BEST DAYS
EVER

There's a particular kind of day that you don't recognize until it's almost over. You're sitting somewhere — a patio, a trailhead, a bar stool with a view — and you realize that nothing went wrong. The coffee was good. The road was empty. The person across from you said something that made you laugh until your drink came out of your nose. That's a Best Day Ever. We've been collecting them since 2023.

This issue is about two places that share a mountain range and a ferry terminal but feel like different worlds. North Vancouver is the city's backyard — trails ten minutes from downtown, espresso bars that would hold their own in any major city, a cocktail scene that arrived quietly and then all at once. The Sunshine Coast is its own thing entirely: accessible only by water, which keeps it exactly as it should be. Unhurried. Underrated. Occasionally spectacular.

We spent months in both places, ordering blind, paying our own tabs, and coming back with opinions. Some of those opinions are in this issue. Others are still being formed over a second round at TwentyTwo Taphouse.

The rule at Just Gerald has always been simple: we go, we try, we tell you what we actually think. No press trips. No sponsored content. No star ratings inflated by the fact that someone comped our meal. If we say the Pomona at Copperpenny is dangerously drinkable, it's because we drank three of them and meant it.

“The best days are the ones you don't recognize until they're almost over. We've been collecting them since 2023.”

In this issue: a blind espresso duel on the North Shore (United Strangers wins, but the race was closer than expected). A guide to the cocktail bars that have quietly made North Vancouver worth crossing the bridge for. A Sunshine Coast food guide that starts at a bakery and ends on a wilderness lodge deck overlooking Princess Louisa Inlet. The full story of the mint julep — a drink that has been misunderstood, over-sweetened, and occasionally ruined by people who should know better. And a road trip narrative that starts at a gas station and ends somewhere you didn't plan to be, which is the only way road trips should end.

There's also the MTB Girls feature — a piece we've wanted to write for two issues now — about the women who ride the North Shore trails with more confidence and style than most people manage on flat ground.

This is Issue No. 3. We think it's our best one yet. We say that every time, and we mean it every time.

Leave it to an Italian mechanic to figure out how to make something go fast. Luigi Bezzera's invention — 30 millilitres of coffee extracted in 30 seconds — has been fuelling mornings since 1884. On the North Shore, three cafés are doing it better than most. We ordered blind, paid our own tab, and came back with opinions.

Right off Mount Seymour Parkway, United Strangers is the kind of place you hear about from someone who acts like they discovered it themselves. The interior is vibrant — ample seating, merchandise, puzzles to pore over, and enough baked goods to make a lactose-intolerant person weep with envy. They run two espresso options on the board: a classic, and something brighter. We ordered the brighter one — Tinoco from Monogram Roasters — and it arrived in a handsome blue cup that immediately set the tone. Less crema than some, but that's the beans: less oily, more alive. The flavour was concentrated and complex, with genuine hints of green apple. Temperature: hot, but not punishing. At $3.50, it's the kind of espresso that makes you want to linger.

“The kind of espresso that makes you want to linger — and order another before you've finished the first.”

Tucked beside Canadian Tire and a miscellany of light industrial businesses, Moja holds a steady line of loyal customers coming through its doors. There's something reassuring about a café that earns its regulars not through Instagram aesthetics but through consistently excellent product. Of all the espressos we tried, Moja's had the best extraction — thick crema on top, very concentrated, giving classic espresso with notes of dark chocolate and burnt caramel. The beans are roasted in-house, which matters. The temperature ran a touch cool, and there was something in the experience that kept us wanting something more playful. But at $3.25, it's a serious cup at a serious price. The patio is a bonus.

“Dark chocolate, burnt caramel, and the best crema on the North Shore. Serious coffee for serious people.”

Tucked under The Polygon Gallery near Lonsdale Quay, Nemesis has the best address of the three. The waterfront setting alone is worth the trip — and the coffee is genuinely good, even if it's the most expensive on this list at $5.50. They served their espresso in a glass cup, which is a divisive choice (some say glass lets you appreciate the colour; others say it cools too fast — both camps are right). The shot was the longest of the three, and served hottest. The flavour was nice — Los Cipreses from Cristian Salazar — though slightly less concentrated, with the extra liquid giving you more time to enjoy it. Think of it as the contemplative espresso. You're paying for the view, the gallery, and the moment. Worth it.

“The best location of the three. The waterfront setting alone is worth the trip — and the coffee is genuinely good.”

No North Van coffee guide is complete without acknowledging Thomas Haas. The man is a legend — a German-trained pastry chef who turned a North Vancouver patisserie into one of the most respected in the country. The coffee is excellent, the pastries are extraordinary, and the line is always worth it. If you're combining your espresso with something you'll remember for weeks, this is your stop. The croissants alone justify the detour.

The North Shore has always had a complicated relationship with its nightlife. For years, the best cocktail in North Vancouver was whatever you poured yourself at home after a day on the trails. That's changed. A new generation of bars and distilleries has arrived — and some of them are genuinely worth crossing the bridge for.

