...Baby

In honor of the potential for a wave of change in this country through an inevitably invigorating change in our political leadership, one that we and future generations will quite possibly trace back to tonight, I thought it only appropriate to share this, in respect to those of us for whom the safety, success, and serenity of our children is a consummate priority:

We the Brewers of Avery Brewing Company, in order to form a more perfect ale, require new leadership that can liberate us from our quagmires in foreign lands; embrace environmentally sound energy alternatives to imported oil; heal our ailing health care system; free us from tyrannical debt and resurrect the collapsing dollar. We hereby pledge to provide him with an ample amount of our new Presidential Pale Ale to support in the struggle for the aforementioned goals!

- Ale to the Chief! bottle label

Amen.

[Sorry. Sometimes you just can't summon a decent post title, and then you get this second-hand reference stuck in your head, and it's not even really connected, but you could care less...]

The Äppelwoi experiment, part III

Last week, my daughter arrived home from a walk, sitting in her stroller and clutching a perfect little tennis ball of an apple, tiger-striped green and red, a secret prize from an otherwise ordinary amble around the neighborhood. Naturally, I wanted to take it from her. Des, however, promised to lead me to the tree that actually made it its job to present such treats to whomever could reach them. After returning to the scene of the climb, we managed to gather a small bushel, most of which ended up getting starring roles in our tasting afternoon. It was clearly apparent, though, that apple season was fast upon us, and with that, the need to whip up that experimental batch of Äppelwoi.

Just in time, just as the time to strike was upon us, a final ambassador of inspiration arrived on our doorstep: the authentic item, delivered in the world's most elegant beverage container, the 40-ouncer.

This is what it sounds like when Frankfurter doves cry. Not delicious. The reassuring image of a pastoral landscape framing a traditional bembl was nothing but a lie. Only steps removed from vinegar (or worse), this horrific reminder as to the benefits of pasteurization and the hardships of international travel still thankfully bore traces of  the cider that we were aiming towards: a very dry, slightly wild, sour, lightly carbonated, vinous and refreshing take on what must be one of the simplest, most foolproof alcoholic beverages in Nature's cookbook. After  assuring ourselves that there's no way we could make anything worse,  we appropriately, given the packaging,  poured the rest out for our homies.

Fast forward one week, and to the scene of the county farmer's market in all it's harvest height glory. All manner of late summer and early fall produce clogging the narrow lanes between the vendors, a twisted, psychedelic color maze, tomatoes and peppers lined up in identical rows but flashing against each other in starkly contrasting hues like run of Warhol prints. And in the midst of it all? Apples. Gravensteins, to be precise, along with some other mysterious early girls like the pink wonders you see above. In keeping with the information I was able to glean from translated web pages regarding Äppelwoi  production, we purchased our typical amount of fresh pressed juice, but also appended our must with a few pounds of apples we pulverized ourselves and added unwashed, skins, seeds, stems and all. All it took was a little honey-based starter of Montrachet yeast, and we were off to the races.

Lest the irony of this image, taken from Hale's orchard's Gravenstein cider jugs, be lost on anyone, understand that the origins of the bountiful array of apple trees that crisscross this country of ours stem from a single purpose. And it was not, as they say, to insure against visits to the local medical practitioner (that came much later, during Prohibition). It was, as the label suggests, because when crushed and left to their own devices, apples do ferment on the wild yeasts resident on their skins, creating a magical, homey elixir that most definitely took the edge off of frontier living. Needless to say, we disregarded the warning. Oops! Let's see what happens, shall we?

And for those of you keeping score at home, the original gravity of the cider was 1.070, which is higher than the "traditional" guidelines set forth in BJCP, but right on track for a cyser or mead...

And on the seventh day, there was Brett

And a lot of Brett, to be quite clear. Yesterday, we hosted the first ever Pfiff! beer and food tasting, a five-hour session of "The New American Mavericks", a collection of American wild ales paired with fine nibbles held on a marginally summerish San Francisco afternoon in the garden with eleven very enthusiastic guinea pigs. Luckily, the convergence of some great beers, the luck of being in the midst of a bountiful harvest season, the advice of some generous and open brewers, and a wonderfully warm group chemistry, it was an almost completely injury-free (sorry Kris!) success.

The inspiration for the tasting resided in a pair of magnums that had been collecting dust in the cellar for a few years now: both from Vinnie Cilurzo's maiden voyage into wild brewing, batch 001 bottles of both Temptation and Supplication that were just demanding to be enjoyed with a crowd.

