A label for a tiger

The bullet is bit: that tiger-brew I've been bragging about has finally got a name, and a label to go with it.
Thanks to the lovely Kazuyo-sana, my ham-fisted attempts at making this beer sound Japanese have come to fruition, and I hereby declare its name to be Kohaku.

Not sure about the left-hand thingies are, but Google agrees that these are kanji for Kohaku

Kohaku means (among other things) "amber", and the kanji themselves mean "tiger" and "Belgium". So, with Nihonnese poetics applies, this would come to mean something along the lines of "amber tiger from Belgium", which is aptly fitting.

Invoking my legendary Photoshop skills resulted in the following end product:

Left to right: Kohacu classic and Kohaku kiai

Counting down to the Kagami Biraki. So far, reactions have been positive, with the little kiai scoring surprisingly well. Curious what my sparring buddies will think of this...

Until then,

Greetz

Jo

Beer Geek Night: Gardez-vous!

Loving beer is hard work, and much of it involves long and tiring hours of sampling shady beers in the company of friends and fellow beergeeks.

With some trepidation we undertook the first what is to become a captilised Grand Tradition: a gathering of geeks, in the pursuit of a greater understanding of beer and all it entails. This first grand occasion we stepped way out of our comfort zone and took on three French beers.

Parce-que oui nide iou.

Only marginally generalised, we Belgians consider French beer to be about as drinkable as Dutch beer.
However, turns out there are regions in France which are actually quite renowned for their beers. Not entirely surprisingly, these regions happen to be so close to present-day Belgium that they were once part of historical Flanders.

Bière de Garde is a somewhat amorphously banded style of beer farmhouse ales, relatively quite heavy in terms of alcohol, and centered around a sweet malt base. I'd heard of the style before but it wasn't until I was in France last summer, desperately browsing the stores and supermarkets in search of anything that wasn't either Kronenbourg 1664, Pelforth Brune or the ubiquitous Leffe.
Lo and behold, this is what I found:

...in a stylish 50cl boozehead can.

Surprisingly, I kinda liked this one, and more extensive searching brought up a number of other beers of similar ilk, which the assembled Beer Geeks sat down to sample. All three came in stylish 75cl bottles with a champagne cork; a touch of flair I find quite appealing.

Jenlain then, being the benchmark as far as present-day Bières de Garde are concerned, is an amber beer, surprisingly delicate despite the heavy sweetness of the malty base. My memories of this beer turned out to be somewhat mellowed by long-distant summer days sur l'herbe, as I quickly grew tired of the monocline sweetness. A beer which needs chilling, and my cellar doesn't have enough power to make this beer really stand out. The assembled Beer Geeks were in agreement: this is not bad, but the Pride of Belgium is under no great threat. Pity, because I really wanted this one to put France on the beer map. Note that the canned beer and the more stylishly presented bottles are the same beer.

Next up was Grain d'Orge from the eponymous Brassier Grain d'Orge, another name of renown where Bières de Gardes are concerned.

"Malt kernel" is as fitting a name as any.

Lighter in colour and leaning towards dark blonde, I found this one to be less balanced and subtle than the Jenlain. Again, by no means a bad beer at all, but decidedly underwhelming, and after the Jenlain, the Grain d'Orge didn't stand a chance.

The last of my summer-stash was the 3 Monts, brewed by the almost-Belgian St-Sylvestre.

Note to Self: find out which three mountains.

Technically this is not a Bière de Garde, albeit only because the label doesn't claim it is one. Bières de Gardes aren't easily classifiable, but generally speaking, this one could be reckoned to be one of them. From my own point of view, I'd categorise it as a very unimpressing tripel-style beer, only with a distinctive absence of spices. What remains is a bit of a musty affair, just on the wrong side of the middle of the road.

The B side then. 

As a beer, it's a fine case in the study of tripels, which, when shorn of their curucao peels and coriander notes, become lackluster and a bit bland. As much as I'd wanted to give this nicely packaged bottle a chance, I found it to be dull and slightly unpleasant.

As a genre, if these three examples are anywhere near representative, Bières de Garde are not for everyone. I daresay that the experienced beer afficionado will find them lacking in imagination, and overly focused on sweet malts, and the heavy aromas thereof. Combined with the relatively high ABV (we're talking 8% ABV on average here), these aren't the thirst-quenchers I'd expect a farmhouse ale to be.