There's often a familiar problem with distilleries that serve food: the drinks shine, the kitchen exists. That imbalance doesn't exist at Copperpenny, located at 288 Esplanade East. Head chef Michael Tiefenboeck has spent 13 years shaping his career on the West Coast, and it shows — his cooking reflects both journeys: modern dishes rooted in fresh, seasonal ingredients, layered with old-world influences and a relaxed Vancouver sensibility. The house-smoked burrata is a personal starter that leads with smoke and creaminess, followed by the gentle bitterness of endive, crunch from toasted walnuts, and little bursts of sweetness from pomegranate. The duck breast is cooked exactly where you want it, paired with a peppercorn sauce more commonly found alongside steak. And the Figgy de Bourgogne — triple-cream brie topped with fig liqueur honey — delivers one of those rare, table-stopping moments. But the cocktails are the reason you came. The Pomona is dangerously drinkable: bright, refreshing, and so easygoing you could have three before realizing you should slow down. The Reverie — Copperpenny No. 002 Premium Vodka, red wine berry cordial, lemon juice, bitters — is the more sophisticated sibling. These are cocktails made with spirits distilled on-site, and it shows in every sip.

“The Pomona is dangerously drinkable. These are the kinds of cocktails that disappear faster than expected.”

Arcana is the kind of bar that makes you feel like you've found something. The speakeasy-gothic aesthetic — witchy details on every inch of the décor, low lighting, an atmosphere that feels genuinely curated rather than assembled from a mood board — sets the tone before you've ordered a drink. And then the drinks arrive, and the décor becomes secondary. The cocktail program is exciting and fun in a way that few bars in the region manage: complex without being pretentious, creative without being gimmicky. The food is a pleasant surprise — the kettle chips and farro salad are genuinely addictive. Happy hour is the move: a good selection of food and drink at prices that make you want to stay for another round. Which you will.

“Exceptional food, exceptional cocktails, exceptional everything. The vibe is flawless.”

Finch & Barley is loud, tight, and exactly what a neighbourhood bar should be. The red lighting sets a mood that's somewhere between intimate and energetic — it works for both. The cocktail list is impeccable, the bartenders are knowledgeable and friendly, and the portions are decent at prices that won't make you wince. Come at 5pm if you want a seat; come later if you want the full experience. It's the kind of place where you go for one drink and stay for three, which is either a warning or a recommendation depending on your Thursday night plans.

“The cocktail list is impeccable. The kind of place where you go for one drink and stay for three.”

Pier 7 sits at Shipyard Square with views of downtown Vancouver that are, frankly, unfair to every other patio on the North Shore. The Golden Hour cocktail is a fitting name for what you're doing here: watching the light change over the water with something cold in your hand. The food is genuinely good — the tuna stack is a standout — and the $55 three-course menu is one of the better value propositions on the waterfront. The prawn cocktail, the steelhead salmon — these are dishes that justify the reservation. Come for the view, stay for the food, and order the Golden Hour at least once.

“Views of downtown Vancouver that are, frankly, unfair to every other patio on the North Shore.”

Brunch on the North Shore is a sport. The lineups at the obvious spots are real, the wait times are optimistic, and the eggs benedict is never quite worth the forty-five minutes you spent standing on a sidewalk. Here's where to actually go — the places that earn their reputation without making you suffer for it.

Located on Esplanade West, just a short walk from Lonsdale Quay and the SeaBus, Loam is doing something genuinely interesting with brunch. The ambiance and menu come together in a way that feels considered rather than assembled — this is a kitchen that thinks about what it's putting on the plate. The seasonal approach means the menu shifts, which is either exciting or maddening depending on your attachment to a specific dish. We'd recommend the latter attitude: come open-minded and order what's fresh. The proximity to the Quay makes it an easy start to a morning that could go anywhere.

“A kitchen that thinks about what it's putting on the plate. Come open-minded and order what's fresh.”

Hotel restaurants have a reputation problem that Provisions Italiana is actively dismantling. Rated #1 for brunch in North Vancouver on TripAdvisor with 206 reviews, this is not a place coasting on its address. The Italian-inflected menu brings a welcome perspective to a brunch scene that can feel repetitive — think eggs done with intention, house-made pasta making appearances at hours that feel transgressive in the best way, and a room that manages to feel both polished and relaxed. The Bloody Caesar here is worth ordering twice.

“A hotel restaurant that's actively dismantling the reputation of hotel restaurants. Order the Caesar.”

OEB is a chain, and it doesn't pretend otherwise. What it does is execute breakfast with a consistency and quality that most independent spots struggle to match. The eggs are sourced properly, the hollandaise is made fresh, and the menu is long enough that you'll find something regardless of what you're in the mood for. It's not the most interesting brunch on this list, but it might be the most satisfying — the kind of meal that sets you up for a full day without leaving you wondering if you made the right choice.

