars I have left.

We get the fingerprint treatment again. Just the four right fingers for me and Andrew. While Alexie gets both hands full.

“What’s Lexie been doing online, Andrew? He must be flagged in some security databases.”

Our fellow passengers are an international bunch. The two rows in front of the kids house Aussie pensioners.

The rear pair are two women. At a certain point one of them gets up and goes to a family with several small children sitting a few rows ahead.

“Can you keep your children quiet. We got up very early to catch this train. They’re old enough to read a book or play a game quietly.”

The father is remarkably calm and understanding. I’d have told her to fuck off. Old enough to read a book? One is only just about old enough to walk. Two of the others are under five. They’d been making a little noise, but they’re kids for fuck’s sake. It hasn’t been enough to keep me awake. Some people are just miserable twats. I really don’t get the hatred of children. Especially among some cat lovers.

The train ride is very scenic, mostly hugging the coast, but occasionally streaking across dead flat expanses of farmland. I say streak. Trundle would be more apt. It’s not exactly fast by European standards.

“It looks like polder, dad.” Now Alexei mentions it, it does. It really is dead flat. Though I can’t see the drainage ditches of a polder. Everywhere else is quite hilly. This must be reclaimed land.

I don’t pay as much attention to the view this time. I did the journey a couple of years ago. I’m more interested in catching up on my kip.

Seattle station is quite busy. It looks like another train has just pulled in. That’s probably the only two trains all day.

After the kids have a piss we grab a taxi. The traffic seems very slow for a Saturday.  Then we see the reason for the holdup. As we pass a handful of weirdly dressed men, our taxi driver says: “That’s the KKK.”  It’s an oddly tiny Alt Right demonstration. With an equally tiny counter protest.

Our hotel is in a downtown bit of town. We’re able to check into our rooms, even though it’s not yet noon. That’s good. It really gives us a full day in Seattle.

A maid shares our lift. “You boys are tall” she says. It’s been a recurring theme. What’s it going to be like when we’re in Japan next year?

My room, on the 14th floor (there is no 13th, so I guess this is really the 13th floor, though, if you count the floors the European way, it’s the 12th) has a good view of the motorway. Which is pretty busy, despite it being the weekend. There’s something hypnotising about heavy traffic. When you’re not init. And preferably several hundred metres away behind glass.

I think Alexei was feeling ill yesterday. That's why he was a bit aggressive. I've got the same cold. I could hardly talk this morning. My throat was so croaky. But that was at 5 AM.

For some reason we can't check in for tomorrow's flight. No idea why. Good reason to arrive early. Maybe Alexei has been flagged again.

After consulting my laptop, we head off for some brunch. On foot. It isn’t far. And I need to get some exercise every day at my age.

“The roads here are retarded. Who named them? Some autistic? 1st Avenue - what’s that? And there are too many junctions. You’re always waiting. Totally retarded.”

Alexei must be overheating again.

On the way to our brunch destination, there are some dodgy looking characters hanging around, shouting at each other. Lovely. Free street theatre. They aren’t even passing around a hat.

We brunch at Local 360, a sort of posh diner in Belltown. They sell beer from Belltown Brewing. “I’ll have an IPA.”

“Sorry, we’re out of that. We do have IPA in bottle.”

“I’ll take that then.”

“I’ll have a Lager.” Andrew says.

It turns out to be a can, not a bottle. Of Crikey IPA.

The kids go for a farmer’s breakfast. I have corned beef hash. Not that I can finish it. Doggie bag time again.

We make a detour to a liquor store on the way back to the hotel. Alexei sits outside gazing at the Space Needle. While I get some Jim Beam and Andrew some Pabst Blue Ribbon. Whatever. He’s not snobby at all when it comes to beer.

“Look, dad, there’s one of those Amazon stores. Where they have no tills and you just walk out with stuff.”

“How do they know you aren’t just a shoplifter?”

“No idea.”

“There’s an interesting business model.”

“Is that “interesting” in the British sense, dad?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

Alexei is still getting annoyed at the street plan. “Kanker mongolen.” He repeats several times. His ability to be enraged by random stuff is quite impressive. No idea where he gets it from. I’m as even-tempered as Saint Francis on valium.

We chill in my hotel room for a while. After some cold medicine and a bourbon or two, I liven up.

“Where are we going to eat tonight?” Andrew asks.

“Have a look on my laptop to see what’s close.”

At first he suggests a craft beer and pizza place. Then he notices that there’s a Redhook place just a little further.