To finish the evening on a more uplifting note, we popped a bottle of La Chouffe. Since this is neither a tripel, nor a farmhouse ale, and in fact a little bit of both, it seemed fitting, if not entirely fair: the Ardennian gnome stood out in every aspect, and we didn't really need to read the label to recognise the impartance of spices in beers of this ilk. Anything over 7% ABV needs something, be it yeast, hops, spices or specialty agressive sppecialty malts to offset the stickiness of the heavy wort, and the booziness of the alcohol, and as far as I'm concerned, Bières de Garde fall short of the drinkable mark because of a lack of rounded flavour.

While this was never really a contest between France and Belgium, I  can see how France got the  reputation most Belgians still credit it with. Just across the border from two of the breweries mentioned is Saison territory, and the other one lies just a cork's throw Flanders proper. The beers however, could hardly be more drastivally different.

Beer Geek Night will continue with another headlight sometime next year.

Until then,

Greetz

Jo

The tiger stirs

Booyakasha!

Witness! Observe! Marvel! Jubilate! High fives all around! That ridiculous gangnam style dance!

Is that a beer or is that a beer?

One week of warm storage and this little tiger is already starting to show its teeth. Not only does it go PSHT when you uncap it, it also has a nice smooth carbonation and a decent head.

It's even somewhat transparent, if not entirely vertical

A hoppy, fruity nose, bold without being too ballsy, and a dry, bittersweet finish. Oh yes, this is everything I hoped it would be and more: it's got better head retention than most commercial beers I've poured recently (and trust me, they are legion). A bit harsh and resiny still in the hops department, but that's normal with a beer this young.

I'm all jumpy boinboinboingboing now; can't wait to share this with the lads and ladettes at the dojo. Now off to the basement with this batch, for another month of mellowing out. By the time the Kagami Biraki gets on its way, they should be utterly drinkable.

Next stop: designing a spiiffy label.

Until then!

Greetz

Jo

Bottled tiger

Despite rumors to the contrary, the Chinese don't actually bottle cute kittens for sheer spitefulness.

Because the Party demands it!

I, on the other hand, have been bottling my budding little tiger called Torakun. It's been a blast, between helping the kids with their homework, forgetting not to go to karate practice because of ongoing examinations at the dojo, and cleaning the cats' litter boxes (hmmmm...that picture up there is becoming mighty alluring right now) and trying to restore the semblance of order to our otherwise spotless domicile.
The end result is two cases of beer. One is a green-capped case of Torakun Regular (Japanese translation forthcoming), in sturdy 33cl bottles, because a sweaty karateka needs rehydration in hefty doses. The other is a case of white-capped Torakun-with-extra-Kiai, because kicking is better when accompanied by a bit of screaming.

Up into the Hot Room for a week or so, and fingers crossed for carbonation.

Intermediary samples were very promising, and I'm especially looking forward to the Kiai version, which definitely had a bit more punch then my 500ml test sample.

In a week or two, both should be drinkable, which means I've got about another month or so to come up with a spiffy label, for a properly celebrated Kagami biraki.

Until then (probably sooner, no worries),

Greetz

Jo

How's the beer, you say?

A long overdue status update on my brews then.

Red&BruCap isn't doing very well. After some weeks in warm storage, followed by two more in cold, the beer still refuses to carbonate. And while I think it's tasty, I never intended it to be served flat.

Just so.

My guess is that the estimated 11% ABV is just too much for the Moinette yeast to handle. Graphically speaking, the yeast has pee-ed itself to death.

That picture in your mind should be graphic enough already.

I'm going to try and be patient with this one, emploing various tricks of the trade to get this secondary fermentation thing on a roll. If temperature control, turning the bottles upside down and playing Eine Kleine Nachtmusik don't work, I'll need to manually reopen every bottle, add some sturdy yeast, and recap'em.

But I'm still filled with hope about this one.

No not that one.

Torakun, my little dojo tiger, is doing well. I siphoned the beer off the yeast sediment after a good week of lagering, and then put it back in the celler, with some added Pacific Jade hops for dry-hopping. Lab tests run during the first week of lagering were optimistic: the hop is robustly present, and the Munich malt gives the beer a certain toothiness which is fitting for a wee tiger. One carboy will become the KIAI version, with a secret ingredient added for extra punch.