Catch 122 has the kind of loyal following that comes from years of consistently good food at prices that don't make you recalculate your weekend budget. The menu is comfort-forward — this is not a place trying to reinvent brunch, it's a place that has perfected its version of it. The eggs are good, the coffee is good, and the atmosphere is the kind of relaxed that makes you want to stay for a second cup. 4.3 stars across 290 reviews is not an accident.

North Vancouver is one of those places that rewards the person who shows up early and stays late. The mountains are better before 9am. The trails are quieter before the weekend crowds arrive. And the espresso — at the right café — is a reason to set an alarm. Here is a day that works. We've tested it.

Start at United Strangers on Mount Seymour Parkway. Order the single-origin espresso — whatever they're running from Monogram Roasters. Take a seat by the window. Do not check your phone for at least twenty minutes. This is not a rule we invented; it's a condition of the coffee.

From United Strangers, it's a 12-minute drive up Mount Seymour Road to the provincial park. The trail network here is legitimate — everything from easy forest walks to technical MTB terrain that will remind you that your legs are not as strong as you think they are. The Dog Mountain trail (5.2km return) is the classic: manageable elevation, spectacular views of the city and the inlet from the summit, and the particular satisfaction of having earned a view. In winter, there's skiing. In summer, there are wildflowers. In fall, there is the kind of light that makes you understand why people become photographers.

“The particular satisfaction of having earned a view. Dog Mountain delivers it every time.”

Post-trail, drive down to Lonsdale Quay and walk to Loam Bistro on Esplanade West. This is the best brunch on the North Shore — seasonal menu, thoughtful sourcing, and the kind of room that makes you want to stay for a second coffee. Order whatever's fresh. Sit by the window if you can. The proximity to the Quay means you can walk off the meal along the waterfront afterward, which is either a bonus or a necessity depending on how much you ordered.

The Lonsdale Quay market is worth an hour of your afternoon — local vendors, a decent cheese selection, and the kind of browsing that doesn't require a plan. If you want to extend the day into Vancouver proper, the SeaBus runs every 15 minutes and delivers you to Waterfront Station in 12 minutes. The crossing alone is worth it: the view of the North Shore mountains from the water, with the city skyline behind you, is one of the better free experiences in the Lower Mainland.

Return to the North Shore for dinner at Copperpenny Distilling, 288 Esplanade East. The Pomona cocktail first — it's the reason you're here. Then the burrata, then the duck breast, then the Figgy de Bourgogne if you have any room left. You will not regret any of these decisions. Book ahead.

“The Pomona first. Always the Pomona first.”

End the night at Arcana. The speakeasy-gothic atmosphere is the best in the region, the cocktail program is genuinely exciting, and the happy hour pricing makes the decision easy. Order something you've never had before. Trust the bartender. This is the correct way to end a Best Day Ever.

Mountain biking on the North Shore is not a gentle sport. The trails here — built into the steep, root-laced forests of the North Shore mountains — have a reputation that precedes them. The drops are real. The exposure is real. The mud is extremely real. And the women who ride them regularly are, by any reasonable measure, among the most technically skilled cyclists in the country.

The North Shore trail network — spanning Fromme, Seymour, and Cypress — is one of the birthplaces of modern mountain biking. The style that evolved here in the 1990s, characterized by technical wooden features, steep chutes, and a general disregard for the idea that trails should be easy, spread globally and became the template for what aggressive trail riding looks like. The women who ride here didn't inherit a gentle version of the sport. They learned it the same way everyone else did: by falling, by getting back up, and by eventually making it look easy.

What's changed in the last decade is visibility. The women who were always riding — always sending the same lines, always cleaning the same features — are now being seen. Clubs like the North Shore Mountain Bike Association's women's programs, coaching collectives, and social media have created a community that didn't exist in the same form ten years ago. The result is a generation of riders who are entering the sport with mentors, with community, and with the knowledge that the trails were built for them too.

“The women who ride the North Shore didn't inherit a gentle version of the sport. They learned it the same way everyone else did.”

Confidence on a mountain bike is not the absence of fear — it's the management of it. Every experienced rider on the North Shore will tell you that the fear doesn't go away; it becomes information. The drop that made your stomach lurch the first time you looked at it becomes a feature you read, assess, and commit to. The commitment is the skill.

For women entering the sport, the confidence gap is real but not insurmountable. The research consistently shows that women tend to underestimate their abilities relative to their actual skill level, while men tend to overestimate theirs. On a mountain bike, this means women often spend longer in the assessment phase before committing — which, on technical terrain, is not a weakness. It's a survival advantage. The riders who get hurt are usually the ones who committed before they were ready, not the ones who waited.

The coaches who work with women on the North Shore have developed specific approaches to address this: progressive exposure to features, language that focuses on process rather than outcome, and the deliberate creation of environments where falling is normalized rather than embarrassing. The results are riders who, when they do commit, do so with a completeness that makes the line look clean.

