Saturday morning comes way too soon for many after the events of Friday night. A group of RateBeerians begins to accumulate in the lobby of the Lord Berri as several of the merrymakers from the night before begin to rally in an effort to make it to Amère À Boire by 11 am. Walt chugs a Canadian version of Red Bull, WillBlake ponders the fate of Dickinsonbeer, and Richlikebeer tries to decide if throwing up would actually make him feel better, since he is still drunk from the night before. Meanwhile, jerc, egajdzis, Eyedrinkale, and the others all ponder why mjames is still wearing the same shirt he had on the night before(his luggage was lost and didn’t get to the hotel until Saturday night.)
After the short walk to Amère À Boire and a short wait as each of us checked in and ordered our lunch, the rally officially began as the first round of beers hit the tables, joined by copious amounts of water. The overall attitude is rather subdued, especially in respect to the previous evening. Most of the conversations revolved around what each of us did after the tasting broke up (for more details, see part one of this article), and expressions of surprise at the fact that some people managed to make it there at all. No one spoke very loudly, as innumerable hangovers were nursed, and ratings were recorded with significantly less vigor than only 8 hours earlier. Tickets were torn in half as each round of beers came along, and after a protracted silence while the day’s first food was eagerly wolfed down, the total activity level in the room began to rise and the Imperial Stout was brought out for dessert.
Once everyone was reinvigorated by the tasty fare and brews on St. Denis, various routes of travel were sought for the 2 mile jaunt to Dieu du Ciel. MartinT led a small cadre, including mjames, jerc, Bück Dich, OKBeer, and richlikebeer to the Metro station. Eyedrinkale hailed a cab along with Walt, and to defy comprehension, Willblake decided to handle the trek on foot despite a rather steady downpour. Jean-Francois Gravel and the rather delectable staff at DDC were waiting for us, handing out a small ticket to each RB’er as we arrived which could be exchanged for our 10 oz glass of Péché Mortel whenever we wanted it, and directed us to several long tables that had been reserved. A bright yellow menu welcomed us as we sat down showing several “RateBeer only” brews available in both bottles and on tap. Within minutes, bottles of Quintessence, Rigor Mortis Abt, and Chaman IIPA decorated every table. One would think that these three beers and the promise of a glass of Péché Mortel on nitro would enough to satisfy the locust-like crew of RB’ers, but as attention turned to the THIRTEEN beers listed on the chalkboard, the magnitude of what DDC has to offer set in. Ooohs and ahhhs could be heard emanating from every table as Grand Noirceur, Solstice d’Été aux Framboises, and La Route des Épices were hungrily downed. Once the Péché Mortel tickets started to be redeemed, the sounds of awe were slightly more pronounced It was a widely held opinion by the early evening when many of the crew began to go their separate ways in search of dinner and evening entertainment, that DDC might be the greatest brewpub on earth. And for those who stayed a bit later into the evening, extra rounds of Péché Mortel were available after Oakes stopped holding up the works and redeemed his ticket.
With the organized events over for the night, small groups broke off and sought their own forms of entertainment, ranging anywhere from the now infamous MRomero and IPFreely eating of the lifesavers off of women’s shirts, to Hopscotch, richlikebeer and Dutch70’s search for a full contact form of entertainment, to ClarkVV’s ill-advised double shotgun of Genny Light and Steelback Tango out of a dirty coffeepot followed immediately by a prayer ceremony in worship of the porcelain goddess (read: vomited). The end of recollections by yours truly was the coining of a new descriptor for a beer aroma by Eyedrinkale, who decided that one of the beers being passed around an impromptu tasting in egajdzis’ suite was reminiscent of “pool toys”.
As I departed the Berri on Sunday morning, Goldorak was waiting by a big yellow school bus to collect the revelers who were heading out for the cidery tour. I was strongly tempted to stick around and get on board, but instead headed home with the only thought in my mind being, “I can’t wait for RBSG ‘06”. See you all there.