And enjoyed they were. In fact, if I may be so bold, my assertion that these beers and their ilk are easily loveable by a wide range of palates when in the presence of complementary foods (most of which were based off suggestions made by the remarkably accessible brewers themselves) proved itself repeatedly throughout the tasting. Unfortunately, my capacity for inspired insight has been hamstrung by the crippling exhaustion begat by pulling this event off only to turn around and hit the ground running with a brutal day at work. Summer is officially over, as it were. My brain is mush.

Rather than try to go into detail while saddled with the writing panache of a court reporter on traffic infraction duty, for now I'll simply leave you with this: A copy of the menu, and a gallery of images taken from the afternoon.

I'd also be remiss if I didn't extend a very special thanks to everyone for their involvement: Alex for *ahem* singlehandedly helping in the galley, Dave for suggesting the Allagash Interlude, JJ for paying her entry with a bottle of Isabelle Proximus, Jesse for taking all the photos, all the others for coming from far and wide to take a chance on an event that was undeniably experimental, and Des for finding the perfect apple tree. As apprehensive as we were going into yesterday, I think the question is not "if" we'll do it again, but "what" and "when".

Update: Peter has gone through the trouble to post a vividly detailed analysis of the proceedings. Thank you!

Update #2: JJ's gone ahead and posted a recap that includes some interesting opinion on the "wild ale" designation (along with the two "unofficial" tastes that concluded the day which were nothing less than spectacular.)

Update #3: Even Alex is getting into the act. Crazy Zen-themed recap action!

Whitman's Brooklyn, black, chocolate and stout

It's certainly not every day that a libation from the storied Brooklyn Brewery finds itself propped up for a glamour shot on my cutting board, so a certain compulsion to fire up the old blogomobog was inevitable when this glorious specimen recently crossed the great divide and found its home in my cellar.

But I'd be lying if I didn't say that this tail-end of summer, with its lethagic dog days tinged with little specks of regret and hints that a return to the regular grind is just around the corner, has infected me with a serious case of vacation brain. So I present you with a distraction, this: Whitman's Brooklyn. From the description of the project:

"If Walt Whitman’s association with Brooklyn is not exactly overlooked by mainstream documentarians, then neither is it explicitly celebrated or, one might argue, sufficiently considered in the vast majority of critical analysis of his work. The fact of Whitman’s residency–he lived in Brooklyn for over half his life and twice as long as he lived anywhere else–might not seem so meaningful if Whitman’s poetry wasn’t so saturated with the physical world."

With a bit of the East River running through my veins (not literally, thankfully for my health), and not just a little love for Walt, this site is a true treasure of a find. Until I get my act together to do some proper blogging, I say "Damned fine beer," and leave you with this:

All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it;
Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of the arches and
         cornices?

All music is what awakens from you when you are reminded by the instruments,
It is not the violins and the cornets . . . . it is not the oboe nor the beating drums—
         nor the notes of the baritone singer singing his sweet romanza . . . . nor those
         of the men's chorus, nor those of the women's chorus,
It is nearer and farther than they.

Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, p. 61

Reminder: The new American mavericks tasting session

Just a quick reminder to all y'all adventurous Bay Area beer enthusiasts that the premiere Pfiff! beer and food tasting is coming up in two weeks - Sunday, August 17 - and there are a few spots at the table still remaining. More about the event can be found here. Whether you're a confirmed Brett-head or haven't the slightest clue what that even means, if you're in or around San Francisco and have a hankering for the wild side of new American brewing, you might want to join us.

Hints of a holiday ale, continued

What a difference a couple months makes, eh? At least not everything in my brewer's garden is an abject failure. Which reminds me: If anyone out there has any suggestions for using up all the mugwort and feverfew that grows in my yard like weeds, please let me know. Next up, heather and sweet gale...