“Confidence on a mountain bike is not the absence of fear — it's the management of it. The fear becomes information.”

The mountain bike industry has a complicated history with women's-specific products — a history that includes a lot of pink components, geometry designed for smaller frames without accounting for different proportions, and a general assumption that women wanted a softer version of the sport. That's changing. The current generation of women's-specific bikes from brands like Trek, Specialized, and Santa Cruz are genuinely engineered for different body geometry rather than simply scaled down. The reach, the stack, the handlebar width — these are being designed from the ground up rather than adapted from men's platforms.

For riders on the North Shore, the most important gear decision is usually the helmet. A full-face helmet for technical terrain is not optional — it's the difference between a bad day and a very bad day. After that: knee pads, gloves, and a bike that fits. Everything else is preference.

For riders new to the North Shore, the conventional wisdom is to start on Seymour — the trail network there has the best progression from beginner to intermediate, with green and blue trails that teach the skills you'll need before you move to Fromme or Cypress. The NSMBA's women's skills clinics run through the season and are worth the registration fee regardless of your current level. The coaches know the trails, know the common mistakes, and know how to create the kind of low-pressure environment where learning actually happens.

For riders who already have skills and want to push into more technical terrain: Fromme is where the North Shore's reputation was built. The trails there are not forgiving, but they are honest — they'll tell you exactly where your skills are, which is either humbling or motivating depending on your disposition. Most riders find it both.

Highway 99 between Vancouver and Whistler is one of the most photographed roads in Canada, which means it's also one of the most driven. The scenery is extraordinary — Howe Sound on one side, the Coast Mountains on the other, the kind of landscape that makes you understand why people moved here before there were roads. The problem is that everyone knows about it. The solution is to take the turns you've always driven past.

The ideal vehicle for the Sea to Sky is something with ground clearance and character. A Land Rover Defender, a Toyota Land Cruiser, a classic 4x4 with enough mechanical personality to make the drive feel like a collaboration rather than a commute. The roads that branch off Highway 99 — the Forest Service roads that disappear into the mountains, the logging routes that dead-end at lakes nobody has named on any map you can buy — reward vehicles that were built for this. A modern crossover will get you there, but it won't make you feel like you earned it.

The Sea to Sky corridor has a long history with working vehicles. The logging industry, the mining operations, the hydro projects — all of them left roads behind, and most of those roads are still there, still passable in the right machine, still leading somewhere worth going. The trick is knowing which ones.

“The ideal vehicle for the Sea to Sky is something with ground clearance and character — a machine that makes the drive feel like a collaboration.”

Squamish sits at the northern end of Howe Sound, 67 kilometres from Vancouver, and it is the most underrated stop on the Sea to Sky corridor. The climbing is world-class — the Stawamus Chief is one of the largest granite monoliths in the world, and the routes up it range from accessible to genuinely serious. The mountain biking, centered around the Squamish Bike Park and the extensive trail network on the surrounding mountains, is among the best in the province. The food scene has quietly become excellent: Fergie's Café for breakfast, the Howe Sound Inn for a post-adventure pint, and a farmers' market on Saturdays that makes you wish you'd brought a cooler.

But the real Squamish detour is the one you take off the main road. The Mamquam Forest Service Road branches east from downtown Squamish and climbs into terrain that most people driving through on their way to Whistler never see. The road is rough in places — this is where the ground clearance matters — but it leads to alpine lakes, old-growth forest, and the kind of silence that's hard to find within two hours of a major city.

Most people who drive the Sea to Sky turn around at Whistler. This is understandable — Whistler is a destination, and it delivers on its reputation. But the road continues north to Pemberton, and Pemberton is where the Sea to Sky corridor becomes something else entirely. The valley opens up, the mountains get bigger, and the traffic disappears. The Pemberton Meadows — a broad agricultural valley ringed by glaciated peaks — is the kind of landscape that makes you pull over just to look.

From Pemberton, the Hurley Forest Service Road climbs over a mountain pass and descends into the Goldbridge area — a journey that takes you through terrain that feels genuinely remote despite being three hours from Vancouver. The road is unpaved and requires a vehicle with clearance, but it's passable in summer and fall for anyone who's paying attention. The views from the pass are extraordinary. The descent into Goldbridge feels like arriving somewhere that hasn't been discovered yet, which is increasingly rare.

“The road continues north to Pemberton, and Pemberton is where the Sea to Sky corridor becomes something else entirely.”

A few things that apply to every Forest Service road on the Sea to Sky corridor, and most backroads in BC:

Tell someone where you're going and when you expect to be back. This is not paranoia — it's the minimum responsible practice for anyone driving into terrain without cell service. Carry more water than you think you need. Carry a physical map — the FSR network is not reliably on Google Maps, and cell service disappears quickly once you leave the highway. Check the BC Forest Service road conditions before you go — logging trucks have right of way on active FSR roads, and an active logging operation changes the calculus of the drive entirely.