Sometime this week, it'll be bottling time again, and Bob, you better make sure this tiger doesn't become another sick puppy.

Until then!

Greetz

Jo

Haver & Gort (de Molen)

When the cap of your bottle of beer is sealed with a layer of thick black wax, then you know you're holding a bit a cellar beast. If said beast comes with this spiffy typical de Molen label, anticipation soars through the rooftop.

Pic not actually mine since camera AWOL.

De Molen use semi-funny, ampersand-empowered names for their beers, and this one is no exception. Haver&Gort translates quite literally to "Oats&Grits", which makes sense when you read the label. As usual, you're left in the dark as to exactly what kind of "Extra strong beer" this will be, but I was informed by those in the know: this is an (Russian) Imperial Stout.

Which means "Pimped Up Kickass Stout Extreme To The Max" for the uninitiated

It pours like syrup; a thick, almost gloopy, pitch black monster of a brew, topped with a surprisingly lively tan head, which settles to a creamy froth. Oh my, what a sight.

In the nose, you get an explosive richness which I've come to expect from the Molen's heavy stouts. You get some coffee, a bit of chocolate, and lots and lots of dark dried fruits. Figs and apricots, mostly, overlayed with a boozy, almost peaty maltiness. There's something vastly intriguing about the nose of this one, an intangible whiff of smoky heat, like the residual smell of a woodstove on winter mornings. Just a smidgeon of grainy, cerealy, oatmealy suaveness too.
I've no idea just what kind of barrel the Haver&Gort was aged in, but I'm guessing it's whisky. Never fear: the oak is there, and just a hint of peat, but it's never the main feature.

The mouthfeel is perversely sensual: silken, smooth and full bodied like a wanton maiden. Low carbonation, which is just what I expect from a 12.5% ABV stout, and the booziness just adds to the sensuality of the mouthfeel. A truly sensational sip.
Aroma-wise, there's layers and layers and more layers still, of peat and smoke, and coffee and the aforementioned figs, with that gentle, but pervasive undercurrent of oats and black fruits. With the aroma comes the realisation that part of the intangibility I mentioned earlier is caused by clever little winks to that other heavy beer style, the barley wine (recently dubbed Quadruple by beergeeks and commercial scumbags alike): a heavy, dense impression of very complex maltiness.

It's mainly a bitter beer, caused by the presence of a number of roasted and smoked barley malts, and the presence of hops is hardly noticable, if at all. A high gravity yields a sweetness which, combined with the incredible mouthfeel, perfectly complements the bitterness and makes this a treat unlike any other.

While this is a great beer, it's not quite the beast I anticipated. In fact, it is a stunning exercise in the balance of extremes, resulting in a peaceful, yet powerful equilibrium of bitter and sweet, of bold and temperate, of guts and glory.

A word of advice: stock up on a couple of bottles of this brew. Store them safely in your cellar, and then forget about them. Or pretend you can. After a couple of months, give in temptation, and on a quiet evening, taste just one. Take your time. Steal the moment.

Then, for the next twenty five years, remember to forget those other bottles. They really are that good.

Greetz

Jo

PS: oh, you were wondering about my brews? I'll tell you more about those in just a few more days.

Birth of a Tiger

No karate training today, so I'm using this lazy Sunday to do some more brewing.
With the kagami biraki drawing nearer each day, I'm preparing a little something for all those charming people that kick my ass two nights a week (and Sunday mornings too if they're not having an examination).

Kagami biraki means the opening a barrel of sake which sounds like a hell of a lot more fun than visiting Gran and Gramps for the holiday season

So, a new brew for a new year (brewers need to plan ahead by at least a month or two). Since I want to reduce the risk of the dojo becoming known as The House of Inebriation I decided to brew a light beer (pilsner or lower in terms of ABV) but with a bit of punch, preferrably with something other than its name hinting at distant Japan.

I really wanted to use a Japanese hop (there's currently only one kown to Westen Civilisation) but I couldn't find it in time. Instead, I settled for a New Zealand hop which is supposed to imbue my brew with lemon-and-peppercorn aromas. Sounds like a treat already.

Imbue by brew, babies!

