I’ve been hooked on craft beer for a long time. My first beer was a generic lager, like most of your first beers probably were.

But I grew up in Quebec, which has always had a more interesting and vibrant, Belgian-inspired, beer culture than the rest of Canada. I can still remember having my first taste of Unibroue beer and thinking “what the hell is this?!” It was a revelation. There was something out there besides fizzy yellow water, and I wanted to know more.

ChurchKey, in Washington DC, remains one of my favourite beer bars in the U.S. It boasts an always-changing selection of 500 bottles, 50 taps and 5 casks, impeccably curated by Greg Engert.

When I moved to Washington DC for a few years, my love of craft beer only deepened as I was exposed to the U.S. craft beer scene, which had only recently taken over the city. New flavours, insanely hoppy beers, and seasonal offerings were pretty much the norm. Places like the now-defunct Brickskeller touted bottle lists with 1,032 different beers. I loved it.

After a few years, I moved back to Canada and established myself in Toronto. I walked into our provincially run liquor store in search of something like the beers I had been exposed to in the U.S. There was very little to be found.

I then went to Ontario’s Soviet-style The Beer Store (owned and operated by the world’s three largest foreign-owned breweries and proud makers of fizzy yellow beer, no less), and the selection there was even worse.

Brewing my first batch of beer.

This led me to homebrewing. I could make the kind of beers I wanted to drink but couldn’t buy.

I’ve wanted to be a brewer for quite some time. Not really in a serious way, but more in the “wouldn’t it be interesting” way that so many homebrewers fantasize about. But when I seriously contemplated it, I’d quickly conclude that it was nothing more than that — a fantasy.