And the most important rule: take the turn you've always driven past. The best roads are the ones that aren't on the itinerary.

“Take the turn you've always driven past. The best roads are the ones that aren't on the itinerary.”

The Sunshine Coast is a 40-minute ferry ride from Vancouver, which is exactly long enough to shift your mindset from city pace to coast pace. By the time you dock at Langdale, you're ready for a drink that matches the setting — something with a view, made with intention, and served without the urban premium. The coast delivers.

Don't be fooled by the name. TwentyTwo Taphouse does carry twenty-two types of beer — but their cocktail list is just as impressive, and arguably more interesting. The menu favours bespoke drinks guided by detailed tasting notes, ranging from floral and complex to refreshing and tart to smoky and herbal. A whole section is dedicated to creative sours: the negroni made with Empress rose gin and salted plum is a revelation, and the mezcal version — adding green chartreuse and Aperol — is the kind of drink that makes you reconsider everything you thought you knew about the category. For the sober-curious, the zero-proof options don't skimp on flavour or creativity. The lounge area is roomy, with low-lit lighting and moody décor that adds an intimate feeling, while the pub side is bright and casual. It's a block from the ocean, which means the pre- or post-cocktail stroll is built into the evening.

“The negroni made with Empress rose gin and salted plum is a revelation. The kind of drink that makes you reconsider everything.”

Davis Bay is a small enclave three kilometres south of downtown Sechelt, but its west-facing location makes it one of the best spots on the southern Sunshine Coast for sunsets. The Wobbly Canoe sits right on it. The mango margarita — made with premium, smoky-forward mezcal — is a highly crushable option for summer days, and the Wobbly Shaft (espresso, vodka, coffee-based liqueurs, cinnamon sugar rim) is the kind of caffeinated cocktail that justifies the name. The poke bowl comes piled high with fresh squid and tuna; the chuck and brisket burger with shoestring fries is the perennial favourite. Grab a Persephone or Gibsons Tapworks on tap if you want to go local. Stay for the sunset — it's the kind of orange and pink that makes you understand why people move here.

“Stay for the sunset. It's the kind of orange and pink that makes you understand why people move here.”

Lunitas is located just down the lane from Alpha Adventures in Gibsons, which means the best-case scenario is a morning kayak around the harbour followed by a hibiscus mezcal margarita and tacos on what is arguably the best patio in Gibsons. The harbour view is real, the margaritas are genuinely excellent, and the Mexican street corn is a staff and local favourite that goes quickly — order it immediately. The patio faces west, which means the sunset situation is handled. This is the kind of place that makes a ferry ride feel like the best decision you made all week.

“A morning kayak followed by a hibiscus mezcal margarita on the best patio in Gibsons. This is the move.”

Sunday Cider has a devoted following, and for good reason: this Gibsons-based cider company is making some of BC's best cider from 100% BC apples fermented right here on the coast. The Stone Fruit — a juicy blend with notes of apricot and peach — is the approachable entry point. The Sunday Wild, made from 100% BC heirloom cider apples fermented with wild yeast, is for people who want to understand what cider can actually be. The Twice is Nice Pinot Noir co-ferment with Okanagan grape skins is the showstopper. The sunny picnic area, the rotating food trucks, and the general atmosphere of a place that takes its product seriously without taking itself too seriously — this is the Sunshine Coast in a glass.

“The Sunday Wild is for people who want to understand what cider can actually be. The Sunshine Coast in a glass.”

The 101 Brewhouse is the most accessible entry point to the Sunshine Coast's drink scene — casual vibe, good service, and a menu that covers enough ground to satisfy a group with different ideas about what they want. The wings are delicious, the fish tacos are solid, and the outdoor patio is easy. It's not the most exciting bar on this list, but it's the most reliably good — the kind of place you end up at when the plan falls through and you need somewhere that works. Which, on the Sunshine Coast, is a perfectly acceptable outcome.

A short 40-minute ferry ride from Vancouver, the Sunshine Coast's 180-kilometre stretch of trademark BC coastline is home to a thriving — and rapidly growing — culinary scene. As a resident of Gibsons once told us: she's never far from a delicious meal or drink, which comes in handy after a day exploring the coast's beaches, trails, and laid-back communities. We spent a week eating our way through it.

Shift Kitchen & Bar is the #1 restaurant in Sechelt on TripAdvisor, and it earns the position. The Black and Blue cheese burger is the dish that locals bring visitors for — a properly constructed burger with the kind of blue cheese application that doesn't apologize for itself. The cocktail list is solid, the service is attentive, and the room has the energy of a place that knows it's good without being insufferable about it. This is the restaurant you come back to on your second visit to the Sunshine Coast, because the first time you didn't know it existed.

“The Black and Blue cheese burger is the dish that locals bring visitors for. It doesn't apologize for itself.”