The Session #18 - ...but once a year

Almost the definition of advertising cliché, "Christmas in July" is a post-Independence Day marketing assault that's inevitably leaked into the brewing communityin recent years. Chances are, alongside the car sales and outdoor furniture expos and everything! must! go! riding-mower clearances, there's invariably a booze dispensary near you pulling some leftover holiday wares out of their hopefully temperature-controlled back rooms and offering up a chance to indulge in some Bizarro World intoxication while they crank the AC and Bing to seasonally appropriate levels.
But for those of us who like to indulge in the creation of special, strong, spiced ales with that oh so holiday flair, there's no shame involved, since July is the perfect time to get the kettle out and start reminding ourselves what flavors go best with Contessas, as any good strong beer worth its gypsum salt is gonna need the next six months to shape up. For this month's Session, since we're talking about anniversary releases - once a year specialties that you'd otherwise only pop open for occasions of merit - we decided that it coincided quite fortuitously with the annual formulation of our holiday ale recipe, which we brew each year in early August . Along with formulating a recipe, of course, one must also do some tasting. And so we did. With glassware befitting the occasion, naturally.

(It's important to note that we're cheating a little bit here, pretending to ignore one of the subtler instructions for this month's Session: "a limited release anniversary beer from your favorite brewer homebrew stash.")

For a few years now, we've given out corked 750mL bottles of spiced Belgian ale to our worthy friends and family, and each year, thanks to some electronic goof or another, I artfully manage to misplace the recipe for the previous year's batch. So, I pour back over my notes, my shopping history, my dog-eared pages in Brew Like a Monk, and try to locate a old bottle of the stuff to sample in hopes it'll jog my memory. This time, we decided to go back two years, pulling the last of our 2006 bottles (of which I know there are some still floating out there, so if you're reading this, heed the warning below) and our second-to-last 2007 bottle. After dimming the lights, cleansing our palates, and getting Rock Band warmed up in lieu of the fireplace, we got down to work like it was the night before Christmas.

The '06 and '07 batches, while sharing identical ingredients in subtly altered proportions, turned out to be wildly different from each other when placed side-by-side. The '06 literally exploded as soon as the wire had been untied from the cork, yet stayed put in the bottle until it was ready to be poured. The '07, on the other hand, opened with a neatly clean pop, but devilishly tried to climb from the bottle in a steady cascade of foam once I'd set it aside to get the glasses ready. They were both similarly hued, with equally fluffy heads and generously effervescent, creamy mouthfeels, but that's where the similarities ended. I picked up on piles of black liquorice in the '06, whereas Des latched on to its grapey, coffee-ish qualities, ones we hadn't noticed when it was a younger bottle, while likening it to a less alcoholic Samichlaus. The '07, on the other hand, was more dubbel in character, reminding me initially of Ommegang, with strong, yeasty esters, and a brown sugar flavor that wrapped around the figgy maltiness that typically accompanies the style. Interestingly, any hints of the original spice additions would be nearly impossible to single out by name, which, as far as I'm concerned, is exactly the way it should be: The nearly imperceptible hops are replaced by a certain "spiciness" that offsets the malt, but it's an ambiguous enough effect that it lends to some fun guessing.

Just kidding about those boots.

They are, in the end, beers that so strongly reflect the sentiments of the holidays they're like liquid fruitcakes, which makes tasting them while your legs are still sore from waterskiing a bit of a contradictory experience. But, alas, these are the dilemmas we homebrewing beer blogger types must confront. So, without futher ado, here's the plucky little phoenix that arose from the tasting notes we gathered last night: a hastily drawn and perilously unchecked recipe for our 2008 holiday ale. Enjoy.

The Session is a blog carnival originated by Stan Hieronymus at Appellation Beer. This month's party is being hosted by The Barley Blog. For a summary of the Sessions thus far, check out Brookston's handy guide.

What vacation looks like

Let me show you it.

(Lang Creek Brewery's Tri-Motor Ale, courtesy America's most remote brewery.)

Fermentation Friday - Words of advice

Isn't it romantic?*

Embarking on a new hobby oftentimes involves a period of giddy excitement when first acquainting yourself with the lexicon, history, and mountains of reference material that surrounds the adventure of the new. Homebrewing is, not surprisingly, loaded with ample opportunities to immerse yourself in esoteric lingo. Each style has a history. You can get as scientific or as philosophical as you'd like. It has such a welcoming learning curve, you can crack the spine on a 300-page instructional text and make your first successful batch from the notes on the first two pages, getting deeper into the nuances as you eventually dog-ear the next 298.

And as it's a pastime that inspires equal amounts of good-willed advice and spirited debate, the question asked this month of homebrewing bloggers - What one tip would you give a beginner homebrewer before they brew their first batch and why? - caused a rift in this here household. Therefore, we're cheating the awesome power of that italicized "one" and giving our two separate answers to a question that will easily garner many, many more opinions.

