I made my first batch of beer sometime in late 2000, with my close friend and fellow “residency widower,” Todd, in Minnesota. Medical residency is a long and lonely process for the spouse, and I developed a fine set of skills and hobbies waiting for it to be over. Over the years, I’ve learned from a lot of other folks – and even a book or two.
For whatever reason, brewing beer is a wonderfully masculine activity. This is odd, because the process is essentially the same as making soup. If you enjoy doing dishes – you’ll probably love making beer. I know lots of women who drink beer – yet few of them have shown any interest in the process by which it is created. When I find myself at a social event, sitting with a group of men that I don’t know all that well, brewing beer is one of my go-to topics to keep the conversation moving. It’s complex enough to support a deep and geeky knowledge of esoteric details – yet simple and cheap enough to allow easy access for the novice. I’ve spent many a pleasant Saturday with a couple of friends, putting a couple of batches into primary fermentation, usually with a football game playing itself out on an unwatched laptop in the corner of the kitchen.
In my early years of brewing, I would make only the most extreme recipes. I was always trying for the 12% ABV, the insanely over-hopped, or so on. These were never very good, and I found myself not able to brew more batches because all my bottles were taken up. I limit myself to six cases of bottles and a five gallon keg. That’s four batches – which is absolutely more than enough. At this point, I have a pair of recipes that I try to keep in stock for guests (and for me) – one clone of Bass Ale, malty and rich, the other an American / Indian Pale Ale – hoppy and bitter. In between, I mix up experimental batches. The current experiment is a “rauch” beer – made with smoked malt. I’ve made one of these before, and it turned out tasting strongly of bacon. While there’s nothing wrong with the taste of bacon – it’s not a good beer pairing. This new batch has turned out a lot better. I still don’t particularly *like* it, but I’m pleased that I’m able to create a beer that tastes like it’s supposed to.
Bottling is a slow and methodical process – and is a great opportunity to ruin your batch by failing to pay proper attention. Last night, I bottled a batch of the IPA in preparation for our holiday party. I found myself reminiscing on other batches, and on the ephemeral nature of craft projects. A batch of beer – even the best one ever – is still just a batch of beer. It’ll be drunk, enjoyed, and gone in time. The same is true with pickles, dried apples, and most of my other hobbies.
I find that I’m getting to be okay with impermanence these days. I find that the beer helps a little – and oddly enough, it’s more the bottling than the drinking where I find the real comfort.