I might contemplate adding some more mysteries of the Orient at various stages but that will depend on how adventurous I'm feeling by then.

For the Constant Reader curious about the state of my Red-&BruCap beer...expect an update soon but for the moment, suffice to say that it taste pretty damn great. If only the yeast would consider waking up again to carbinate my beer...

Until then!

Greetz

Jo

PS: "Tiger? Where?" I hear you say. While the name is still a work in progress, I'm calling this li'l buddy Torakun, meaning "Little Tiger".

Bottles!

Ânother giant leap forward! After two weeks of lagering-slash-dryhopping, my brew has been successfully transferred into yet another vessel: the bottle. This next-to-last recipient comes courtesy of my carefully planned consumption of numerous beers over the past couple of weeks, saving me both a trip to the local booze-mall and a lenghty explanation to the staff as to why I'd possibly be needing some empty bottles, when their entire business plan revolves around them selling me bottles which are not.

Several steps were required to separate the beer from the hops which have been saoking in it, but the end result is a suprisingly clear brew, with a big, bold, ballsy hop character. I added about 7 g /l of bottling sugar prior to the final siphoning step, to give the remaining yeast something to chew on whilst it resides in the bottle. This last bout of fermentation, while comparetively minor, is absolutely necessary unless you're brewing flat beer. The yeast will produce more carbon dioxide, which, thanks to the bottle cap, will pressurise the bottle, and become suspended into the brew. In other words: this is when the beer will become fizzy.

Hopefully not too fizzy

Another lesson about brewing I learned today was one about yield: instead of the estimated 20 l final product, I ended up with a somewhat underwhelming seven.

Seven liters of pure bliss. Count'em. Seven.

Much can be accounted for during the brew itself: I didn't use enough sparging water, resulting in a lower volume after the boil (albeit with drastically higher SG).
During the various siphoning steps between then and now, another estimated 2 liters were lost since the unwanted sediment takes up quite a bit of volume. Also, dryhopping implies that a quantity of beer will be soaked up by the hops, and will be lost as well.

So, seven liters of my first real brew. Proud? Hell yeah!
The 25cl bottles with the blue caps contain the normal version of the beer (working name BruCap) , the red ones contain the double dose of Cascade (working name RedCap).

A few more weeks of conditioning and then we're on to the real deal: the tasting.

Until then!

Greetz

Jo

PS: for those in the know, this is a Redcap.

..although I'm hoping mine will be slightly less unpleasant...

Movin' on down

The saga continues with the ever more beerlike brew being transferred from the cozy warmth of the boiler room, to the cooler climes of the basement, where it can stare in awe at all the adult beers incarcerated there, awaiting their consumption by yours truly.

But before locking them up, I added some extra hops to both jars. Using two small batches i'd set aside during the siphoning stage last week, I did some experimating in the time since the jugs started lagering. I added 2 g/l of Cascade hops to one batch, and an exual dose of Challenger hops to the other.

Five days later, the effect is remarkable: the beer has cleared significantly, and much of the harsh resiny flavour has mellowed out. More importantly, the added hops have imbued the beer with a fresh, ethereal aroma, taking it to an entirely new level.

The comparison between both hop species is also quite revealing. The Challenger is typically used as a bittering hop, while the Cascade is mostly an aroma hop. The former, while adding some hoppy qualities, left a bit of unpleasantness behind, an earthy, almost soapy flavour. It also strongly echoed the bitter basis of the beer, empasising rather than complementing the brew.
The latter hop, the Cascade, did exactly what I wanted dryhopping to achieve: the nose exploded with green and grassy hoppy-ness, and the overall flavour and mouthfeel were much mellower and elevated.

So instead of splitting my brew in two different dry-hop brew, I've decided to stick to "just Cascade" for now. One jug I will subject to the normal dose (2 g/l), the other will take a double dose.

Because I like hops

With both jugs generously supplied with hops, I've now banished them the basement, where they will undergo lagering. In a week or so, it'll be bottling time.

Until then!

Greetz

Jo

Movin' on up

Nil desperandum, Constant Reader! I haven't given up on this beer thing yet. As mentioned before, a large part of brewing can be summed up as "try to forget about your developing brew while the yeast does its part". And that's precisely what I've been doing these past couple of weeks.