That said, my one piece of advice to anyone taking the leap into brewing their own beer at home is simple: Taste more beer, more.

I'll pretend I don't hear the waves of agonized groaning, simpering pleas for mercy, and tormented, piteous whimpers for a compassionate alternative. No. You simply must drink more beer in order to achieve a level of confidence in your level of success, and to assemble your palette of understanding what exactly it is about the beers you enjoy that you yourself would want to capture and recreate. By all means, do not try to take the cheap way out, asking your local homebrew supplier or buddy or dirty old man Internet to write you up a clone recipe of a beer you had recently. It won't come out right, anyway. Instead, what is it exactly about that IPA you had the other day that made you want to take a stab at making your own? Is it something you can taste in another IPA from another brewery? Or is it unique? Do a side-by-side. Make some notes of some of the things you're coming across in the tasting, without editing out any comparisons you think don't make any sense. When you sit down and look at your scribbles, giggling over the part you wrote down about how when you burped, it tasted like you'd had grapefruit for breakfast, you might just come across something in your online research worth remembering when it comes time to make your own.

Getting more acquainted with the elements that make up your taste experience with beer with something like Meilgaard's flavor wheel can be especially eye-opening, more so when you consider the focal object, sitting at the eye of the wheel like the reflective image distiller at the center of an István Orosz anamorphosis, is a collector of all the various disparate, mysterious elements into the single experience we all know as a nice pint of beer. And rather than trying to bone up on stylistic descriptions and memorize the common descriptors for various specialty malts, open up that bottle of Schrödinger's dark ale and find out for yourself why it can coexist in a quantum state as both a porter and a stout. I don't think it's a hard sell to convince you that it's easier to learn about the taste of beer by tasting beer than it is to read about the taste of beer.

Not to mention how much more fun the person writing up the recipe will have, versus being asked to scrabble up a nice "wheat beer". When you've outlined your target flavors and aromas, along with the color, level of carbonation, idea of the level of alcohol involved, then you've got something worth comparing notes against when that first bottle of the batch gets opened. You'll be tasting deeper, likely enjoying it more, and preparing yourself for the slightly more advanced, and not terribly exciting nor worth talking about here, second stage of tasting. Find that hint of Moroccan spice you were looking for hidden amidst the raw cacao overtones first, then feel free to jot in the margins that it also smelled like microwave popcorn.

And there you have it. Shouldn't be too hard. Don't enjoy yourself too much taking this one piece of advice, though. It's all in the name of research, science, and the pursuit of a better life for all. Doing it while playing Rock Band only focus your attention even more.

Des' one piece of advice, on the other hand, being of sound mind and body, comes direct from the all-caps shouty text of the old instruction sheet that SF Brewcraft used to hand out, and can be summed up without need of excess verbiage: WATCH POT CAREFULLY MAY BOIL OVER.

This is especially true if you have a difficult to clean stovetop.

Many thanks to the Brew Dudes for hosting this month's Fermentation Friday, a monthly blogging carnival gathered around the topic of homebrewing, originated by Beer Bits 2.

* I'll leave it to twenty or so other people to comment on the importance of sterilizing your gear.

I leave you with Hugh

He would write his father notes about what he should do next. On one fateful day, Hugh received a message back from his father that would change his life.

Hugh had, again, written about how he would like to find a meaningful job that would take him places and make the name Hugh Malone known the world over. His father wrote back: “Son, you have done amazing things in your life already. You have helped your mother and me through the famine and the constant threat of war. You have always shown interest in helping Ireland and your countrymen. We could be no prouder of you than we are. You have given us great joy. I have no doubt that you will be able to pick up any trade you choose, especially with those two fine hands you have. And, who knows? Sometimes your future just hops out at you.”

“Tell your mother that one of the sheep, I believe it was Adeline, and two lambs have run off into the woods and that she should not expect me home for supper at sundown.”

At least that is the message that historians expect Donald Malone wrote to his son. No one can be sure. The only scraps of paper left from the message read: pick hops. Queen Maeve, on her way back to Hugh, caught a rabbit and in the hunt decimated the note tied around her leg. While Hugh and his mother watched their dinner get cold, Hugh wondered at his father’s concise message: pick hops.

Back next week, hopefully with wild tales of beer from the northern frontier. Until then...

PS It's a joke, albeit an obscure "only for beer geeks" one. Drop me a note if you're confused and care.