“That’ll do.” I say.

We leave Lexie in the room. He’s not feeling great. But has beer. That’s all the company I need.  I’m sure he’ll be fine. He didn’t fancy sitting and watching me and Andrew drink beer again.

Redhook Brewlab isn’t far. But all uphill.  I thought I’d seen the last of enormous hills when we left San Francisco. Fuck, this is steep. I need to pause for breath. I’m getting old.

“It didn’t look this steep on Streetview, dad.”

“At least it’ll be downhill on the way back.”

We sit at the bar. It’s quite busy already – at just 5 PM – and I like sitting at the bar. I guess it’s a habit I’ve acquired from often being in US pubs alone. Much more chance to chat, either with bar staff or fellow bar flies.

"Oh look - they've got a mash filter. That's very unusual for a craft brewery."

"I thought you didn't like the term craft?"

"Stop nitpicking. You know what I mean."

"Why is it so unusual, this filter thing?"

"They're mostly used by big brewers. And Belgians. Only a handful of breweries ever used one in Britain. I don't think there are any now."

I get an IPA and Andrew a Lager. He’s quite keen on this Lager stuff. Though he has drunk other types of beer – particularly Hefeweizen – and cider.


"Can you taste the evil in the beer, Andrew?"

"Why is it evil?"

"Because they sold out to someone."

"Who?"

"I can't remember. Some people who own some other breweries or something."

"That's just crap, dad."

"No, honestly, the minute a brewery sells out, evil immediately permeates their beer. You can taste it."

"Don't talk crap, dad. You know that's bollocks."

"No, it's true. I read it on the internet."

"Stop talking crap, dad."

It’s strange sitting at a bar with Andrew. I dragged him around so many pubs when he was small. And now, here we are, sitting at the bar. Talking as adults. And he isn’t trying to run off.

“Do you have a Stout?”

“We have two Porters. Do you want to try them?”

“Sure.”


They’ve a standard and an Imperial. “I’ll have the ordinary one. Too early for the strong one.”

We order food. A burger for Andrew, pork belly bao for me.

“Did you notice that the beer menu has dollar signs and decimals in the prices, but the food one doesn’t”

“That’s weird, Andrew.”

“It’s psychological. It makes it seem less expensive.”

Alexei asked us to bring to over-order and bring back a doggie back for him. Which we do.

He’s sleeping when we return. But wakes up and gets stuck into the doggy bag. And some bourbon. I finish off my corned beef hash. Though it’s a bit tricky to eat without cutlery. I use one of the paper coffee cups to scoop it up.

We watch some crap TV, drink some beer and whisky and generally chill.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow, dad?”

“Just come down here any time after ten. We’ll hang around in the room until checkout time, dump our bags downstairs then get some brunch. Head off to the airport around 2 PM. So we’ve plenty of time. Probably a good idea as we couldn’t check in online.”

“OK, dad.”

I tumble into sleep down steps of bourbon.



Local 360
2234 1st Ave,
Seattle,
WA 98121.
Tel: +1 206-441-9360
http://www.local360.org/



Redhook Brewlab
Pike Motorworks Building,
714 E Pike St,
Seattle,
WA 98122.
Tel: +1 206-823-3026
http://redhook.com/

Bothell

The kids knock on my door at 8:30, as arranged. I’ve slept the sleep of the just. Or the smashed. One of the two. Hope that’s reset my body clock.

“Our room is freezing, dad.”

“Are you complaining?”

“No. It was great.”

We head down for breakfast. It’s a disposable one. Without bacon, sadly. Just weird warmed-up cubes of ham. It’ll do. Just.Andrew is having a coffee breakfast again. The scary number of sugars will be his only morning intake of calories.

“Your sons are tall.” a man on the next table remarks.

“I hadn’t really noticed. We live in Holland. I’m considered short there, and I’m six foot two.”

The kids seem pretty happy. It's odd having people with me on a trip like this. I'm used to travelling alone. Quite a nice change having the kids along.

Jim is picking us up later, but first we drop by a Safeway for some essential supplies: crisps, water, cola and bourbon. Two bottles of that: one for me and one for the kids.

The traffic is really bad again. Jim is going to show us around town a little. It takes forever to reach our first destination, the Freemont Troll. He drops us off to let us have a closer look the massive concrete troll statue under a road bridge. It’s quite impressive. As we get out of the car, some other people try to get in. They think it’s their Uber.

