How Not to Be a Beer Writer June 15-21 2026
Thursday
When I sat down this morning, I immediately got stuck into a piece on the effects of adding fruit during fermentation. Contrasting the effects of such a regime against the post fermentation additions so common to the canned sours gracing the warm shelves of the LCBO. Strangely, I was ejected from the rabbit hole in which I regularly find myself beyond lost, and onto The Exchange Brewery’s site. I got a little carried away and now am expecting a large box of complex and complicated beers sometime tomorrow. I am mildly concerned about fridge space. Order placed. Back to the keyboard.
Friday
I woke up an unfathomable number of times last night without an inkling as to why. Nothing seems to be consistent and my thesis on the phytomelatonins and precursors in cherries is now out the window. Perhaps I need to switch to kriek. I’m surprisingly functional with less than six hours of sleep today, but I’m thankful in a way that my gym partner is suffering from gardening induced overuse symptoms, and it’s a day off from lifting.
I open up my pitch target and tracking spreadsheet, and the sea of red and light red highlights is less than encouraging. Red is a full reject, light red indicates zero responses seven days from the third follow-up. I believe this is referred to as ghosting. There are currently fifteen unhighlighted rows, which means they are still out there and potentially viable. So there is a sliver of hope.
I finished the rough draft of the fruit piece and decided to make my way outside to assess the general condition of the back yard. The garden is growing strong, and I was vastly outnumbered by the bee population. Always a good sign. The raccoons seem to have come to terms with the fact that I would prefer they did not use the outdoor furniture as a latrine. How they came to this understanding we will never know, but it certainly alleviates some stress. The level of fly activity by the basement stairs however, leads me to believe this is the newly selected outhouse. I am correct.
I’ve also reminded myself that it is Friday, and I shall be visiting La Fromagerie, and rewarding myself with some delicious cheese and beer this evening. It’s not all bad.
Saturday
Saturdays are french press mornings. Quick, easy, gets me out and to the grocery store right as it opens. A deep scan of the LCBO site revealed that they released la Vermontoise Saison, brewed by Brasserie de Blaugies, Dour, Belgium. I rode over to the only location that seems to carry it, and returned, successful. This is a rarity, with inventory management and the website not exactly seeing eye to eye.
I paired some douanier with a NEIPA. Not a particularly happy marriage, but not all bad. Unfortunately for me, this was the cheese I wanted and this was the beer I wanted. Cleaned it all up with Willibald Dreamy IPA, which is one that I am really into right now, and went to bed. I just drank that one. Sure I sniffed a bit, but I hung up my tasting hat for the night and took no notes.
Sunday
After two parties, afternoon sun and a fragmented sleep, I am tired. I’ve been roped into world cup fever, and have successfully wasted several hours so far this week. None of this has anything to do with beer, or writing, or the lack thereof. Well maybe the lack thereof. Luckily I have a lot of ammunition for some reviews, a discipline with which I am heavily conflicted. Beer reviews and wine reviews are vastly different. First off, the wine is not oxidized and rendered undrinkable before the review makes it to print. Second, the wine is usually still available when the review hits the press, and thirdly, wine reviews, as peculiar as it may seem, have the ability not to sound corny and snobbish. Perhaps it’s the writing itself, or the writers more accurately, or perhaps it’s because of the status wine holds. I think that the available language is more diverse, a bigger pool from which to pull words likely leads to a less pretentious output. All beer reviews start with “it pours a -insert colour here-”. It’s like a dinner party where everyone has a similar story about tipping the luggage handler, or something like that.
Monday
I appear to have slept, although alertness seems to be lower than ideal. If coffee fixes it, then the case upon which rests my entire caffeine position is rendered null. Looking at the sheet I see there are multiple pitches who are in need of a follow up. I have six reviews to write up, and a couple new pieces to start on so that should take my mind off the plethora of rejections and no-replies. Last week’s editor feedback was less than stellar and although the battle continues, the allure of exclusive self-publishing is strong.
When I worked in capital market, an industry littered with insecure and manipulative people, I became quite accustomed to irrational rejection. “You aren’t trading our stock enough”, an issuer may tell a banker. Once we became the number one transacter in said security, “ you trade it too much” would become the rebuke. No win. I’m feeling a bit of that now. When told that one idea is too basic and the next idea is too complex, well that seems like a set up. I doubt it is.
I finally gathered the courage to ask an editor what they actually wanted. Awaiting me, in my inbox, is dust.
Tuesday
I’ve decided to make this one running page. The dates likely don’t matter, the subject matter is suspect, and the exercise is in the exercise. I got three reviews done yesterday, used the phrase “it pours” precisely zero times, and spent most of the time trying to convince software not to display megalithic images on the posts. I seem to have finally optimized some of the settings, which should allow for a lot less manual hair removal.
Unlike most Mondays, which are for the most part uneventful, I received a request for the accompanying photos for a submitted travel piece. Although non-conclusive, this indicates some interest. The remainder of potential transmissions remain in radio silence.
When I could not locate either of my passports, which I was convinced were on my desk, I decided it was time for an office clean up. Spoiler alert, they were both on my desk. My Canadian passport is in need of a renewal soon, hopefully tomorrow I will saunter up to the photo shop and get things organized. The delivery came at the most opportune moment. Having been sucked into the Portugal-Uzbekistan game, the doorbell rang at precisely the moment the final whistle blew.
Wednesday
A peculiar set of dreams set me off on a piece on the fallacy of beer reviews. Coffee in hand I proceed to bang that out in very rough form, start to finish, one go. I then proceeded to write another review. My fear of storage space has come to fruition. The fridge downstairs is in no condition to host the rather large recent acquisition. Large in quantity and bottle size. Nice problems to have I suppose, but rather inconvenient as some are now laying horizontal in my wine fridge. Not so ideal for beer, but hopefully, temporary. The roasted sesame paste and gochujang may need to find another home shortly.
I see that Bellwoods has a few new releases. These guys churn out more new beers than anyone who comes to mind. And they are all good, and it’s a short walk, and even shorter, albeit harrowing, bike ride from my house. Damn them.
A note from the lads indicates we won’t be lifting today. This means I can get more work done earlier and perhaps, if the weather cooperates, get some additional reading done, out of doors. I’m currently navigating the acid trip that is Ulyses, fully identifying with the remarks of praise from the likes of Hemingway, Eliot, and Burgess. We shall see.