Brewski, The Sauce, What Ales Me
On Sunday I bottled my first ever batch of home-brewed beer. Just over 3 and a half cases--approximately 45 beers. It will be ready to drink in at least another 3 weeks, I will try it on for size in two. My initial attempt was an IPA. Tasting it out of the bucket, it has grande possibilities. Of course it hadn't been primed yet nor had it sat in the bottle for the alotted 2-3 weeks. I'm excited about the end product.
Directly after bottling my first batch of beer, I brewed another pot of wort, mixed it in the bucket with the yeast and the aromatic hops, put on the fermentation lock and put the bucket in the corner of the room. The next day it was pleasantly bubbling at a rate of about one bubble per second. This batch I followed a recipe for a nut brown ale, with a few changes in the hops. I'm convinced it will be just as yummalicious.
O.k. time to work.
Word.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Thursday, October 21, 2004
BEER
Beer, oh beer, my beer, yes please.
There is a 5 gallon bucket in my living room where little tiny yeasties are committing suicide and raising the alcohol content of my beer. My friend Brad and I cooked up the recipe last Saturday, and in the next couple of days I will begin the bottling process. If you are at Thanksgiving, perhaps you will taste the fruits of my spirits. That is unless I drink it all before which is entirely possible.
Thus has begun what hopes to be my long and friendly relationship with homebrewing. I feel I have given life to a new being. I glance at it lovingly every time I walk through my livingroom. I time the interval between contractions (what I term the bubbling in the contraption on top of my bucket that indicates the fermentation process taking place). Apparently when the interval between bubbles gets to be more than 10 minutes, it is time. Joy oh joy of joyous occassions!
Beer, oh beer, my beer, yes please.
There is a 5 gallon bucket in my living room where little tiny yeasties are committing suicide and raising the alcohol content of my beer. My friend Brad and I cooked up the recipe last Saturday, and in the next couple of days I will begin the bottling process. If you are at Thanksgiving, perhaps you will taste the fruits of my spirits. That is unless I drink it all before which is entirely possible.
Thus has begun what hopes to be my long and friendly relationship with homebrewing. I feel I have given life to a new being. I glance at it lovingly every time I walk through my livingroom. I time the interval between contractions (what I term the bubbling in the contraption on top of my bucket that indicates the fermentation process taking place). Apparently when the interval between bubbles gets to be more than 10 minutes, it is time. Joy oh joy of joyous occassions!
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Yes, Word to your motherfuckin' Mother
O.k, alright. So I drank a beer at 8:30 this morning. It's been too long since I've done that. I actually got up at 8:00 (set my alarm and everything) in order to cut up the vegetables to put in with my potroast. My mom used to make that meal every Sunday. It was a tradition. So as one often longs for certain things from her childhood, I have been longing for a potroast meal on a Sunday afternoon/evening. Incidentally, I have a slowcooker to cook this all in, and it's sitting on my dining room table with 8 and a half hours to go and it's already tempting my tastebuds.
Getting back to beer. Now I'm well versed in the idea of a beer at 8:30 in the morning. On a few occasions, my friends and I would celebrate one of our favorite holidays--Drunk Before Noon Day. The central theme of this holiday is quite self-explanatory. And keeping with our brash rejection of the way we had all been raised, this Drunk Before Noon Day would almost always occur on the first second third or forth Sunday of the month. I'm not sure if I'll be drunk before noon, but at least I'm drinking on the second Sunday of the month.
In my day I also put a few down at Donald and Debbies Doghouse in Bradley, Illinois (sister city to Kankee). Good ole Sharon was always ready with her $1.00 Miller Lite drafts, her snide remarks, her tough exterior, and her large and loving heart. I think she hated us whenever we bought beef jerky, or when she had to come rescue the balls that got stuck in the pool table. This was always 8:30 a.m. or before. Usually present were me, Fred, Adam, and Bethany, and an occasional appearance of a fellow brave trooper from the night shift at Indian Oaks Academy. Why didn't Kim ever come drink with us? Ahh Kim.
Long gone are the days of a Miller Lite draft, or a Busch Light in a can. No no my friends. The beer of choice for a Sunday morning is from south of the border. A little Negra Modelo. I buy twelve packs of this for around twelve dollars from my local grocer. This cannot be found in the regular beer isle. No, it is found in the Mexican section of the grocery store, along with Jumex, and Corona, and real flour toritillas.
I am saving all of the bottles because they are not twist-offs--you can't use twist offs to bottle beer. Soon I will be embarking on the journey of home-brewing. An IPA will be the first attempt from the Bent Tree Brewry. Perhaps I will have it done in time for the Thanksgiving shindig.
Word.
O.k, alright. So I drank a beer at 8:30 this morning. It's been too long since I've done that. I actually got up at 8:00 (set my alarm and everything) in order to cut up the vegetables to put in with my potroast. My mom used to make that meal every Sunday. It was a tradition. So as one often longs for certain things from her childhood, I have been longing for a potroast meal on a Sunday afternoon/evening. Incidentally, I have a slowcooker to cook this all in, and it's sitting on my dining room table with 8 and a half hours to go and it's already tempting my tastebuds.
Getting back to beer. Now I'm well versed in the idea of a beer at 8:30 in the morning. On a few occasions, my friends and I would celebrate one of our favorite holidays--Drunk Before Noon Day. The central theme of this holiday is quite self-explanatory. And keeping with our brash rejection of the way we had all been raised, this Drunk Before Noon Day would almost always occur on the first second third or forth Sunday of the month. I'm not sure if I'll be drunk before noon, but at least I'm drinking on the second Sunday of the month.
In my day I also put a few down at Donald and Debbies Doghouse in Bradley, Illinois (sister city to Kankee). Good ole Sharon was always ready with her $1.00 Miller Lite drafts, her snide remarks, her tough exterior, and her large and loving heart. I think she hated us whenever we bought beef jerky, or when she had to come rescue the balls that got stuck in the pool table. This was always 8:30 a.m. or before. Usually present were me, Fred, Adam, and Bethany, and an occasional appearance of a fellow brave trooper from the night shift at Indian Oaks Academy. Why didn't Kim ever come drink with us? Ahh Kim.
Long gone are the days of a Miller Lite draft, or a Busch Light in a can. No no my friends. The beer of choice for a Sunday morning is from south of the border. A little Negra Modelo. I buy twelve packs of this for around twelve dollars from my local grocer. This cannot be found in the regular beer isle. No, it is found in the Mexican section of the grocery store, along with Jumex, and Corona, and real flour toritillas.
I am saving all of the bottles because they are not twist-offs--you can't use twist offs to bottle beer. Soon I will be embarking on the journey of home-brewing. An IPA will be the first attempt from the Bent Tree Brewry. Perhaps I will have it done in time for the Thanksgiving shindig.
Word.
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