Careful measurement has revealed that the SG has dropped to 1004, and while the yeast might still be able to scavenge any remaining sugar from the liquid grave my beer is becoming, the presence of several billion dead yeast cells is also likely to impart a bit of an icky taste to it if I leave them there for too long.

So, on to the next stage: secondary fermentation!

Preceded by a spurt of expert siphoning

That's the boiler room there in the background, which I'm using in lieu of a temperature controlled fermentation box.
Leaving the dead yeast cells on the bottom of the primary fermentation vessel, I'm left now with two containers' worth of almost-finished beer.

Witness the birth of an awesome brew

I know, it looks kinda murky in those bottles, but when poured into a glass, it really does look a bit like proper beer.

Remembering the creed "Waste not, want not", I drank the sample from which I measured the SG, and while it is still a bit wry and harsh in the mouth, it's beginning to develop a bit more character, which I hope to enhance by dryhopping(*) with the two hops I used during the boiling phase.

(*) Dry-hopping means adding some extra hops to the beer after fermentation, imparting extra aroma, rather than bitterness

From left to right: Challenger, beer, and Cascade

I developed a tasting technique which shall henceforth be named "Slurp'n'Sniff". With a bit of beer in your mouth, you slurp in a bit of air, whilst sniffing the hops. This way, you get an idea of what the hop aroma would do to your beer when applied as a dry hop.

Sampling them side by side revealed some interesting differences as well as complementing factors. Challenger, which is this beer's bittering hop (added early during the boiling phase) has a slightly soapy character, a bit earthy and just a wee bit introspective.
Cascade, while also adding a bit to the bitterness, was added quite late during the boil, has a distinctly more uplifting aroma, slightly piney, resiny and just the thing I want to come through in the final aroma.
But as different as they are, they are also quite similar, with a common base note of solid, hoppy (duh) intangibility.

I set aside two small containers with the last clear dregs of the lot, and added 1 g/l of hops to them, one different hop to each container. While the two large jugs will undergo lagering for the next couple of days/weeks, I'll be using the smaller vessels to determine the proper dosages, combination and duration of the dry-hopping stage.

Until then!

Greetz

Jo

Patience. Its own reward.

Almost two weeks after B-day and the beer has finally dropped below 1010 SG.

This is what Google thinks 1080 looks like.

That means I (and inherently you, Constant Reader, too) will need to practice a little more patience. Until the SG stabilises, I can't proceed to the next level; i.e. lagering.

Was a time when their opinion mattered.

Until then!

Greetz

Jo

Alchemy in action

It really is a bit of a miracle how brewing suddenly turns from chemistry to unadulterated alchemy. The simple introduction of a benevolent strain of micro-organisms is enough to trigger the magic, and turn a sugary bitter concoction into, well, beer.

For the past week, my beer has been fermenting in the boiler room. Every other day or so, I need to do that slosh slosh slosh thing to stir the yeast from its slumber and get it working again, but so far, it's been doing what it's supposed to do.




In layman's terms: booze & bubbles



For the last 24 hours or so, fermentation seems to have stopped altogether. Whether this is a good sign or not remains to be determined.
With science!

CO2 intoxication causes blurry Internets

What you're seeing here is a densimeter in action, which measures the specific gravity of the brew.
Dumbed-down a little, all it does is float in a liquid (like beer). The denser the liquid, the more it floats. The more sugar is left in the beer, the denser it will be. More sugar in the beer means the yeast hasn't finished its plate and needs to take seconds. Or thirdses.

In other word: a high SG reading means the yeast still has work to do. And 1020 is still quite high, even though the OG (original specific gravity, before fermentation was initiated) was 1085.

So I'm leaving the brew to stand for a few more days, protected by a cover of carbon dioxide and yeasty froth. Either it will wake up again with the munchies, or it won't. If it doesn't, then perhaps it's just "used up" (I seem to've cultivated a yeast which is renowned for its sluggishness), or perhaps it can't handle the booze.

Alcohol is, after all, a by product of yeast fermentation.
Refuse, if you will.
Saccharomyces sewage.

Yeast-pee.

Time will tell whether 't is one or t'other.

In the meantime, I discovered that an added advantage of the hydrometer is that you need a considerable sample size to measure the density. About 100 ml should do, and what oh what is a scientist to do with that when the measuring's all done and dealt with?

