Thursday, March 4, 2010

Goldfish #3 "The Early Brews"

Our first attempt was an IPA. It was all extract and all magic. I had no idea what all the pitfalls of brewing might be at that time, but I had very little to worry about. I had a clean-freak for a mother and a physics major for a father so my first brewery team was pretty stacked. Our risk of infection or missing a temperature by more than .00000005 of a degree was fairly low.
Our first brew day was a joy. We spent the day working on making sure the batch didn't boil over and discussing how many of these I would get to drink when they were done. As a 19 year-old idiot I wasn't even sure I would like it or I would have argued for a higher limit.
As fun as my first brew day was my life didn't really change course until the next day. The five gallons of heaven were closed in my chilly closet to ferment. Given that it was winter and my parents love low utility bills, my closet was a cozy 60F, but by the end of 24 hours an amazing scent began to bubble out of the airlock.
I am not a poet so this paragraph is hard to write effectively, but the aroma coming from that closet by day two was shear pleasure. A cool drink of water on a summer day. A deep breath on a mountain. A long walk on the beach .... and so on. Garbage. This was the meaning of life seeping from the top of what looked like a paint bucket.
"My God!" I thought. What will this stuff taste like if it smells this good. Surely nothing I have had from a can or keg ever smelled like this.
Of course I would later find out that it was mostly CO2 I was inhaling, but it was awefully fresh and nice.
The next two weeks were torture. Not only was my Christmas break rolling by at an alarming rate, this beer was taking forever. We did everything just as the instructions said. WAIT.
My parents even made me come back home one week after getting back to school in order to bottle it so it wouldn't be even one week off the prescribed schedule.
The bottling was significantly less fun than brewing as any homebrewer will attest. You work all day cleaning things only to taste beer that isn't yet a shadow of what it will be. This part dampened my enthusiasm a bit, but I was still anxious to see what the finished product would be like.
Finally the day came for the testing. I found that I liked beer, and I loved brewing. I can still remember the taste of the first batch of beer, but not nearly like the scent of each brewing step. Our IPA was nothing like American craft brewers produce today, but it was rich with a noticeable hop aroma and flavor.
My parents and I went on to brew several batches. I cherish each brew sheet, which still make up the opening pages of a binder that contains every batch I have brewed. More than the brewing was the gap it bridged for us. Our homebrewing was the excuse for my dad to buy cases of Rolling Rock (back when they had pop off tops) which we "had" to drink so we would have empty bottles. At that time buying empty bottles was more expensive than buying them with beer already in them. What a shame. It helped us get from the kid-parent relationship to the adult-adult relationship that only lucky families happen into.

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