With a 4.6-star rating across 131 TripAdvisor reviews, Skookumchuck Bakery is the kind of café that makes you reconsider your morning routine. The baking is serious — the kind of pastries that require a moment of silence before you eat them — and the coffee is good enough to justify the drive. Named after the famous tidal rapids nearby, the café has the atmosphere of a place that belongs exactly where it is: a community anchor that happens to make excellent food. Come early. The good stuff goes fast.

“The kind of pastries that require a moment of silence before you eat them.”

The Gibsons Public Market is the kind of place that makes a Saturday feel like a proper event. Fromagerie De Baie for cheese, the Fisherman's Market for smoked salmon, The Good Acre Market for fruit — this is the infrastructure of a genuinely good picnic, or the foundation of a meal you cook yourself with ingredients that make you look like a better cook than you are. Pair with Sunday Cider (a short drive away) and you have the perfect Sunshine Coast afternoon.

Getting to Inlets Restaurant requires a boat trip through Princess Louisa Inlet — a magnificent granite-walled gorge with waterfalls tumbling from heights in excess of 7,000 feet. This is not a restaurant you stumble upon. It's a destination, and it treats itself accordingly. The 5,000-square-foot deck overlooks the water and across to the blue-green mountains. The menu is West Coast-inspired: crispy yam-crusted lingcod, wild Sockeye salmon wellington, BC wine. This is the meal you plan a trip around — the kind of dinner that justifies the journey and then some.

“A 5,000-square-foot deck overlooking the inlet. The kind of dinner that justifies the journey and then some.”

Coast Gravity Park sits above Sechelt on the Sunshine Coast, and it is exactly what its name promises: a place where gravity does the work and you hold on. BC's premier mountain bike destination has trails for every level, a food truck that actually understands what riders need, and a proximity to Batch 44 Brewery that makes the post-ride pint feel like it was planned by someone who understood the full arc of a perfect day.

Coast Gravity Park has built its reputation on variety — beginner-friendly greens that let newcomers build confidence, blues that reward commitment, and blacks that will remind you that mountain biking is a sport that takes you seriously even when you're not ready. The trail crew maintains the network with the kind of care that shows: berms are shaped properly, drainage works, and the flow sections are genuinely fun rather than just technically correct. The views from the upper trails across Sechelt Inlet are the kind that make you stop pedalling just to look, which is either a feature or a bug depending on your Strava ambitions.

“The views from the upper trails across Sechelt Inlet are the kind that make you stop pedalling just to look.”

A food truck at Coast Gravity Park is not a new idea — it's a necessary one. The current operation understands what riders need: food that refuels without weighing you down, served fast enough that you're not standing around when you could be riding. The menu leans toward the practical — burgers, wraps, things that can be eaten with one hand while you study the trail map with the other. It's not destination dining, but it's exactly what it needs to be, and the fact that it exists at all is a service to the riding community.

The best beer you'll ever drink is the one you've earned. Batch 44 Brewery in Sechelt is where Coast Gravity Park riders go to earn theirs. The brewery has built a reputation as one of the top craft operations on the Sunshine Coast — the kind of place where the beer is taken seriously without the atmosphere becoming precious about it. Post-ride, with trail dust still on your kit and the particular satisfaction of a day well spent, a cold Batch 44 pint is the correct conclusion to the Coast Gravity Park experience. Order whatever's on tap. You've earned the full pour.

“The best beer you'll ever drink is the one you've earned. Batch 44 is where you go to earn it.”

The Sunshine Coast begins with a ferry, which is the right way to begin anything worth doing. The 40-minute crossing from Horseshoe Bay to Langdale is not a commute — it's a transition. By the time you dock, the pace has shifted. The to-do list has shortened. The only question that matters is: where first?

Take the 7:30am sailing from Horseshoe Bay. Arrive early enough to get a window seat on the upper deck. Bring coffee from home or grab one at the terminal — the crossing is 40 minutes and the views of Howe Sound are the kind that make you put your phone away without being asked. By the time you dock at Langdale, you'll have already had the best part of most people's days.

From the Langdale terminal, it's a 25-minute drive to Skookumchuck Bakery in Egmont. Yes, it's worth the detour. The pastries are the kind that require a moment of silence before you eat them — laminated, properly buttered, made with the kind of attention that most bakeries reserve for their flagship item and applies to everything. The coffee is good. The atmosphere is exactly what a Sunshine Coast morning should feel like: unhurried, warm, and slightly improbable.

“Pastries that require a moment of silence before you eat them. Worth every kilometre of the detour.”

Drive back toward Sechelt and head up to Coast Gravity Park. If you ride, this is non-negotiable — BC's premier mountain bike destination has trails for every level, and the views from the upper network across Sechelt Inlet are the kind that make you stop pedalling just to look. If you don't ride, the park's hiking access is worth the drive for the views alone. Allow three to four hours. The food truck handles the mid-day refuel.

