… drink/brew/beverage/libation. Whatever.

We wandered into the Bar Harbor Brewing Company in Bar Harbor, Maine on our recent tour of Coastal Maine. I can’t believe I didn’t get a shot of the building itself. I guess I was intent on procuring that Blueberry Wheat Ale — True Blue. I was suffering from BWA vision. But you can see the shop’s charming self if you click on that link. I strongly urge you to do that. Click, baby, click.

It was in the a.m. that we visited BHBC, so we didn’t do any tasting in the tasting room. I swear! But we picked up an 8-pack that showcased their ale and stout and the Atlantic Brewing Company’s Atlantic Real Ale. We figured we’d throw them in the cooler and make like Noah’s Ark and drink them two-by-two.

Fortunately, Mr. G reminded me we would need a bottle opener.

So this ~

It’s not a church key, but it works just fine. And it’s in my other signature color — poke-your-eye-out-red. And it’s a lobster.

What’s not to love?

We started with the Thunder Hole Brown Ale.

It was called Thunder Hole, man.

Yum. Yum.

See. No Thunder Hole empties in this shot. They got recycled in the DownEast and Acadia Region of Maine.

Then we hit a hotel on our roadmance that was serving free drinks every evening for the Manager’s Happy Hour, though I don’t think he called it that. The word reception figured in there somewhere, but it was a happy hour through and through. Just ask all the little happy, buzzed folk.

Now, I’m a one drink happy hour wonder, aka as a lightweight. And if we’re using boxing metaphors, I’m really the featherweight of happy hour. This is not to be confused with my actual weight. [Shakes head with conviction.]

A cheap date.

It is what I am.

Moving right along.

It was our plan to drink the ales and the stout two by two before we hit the Canadian border. Food and drink are serious business when crossing the border, especially raw foods and liquor.

Because of all these free-drink-serving, happy-hour-loving establishments we visited along our route, we still had 6 of the 8 bottles left on our last night in Vermont before we hit the Quebec border.

I was good for one. One.

I can’t emphasize that enough.

That left Mr. G, honey five. He’s good. But he’s not that good.

What to do. What to do.

A quick and earnest call to Customs, and we learned that we could bring 8L of brew back with us. We had just a little over 6.

See Elen boogie.

And that’s how there came to be six empty bottles of Bar Harbor brew sitting on my counter.

Hiccup.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

Hiccup.

Pardon.

Elen

P.S. That was some good ale, Bar Harbor!