Right.

Because a good scientist is never wasteful. Although sometimes wasted.

So far, it's beer alright. The malt has lost its saccharine stickiness (thank you, yeasties), and the hops are prominently present. Harshly resin-like, but already mellowing and blending a bit with the solid mouthfeel of the malt. Flat, of course, since the liquid cannot contain the produced carbon dioxide without some sort of pressure keeping it suspended.

A few more days (weeks?) and I'll be lagering. The observant reader may have noticed the utter lack of floating yucky bits in my beer sample. That's all thanks to gravity, and one of the reasons I'll be lagering in a clean vessel in a couple of days (week? please let it be days and not weeks).

Until then!

Greetz

Jo

 

 

Solitary isolation

For its own sake, I have banished my budding beer to warmer climes. For the past few days, fermentation repeatedly ceased, and I had to slosh the bucket to bring the sedimenting yeast back into suspension. Not only will this definitely do no good to clear up my murky brew, it will also lead to all kinds of off flavours I really could do without.
Turns out the Moinette yeast I'm using is a saison yeast, which are notorious for requiring rather high fermentation temperatures. Not that this makes a whole lot of sense to me since saison was a summer beer, and hence brewed in the coldest months of winter, but hey, that's brewers' logic for you.

As I was reluctantly championing the idea of a yeastbox to the Missus, she spoke thusly (more or less verbatim):

"Darling dearest, do you really want to be tinkering with old refrigerators, dangerous electronics, various bits of carpentry and isolation and no doubt highly dangerous equipment and tools, just to build a box to keep your beer warm when we have a perfectly suitable boiler room upstairs?"

Men of the world, take heed: without the collective aid of our Missuses (*), there would be no beer in the world. I'm sure of it.

Because the world would be a poorer place without either.

(*) Missus-es. Not Miss-uses. That's another blog you're searching for.

So up the stairs with the bucket, into the comfortably warm confines of the boiler room, the warmest (and most reliably warm) room in the house. Another slosh slosh slosh just to make sure the yeast knows I'm serious this time, and off to bed.

And yes, the Missus was right, as she so often is. This morning, my beer was steadily churning out CO2 at about one centi-bubblium (that's NuBru speak for "one bubbly fart per minute"), without the need to slosh it around anymore.

A keen eye shall be kept on the evolving brew, and frequent updates shall be posted. For great justice!

Greetz

Jo

Lazy yeast

Not even 48 hours into the main fermentation and the yeast has fallen asleep. Where the airlock was happily bubbling away at one bubble every 5 seconds (I'm not sure if there's a scientific unit of measurement for this, so I shall call it "the bubblium"), this morning I found the fermentation vessel to be sound asleep.
Hibernating.
Comatose.
Flatlined.

A cow of a mild anxiety mooed loudly in my ear all day, and after acquiring some valuable advice from the more expert brewers lurking all over the Interwebzthingy, I decided to shake the whole thing back to life. At 1052 SG, the beer (yes, I told you already it's called beer by now) contains far too much fermentable sugar to even contemplate lagering.

Let alone bottling.

Grabbed the bucket and slosh slosh slosh until all the yeast was back in suspension and now we're back to a yeast which is happily churning again at a rate of roughly 1 bubblium.

Hooray, rejoice, and go yeast, go!

Greetz

Jo

B-day roundup

With a nose full of sea air and a headful of dramatic lack of sleep, it's time to round up this first brew day.

Yesterday (okay, I'll concede the point and call it "this morning" if you insist) saw me connecting my 12-plate counterflow wort cooler to the kitchen sink water supply.

All technicalities aside: a wort cooler is essentially a piece of "boys-n-their-toys" hardware which will (du-uh) cool the wort from boiling temperature to about 20°C in no time. Rapid cooling is essential as it will minimize the risk of infecting the wort with all kinds of nasties which float abundantly in the air.

It looks a bit like something someone salvaged from a trainwreck.

See those tubes? Cold water flows one way, hot wort the other.

At least, that's the theory.

In my case, cold water flowed one way, and nothing much was flowing the other way. Not consistently, anyway, and after more than an hour of fiddling with tubes and cursing in increasing vociferosity, the kitchen floor found itself adorned with a nicely congealing puddle of sticky wort.
As it was somewhat past bedtime by then(*), I decided to take what brewers call "a shortcut" and simply use my perforated bucket to filter the now hand-cool wort into the fermenting vessel.