Post-ride, drive into Sechelt for a cold pint at Batch 44 Brewery. This is the earned beer — the one that tastes better because you did something to deserve it. The brewery takes its product seriously without being precious about it, which is the correct attitude. Order whatever's on tap. Sit outside if the weather allows. This is the Sunshine Coast at its best: a cold beer, a view, and the particular satisfaction of a morning well spent.

“The best beer you'll ever drink is the one you've earned. Batch 44 is where you go to earn it.”

Drive down to Gibsons and spend the late afternoon at the harbour. Sunday Cider is a short walk from the waterfront — order the Sunday Wild or the Twice is Nice Pinot Noir co-ferment and find a spot in the picnic area. Then walk down to Lunitas for the hibiscus mezcal margarita and Mexican street corn on the best patio in Gibsons. The harbour view is real. The margarita is genuinely excellent. The street corn goes fast — order it immediately.

Drive three kilometres south to Davis Bay and the Wobbly Canoe for the sunset. The west-facing patio is the best on the southern Sunshine Coast — the kind of orange and pink that makes you understand why people move here. Order the mango mezcal margarita and the chuck and brisket burger. Watch the sun drop into the ocean. Take the last ferry home feeling like you've done something right.

“The kind of sunset that makes you understand why people move here. The Wobbly Canoe has the best seat for it.”

The mint julep has been ruined more times than almost any other cocktail. It has been over-sweetened, under-iced, served in the wrong vessel, made with the wrong bourbon, and — perhaps most unforgivably — garnished with a plastic sprig of fake mint by people who should have known better. And yet it survives. More than survives: it thrives, selling approximately 120,000 units over the two days of the Kentucky Derby each year, consumed by people in extraordinary hats who may or may not know what they're drinking. This is its story.

The julep — from the Persian word gulab, meaning rosewater — predates the mint julep by centuries. The word arrived in English via Arabic and referred to a medicinal syrup, a sweetened liquid used to make bitter medicines more palatable. By the time it reached the American colonies in the 18th century, it had evolved into something closer to what we'd recognize today: a sweetened, spirit-based drink, often consumed in the morning as a kind of medicinal tonic.

The earliest American references to the mint julep appear in the late 1700s, primarily in Virginia and Maryland. John Davis, an English traveller writing in 1803, described Virginians drinking mint julep in the morning — a habit he found both charming and alarming. The spirit at this point was often brandy or rye whiskey; bourbon, which would become the canonical spirit, was not yet the dominant American whiskey it would later become.

The shift to bourbon happened gradually through the early 19th century, as Kentucky's distilling industry grew and bourbon became the American whiskey of choice. By the 1830s, the mint julep was firmly associated with the South, with bourbon, and with a particular kind of genteel hospitality that involved silver cups, crushed ice, and the careful bruising of fresh mint.

“The julep predates the mint julep by centuries — a medicinal syrup that became, over time, the most iconic cocktail in American history.”

The vessel matters. This is not aesthetics — it's thermodynamics. A silver or pewter cup conducts cold in a way that glass does not, which means the exterior of the cup frosts over as the ice inside chills the drink, creating a layer of condensation that keeps your hand from warming the contents. The effect is both functional and beautiful: a properly made mint julep in a silver cup, with crushed ice mounded above the rim and a bouquet of fresh mint standing at attention, is one of the more visually compelling drinks in the canon.

The debate over the cup has been ongoing since at least the 1830s. Senator Henry Clay of Kentucky — a man who took his juleps seriously enough to be remembered for them — was said to prefer a silver cup. The Pendennis Club in Louisville, which claims credit for several classic cocktails, served theirs in silver. The Kentucky Derby adopted the silver cup as its official vessel in 1938, and the tradition has held ever since.

The alternative — a glass julep cup — has its advocates, primarily among people who want to see the drink. This is a reasonable position. It is also wrong. The silver cup is correct.

“A properly made mint julep in a silver cup, with crushed ice mounded above the rim, is one of the more visually compelling drinks in the canon.”

The mint julep is not a muddled drink. This is the most common mistake, and it produces a bitter, over-extracted result that tastes like lawn clippings dissolved in bourbon. The correct technique is to gently press — not crush, not grind, not pulverize — the mint against the side of the cup with the back of a spoon, releasing the aromatic oils without tearing the leaves. The difference in the final drink is significant.

The mint should be fresh, and it should be spearmint rather than peppermint — spearmint is sweeter, less aggressive, and more complementary to bourbon. The garnish should be a generous bouquet of fresh mint, placed so that the drinker's nose is in the mint as they drink — the aroma is half the experience.

The simple syrup should be made with equal parts sugar and water, dissolved cold or warm, and used sparingly. The julep should taste like bourbon with mint, not sugar with bourbon and mint. This distinction matters more than any other in the recipe.

The bourbon matters, and the conventional wisdom — that you should use a mid-shelf bourbon because the mint and sugar will overwhelm a fine spirit — is wrong. A better bourbon makes a better julep. The nuances of a well-made Kentucky straight bourbon — the vanilla, the caramel, the oak, the proof — come through even with mint and sugar, and they elevate the drink rather than disappearing into it.