Children of various ages are clambering onto the troll and having their photos taken. And some adults, too. It’s a weird tourist attraction, set as it is in a nondescript residential area.

We drop by Maritime for some beer and food. Well, cola and food for Alexei. The lack of beer possibilities doesn’t seem to be annoying him too much yet. On the way we drive past the Lenin statue again.

“That’s a bit mean, Andrew. Someone has poured paint all over Lenin.”

“He’s not a universally popular figure, dad.”

The Jolly Roger, as Maritime’s pub is called, is fairly empty. And also familiar. “I’ve been here before. I can remember eating battered, deep-fried bacon.” I remark to Jim. Obviously, we order a portion of that. With sliders as main.

“What do you think of the deep-fried bacon, kids?”

“It tastes as good as it sounds.” Alexei replies.

"Full of bacony goodness, dad."

“I’ll take you to have a look at the fish market.” Jim says. “They throw the fish around. It’s really cool.”

The main indoor market in the centre of town is pretty impressive. I always like cities that retain their old central markets. This one is more than just fish. That’s just one section. There’s also fruit and veg and all sort of other stuff.

The plan was that Jim would drop us off, give us 20 minutes to look around, then pick us up again. It all works out perfectly. Even though he’d only gone around the market once, the traffic was so dense.

We can’t hang around too long as we need to get back to Bothell so Jim can set up for tonight’s event. Which is drinking six No. 1 Barley Wines: three from William Younger and three from Truman’s Burton brewery. With some additional bullshit from me.

Foggy Noggin is very unusual. The brewery is in a shed behind Jim’s house. And the taproom is in his garage. He’s allowed to do this in a residential area because his house sits on a 2.5 acre plot. No neighbours nearby. Plus he’s left most of the trees, which form a natural screen. It’s a lovely, peaceful spot.

People gradually arrive and I chat with them a little. Before launching into the show. Quite a few attended my last talk here, four years ago. It’s all pretty relaxed and quite interactive. The one Younger beer, with over 40% grits, is a bit of a surprise for people.

Jim has got pies from a British bakery. They’re rather nice and obviously made the proper way, with suet. I get stuck into one in the short break between the two sets of beers. The kids, obviously, partake enthusiastically. They’re big pie fans.

When the structured part is done, I flog a few books and do some chatting. It’s nice to meet Lisa Grimm, who I’ve known on the internet for a while. Being an archivist, we’ve got plenty to talk about.

By the time we wrap things up, I’m feeling knacked. Jim drives us back to our hotel. Where we drink a little beer and watch some TV before crashing out.

Sleep rushes up like a ghost-riding truck.


Maritime Pacific Brewing
1111 NW Ballard Way,
Seattle, WA 98107.
Tel: +1 206-782-6181
https://www.maritimebrewery.com/


Foggy Noggin
22329 53rd Ave SE,
Bothell,
WA 98021.
Tel: +1 206-553-9223
http://www.foggynogginbrewing.com/

Seattle here we come

We arrive very early at the airport. I check my bag in push in queueing. Have to take advantage of my silver KLM status.

“Aren’t your sons with you?”

“They’re going through the other side.”

“They could have come through here, too.  You can go through the priority security with them.”

After checking in, I call the kids over. “Crawl under the barrier” I say.

“Why, dad?”

“Because you can use the fast queue, too.”

The security area is closed off. It’s a 15-minute strike. Andrew has been doing them. Some passengers behind us are getting annoyed. While Andrew chats with the security people. G4S is doing one lane and a colleague of Andrew’s comes over to chat with him.

As is traditional, I get a bottle of Laphroaig in the duty free. I’d feel alone without a bottle of it in my hotel room.

We’re leaving via pier D. Which means we can drop by the Irish pub. It’s worrying sometimes how well I know airside at Schiphol.

“What do you fancy, lads?”

“A pint of cider.” Andrew says.

“I’ll have one, too.” Alexei agrees.

I go for the traditional half of Stout and double Jamesons.

This will be the last booze for Lexie for a while. He manages three pints of cider before it’s time to head to our gate.

All the Delta flights are showing as gate D1. Not because that’s where the flight will depart. But because that’s where they do the extra security check. They give Alexei a red folder for his boarding card. He’s been “randomly chosen” for an extra security check at the gate itself.

“I don’t believe in random selection. There’s some reason they’ve singled out Lexie.” I remark, cynically.

At the gate, they request the red-carded passengers come forward. Alexei trundles up and they take him away behind the counter where they start looking through his bags.