(*) correction. It was nearly time to get up again.

The result, apart from a kitchen floor which made my socks sound like velcro, was this magnificently clear and translucent wort:

Those floating bits are "added vitamins and micro nutrients".

There's probably ways to get rid of all that muck, but at 3AM, my inclination was to "sod it all". I pitched the yeast, which I'd reawoken earlier on by dousing it with 1060 wort.

And whaddayaknow?

The world's first monochromatic pizza margharita

The yeast was doing so well that by this morning it had lifted quite a lot of that floating muck to the surface, where it was sitting on top of the yeast head. Valuable lesson: treat yeast right and it'll clean up your shit for you.

I skimmed off most of the hoppy bits and the brown scum, leaving the head mostly intact so as not to compromise the sanitary state of my beer (because yes it's now called beer at this stage).

Fitted an airlock and now it's time to sit back and watch the bubbles.

...and protect the beer from unsanitised intruders...



So there you have it. That's most of the messy work done. The rest is less messy but infitely harder: let the yeast do its work. Resist the temptation to constantly peek into the fermenting vessel. Do not obsessively check the airlock. Stop worrying about SG. Drink great beers without despairing my own will be crap.

I've made a fair bundle of mistakes this first time around, which I'll happily outline at some later time.

Until that time,

Greetz

Jo

B-Day continues into the next day

There.

It is done.

On top of a malfunctioning cooling unit, leading to a wort-drenched kitchen area, my camera has run out of batteries so I can't even show you what the end result is.

But it's done. You can all sleep safely now, whilst I try and clean up this mess.

More details tomorrow. I mean later today.

Greetz

Jo

B-day!

It's Brew Day!

Well, technically, it's B+1-day, and the brew is almost half done. Timing really isn't my forte, so instead of around noon-ish, I finally kicked the whole thing in motion sometime after dinner. Not ideal, but Saturdays are sparse, and quality time even sparser.

So instead of milling, I went grocery shopping.
Instead of starting a mash, a made scrambled eggs, something the kids call Crabs Burgers, and noodles for lunch.
Instead of filtering, I took the kids out and sang for the climate.
And instead of boiling wort, I prepared dinner.

I cannot for the life of me say that this was a day I'd rather have spent differently.

But work needs to be done or else this beer will remain loose components for ever.

So I got me some assistance for the milling.

Some home brewers use a drill. I think of the climate.

Adjusting the mill to achieve the proper coarseness was fiddly, but I got the hang of it. Witness this quality grist:


Yes I have very small hands and I like purple nail polish.

All that grist wound up in that nifty double bucket thing I told you about some time ago. Poured 14.2 liters of 69° water on top of it and added hot water until I got a steady 66°C, and then left the whole thing more or less alone for about an hour and a half, which was just about enough to put my lovely assistant to bed. Some whining and moping was exhibited, since said assistant really wanted to, well, assist me further. Looking at the time now, I'm glad I used my sternest Daddy-mode and got her to cooperate on the "get some sleep now and help me clean up the mess tomorrow if you insist".

Filtering took forever, but I'd been warned about that, and while I cannot honestly call my wort "clear", I think it may just be about good enough for a first time.

 

Okay, I confess. I "forgot" to take a picture of my cloudy wort.

 

The filtered wort went into my supersize casserole, which I purchased off a nice gentleman called Mustafa near the Brussels Red Light District, which I happened to be passing...through...on my way...to...work no really I can explain all that.

 

 The steaming vessel itself

 

 

When this finally came to the boil (and I really need to find some way of boiling 20-odd liters of fluid that doesn't take forever), I added these little babies:

 

 

Because I always cook sideways.

 

 

Those are Challenger hops, which will serve as the main "bittering" hops. The long boil will not leave much in terms of aroma, but should provide a nice bitter foundation for the beer.

 

I also added 1 kg of dark brown sugar, which will do three things for my beer:

1. make it darker
2. make it heavier in terms of alcohol
3. make it less sweet. Yeah. I know. Someday I'll explain, but until then you'll just have to take my word for it.

Aroma hops need to be added and the boil needs to complete, but you'll be reading more about that later on.