The classic choice is Woodford Reserve, which has been the official bourbon of the Kentucky Derby since 1999. It's a good choice: balanced, approachable, and available everywhere. But the serious julep drinker might explore Blanton's Single Barrel, which brings a more complex profile, or a high-rye bourbon like Old Forester 1920, which adds a spicy backbone that cuts through the sweetness in a satisfying way.

The proof should be at least 90. Lower-proof bourbons produce a julep that tastes diluted as the ice melts. The drink is supposed to evolve as you consume it — starting strong, becoming more integrated as the ice does its work — and that evolution requires a bourbon with enough character to sustain it.

“The conventional wisdom — that you should use a mid-shelf bourbon because the mint and sugar will overwhelm it — is wrong.”

This is the recipe we've settled on after considerable research and a number of afternoons that ended earlier than planned:

In a silver julep cup, place 8–10 fresh spearmint leaves. Add 15ml of simple syrup (1:1 sugar to water). Gently press the mint with the back of a bar spoon — do not muddle. Fill the cup with crushed ice, mounding it above the rim. Pour 60ml of your chosen bourbon over the ice. Stir briefly to integrate. Add more crushed ice to maintain the mound. Garnish with a generous bouquet of fresh spearmint, placed so the stems are in the drink and the leaves are above the rim. Add a short straw so the drinker's nose is in the mint. Serve immediately.

Drink slowly. The julep improves as the ice melts and the flavours integrate. The second one is better than the first. The third one is inadvisable but inevitable.

“The second one is better than the first. The third one is inadvisable but inevitable.”

There is a version of coffee that is a commodity — a brown liquid that delivers caffeine and asks nothing of you in return. And then there is the version that a small-batch roaster produces: a specific bean, from a specific farm, roasted to a specific profile, brewed with specific attention. The difference is not subtle. The difference is the reason people drive across the city for a cup.

The term 'small-batch' has been diluted by marketing, but in the context of coffee roasting it has a specific meaning: roasting in quantities small enough that each batch can be monitored and adjusted individually. A large commercial roaster might process hundreds of kilograms per hour on automated equipment. A small-batch roaster might process 5–15 kilograms per batch, with a human watching the temperature curves, listening to the first and second crack, and making adjustments in real time.

The result is a coffee that reflects the decisions of a specific person on a specific day. It's not more consistent than commercial roasting — in fact, it's often less consistent, which is either a feature or a bug depending on your relationship with coffee. What it is, reliably, is more interesting. The flavours that emerge from a well-roasted specialty coffee — the fruit notes, the acidity, the body — are the product of decisions made at every stage of the supply chain, from the farmer who processed the cherry to the roaster who decided when to pull the beans from the drum.

“A small-batch coffee reflects the decisions of a specific person on a specific day. That's either a feature or a bug, depending on your relationship with coffee.”

Monogram is the roaster behind the Tinoco beans that United Strangers runs as their single-origin espresso — and the relationship between roaster and café is exactly the kind of supply chain transparency that the specialty coffee world has been building toward for a decade. Monogram sources directly from farms in Ethiopia, Colombia, Guatemala, and beyond, publishing detailed information about each coffee's origin, processing method, and flavour profile. The roasting is precise and light-to-medium, designed to preserve the inherent character of the bean rather than impose a roast character on top of it.

The Monogram café on Alberni Street in Vancouver is worth visiting for the coffee alone, but the retail bags — available at partner cafés across the Lower Mainland — are the most accessible entry point. The Tinoco, when it's available, is the one to start with: a washed Colombian with green apple acidity and a clean, sweet finish that makes you understand why people pay attention to origin.

Moja is the North Shore's in-house roaster — a café that controls its product from green bean to cup, which is rarer than it should be. The roasting philosophy leans toward the classic end of the specialty spectrum: darker than the light-roast trend that's dominated the last decade, but still well within the range of what specialty coffee means. The result is a cup that tastes like coffee rather than a fruit salad, which is either a relief or a disappointment depending on your preferences.

The house espresso blend — the one that produces the thick crema and the dark chocolate, burnt caramel notes we found in our blind tasting — is the product of years of refinement. It's not a trendy coffee. It's a good coffee, made by people who know what they're doing and have been doing it long enough to have an opinion about it.

Thomas Haas is not primarily a roaster — he is a pastry chef, and one of the best in the country. But the coffee program at his North Vancouver patisserie is serious enough to warrant inclusion on any North Shore coffee trail. The espresso is sourced from quality roasters and prepared with the same attention that goes into the croissants and the chocolate work. The result is a cup that holds its own against any specialty café in the region.

The reason to come to Thomas Haas, however, is the combination. The espresso with a fresh croissant, or with whatever is in the pastry case that morning, is one of the better food-and-coffee pairings available in the Lower Mainland. The line is always worth it. The croissants alone justify the detour.