“I hope they aren’t going to check his bottom, Andrew.”

Luckily they don’t. That’s an extra hassle I could do without. Andrew notices that most of those called up for an extra check have Russian passports. Since working at the airport he’s become very skilled at spotting passports. “I wonder if Alexei was flagged because he has a Russian first name?”

We board on time. Well, early, really, as I have pushing in boarding. We settle into our seats and await take off.

“How old are you, sir.” The stewardess enquires when Andrew asks for a beer. “21.” She doesn’t ask for ID, mind.

I watch Kingsmen, then a shitty US comedy that’s so bad I give up after 20 minutes. Then The Wrong Mans, three episodes of Rick & Morty and a few of The Detour.

The 10-hour flight is soon over.  Though I need to get up and walk around a few times when my arse starts hurting.

Immigration isn’t bad at all. We’re through in 15 to 20 minutes. Then it’s a long trek across the airport to baggage reclaim. Where luckily we don’t have to wait long for my bag.

Jim Jamison of Foggy Noggin is picking us up. That’s where I’ll be talking tomorrow. Luckily, he turns up after a few minutes.

The traffic is bad. Really bad. It takes ages to get to Bothell, where we're staying, which is on the other side of town to the airport.

“That’s weird.” I remark. “Why do they have a Lenin statue here?”

“Probably because it was cheap.” Andrew quips.

Jim drops us at our hotel, where we dump out bags and freshen up a bit. I let Lexie have some whisky before we leave, to see him through the evening. Then we rush back to the lobby, where Jim is waiting.

“What sort of food would you like to eat?” he asks.

“American stuff. “ Andrew replies decisively.

“OK. I know where we can go.”

Which is Stack 571, a burger place where Jim’s wife has already grabbed a table. “They always have one of my beers on tap.” Jim says. It only seems polite to order a Foggy Noggin ESB.

The kids have never tried poutine so we have a portion as a starter. Along with calamari rings. You can never go wrong with those. And we don’t. They’re dead good. Burgers all around for mains. Which are also pretty good.

Though the kids don’t manage to finish everything and get a doggie bag.

Next up is McMenamins’s, a huge complex in an old school. Jim’s wife used to work there as a teacher. Which must make it slightly weird boozing in there.

There are several bars and even a swimming pool. We start at the Whiskey Shack, where me and Jim have a rye. Andrew can’t get a drink because passports are the only foreign ID they will accept. I hope he’ll learn from this experience. We go to another bar for a sit down. Jim orders our beers at the bar so there’s no need for Andrew to show id.

I’m not really up for staying out too late. Though I don’t want to go to bed too early, either. It’s a difficult balancing act.

On the way back to the hotel we drop by a supermarket to get some beer. Mostly for Lexie, who’s had a dry evening. Andrew is quite keen on trying mass-market stuff. Like Past Blue Ribbon.

We hang for a while in the kids’ room, drinking whisky and beer while watching TV. They heat up their leftover dinner in the microwave when they get peckish. It’s all crazily exciting.

We crash at around midnight. Sleep stumbles in and slumps snoring on the bed.



Stack 571 Burger and Whiskey Bar
9924 NE 185th St #101,
Bothell, WA 98011
https://stack571.com


McMenamin’s Anderson School
Anderson School Building,
18607 Bothell Way NE,
Bothell, WA 98011.
Tel: +1 425-398-0122

Want to see my beautiful face

talking?

Then - if you're in the USA - you'd better get to Foggy Noggin in Bothell on the 10th August:

https://www.facebook.com/events/1815649785407368/

Because that and a talk in Colonial Williamsburg in October are likely to be my only events in the USA for the rest of the year.

I'll be talking about - while we're drinking it - No. 1 Ale. The Ur Barley Wine. It should be lots of fun. Especially as the six beers are all over 8% ABV.

Many of the recipes feature in my ground-breaking book on Scottish beer:

Breweries! (part two)

Still in Seattle snapping away in breweries.

First Pike Brewing:

And now Narrows Brewing:

Here's the obligatory plug of my "proper" book:

The Home Brewer's Guide to Vintage Beer.













The Pike Brewing Company
1415 First Avenue,
Seattle, WA 98101
Telephone: (206) 622-6044
(206) 622-8730
http://www.pikebrewing.com


Narrows Brewing Company
9007 S 19th St,
Tacoma, WA 98466.
http://www.narrowsbrewing.com