 

Till then!

 

Greetz

 

Jo

 

 



Autoblog this, IFTTT!

Got a nifty new toy :)

That should take care of all this Blogger-to-Facebook-and-Back--Again crap.

Let's give this baby a spin then :)

 

Blood. Sweat. Tears. Beers.

I'm rapidly becoming a fan of De Molen brewery. So far, I haven't had a single brew of theirs that disappointed. The fact that they're Dutch, and hence share a troubled history with Belgium, combined with the ever-prevailing Belgian prejudice that the Dutch brew shit beers, makes this an all the more impressive feat.

Tonight, I'm having a sip of their Bloed, Zweet & Tranen (gotta love those big fat baroccy names they give their beers).

...with a nigh-on sacrilegious misuse of a Belgian beer glass

A deeply dark-brown pour, black until you hold it against the light, with a soft and fluffy beige head. Lots of enthusiasm from the foam, so pourer beware: this beer froths.

The nose is intriguing: you get the smoke up front, but not in a really big-ass chimney way like the Rook&Vuur had. This is a gentler smoke, which is more easily mellowed out by the downy head. Touches of wood, a hint ot of vanilla maybe. The link with whisky is easily made, but this is not the harsh, iodine tang of Laphroaig and related Islay whiskies, but rather the mildly laid-back smoothness of a Lowlander or Speyside. Smoke, yes, but not as peaty as the Rook&Vuur.

The aroma is delicate, which I didn't expect to find in a smoky beer. More than Rook&Vuur, the BZ&T puts a sober but present aroma of smoke in the front, with a lingering, sticky-sweet taste of roast barley in the back. Much more balance between aroma and flavour/taste than the Rook&Vuur, which was all about smoke and peat. Again, I get faint echoes of vanilla around a firm of base of roast barley, with a fleeting whiff of burned caramel. Meaty, perhaps. Dry smoked sausages, or the rafters of the smoke house.

After a few sips, the hops finally pierce through in the nose: a pleasantly harsh, resin-like tang which really works quite well with the smoke. A bit reminiscent of burning pine wood, the scent of a winter bonfire.

Only bigger

According to the label, only Sladek hops were used (both as bittering and aroma hop), and I'm intrigued. I like resin (Retsina, yes please), and a resiny hop adds a little bit of punch to a beer I generally tend to like. Again so here. Sladek, I have my eye on you.

Seriously, that could be a line from a kick-ass movie

From what I understand of old-style UK ales, this is something resembling (or based on) the Porters of about a century ago, only with a more ABV. The use of smoked malt, combined with the whisky malt, makes this "something else", as most brews by De Molen seem to be, but I like the little wink to the past this one makes.

Overall, this is a truly recommendable brew. It's different alright, but in a good way. It's a smoke beer that doesn't seem to go out of its way to make you burp smoke rings all evening, while still retaining a firm rooting in old-school smoke (a mellow rauchbier or a Porter of yore) and contemporary flirting with whisky flavours. Much more so than the Rook&vuur, this is a brew for anyone with an interest in beer, who'd like to have a brush with "something else".

Although the palate is unusual, it is less of a session beer than Rook&Vuur. In the right season (winter evenings sound about right, or a chilly but clear late-autumn afternoon), I can see myself asking for another one. And perhaps another one unless I'm driving.

Hats off to De Molen.

These guys know how to brew.

You're starving. Now go on a diet.

All right, you can all stop worrying now, the Yeast family are fine.


After transferring my captivated yeast colony to a larger container, it looked like all activity had ceased. Turns out they were starving: the SG(*) had dropped to about 1014, which is way below the comfort zone of my budding buddies.

(*) The specific gravity of a liquid describes how much more dense than water it is. In the case of wort, it is indicative of how much sugar is still available for the yeast to munch, and hence to grow, on.

So I topped up the broth with some extra wort, cleverly calculated to be of a sufficient SG to come up with a total of 1040 again, which should be enough (*) to get the yeast going again.

(*) But not too much. Yeast can pretty picky and delicate, especially at the cultivating stage. It wouldn't do to overcompensate by dousing my recuperating colony with wort of, say, SG 1080. Just like you don't save a starving child by forcefeeding it a double Whopper with extra cheese.

So, feed the hungry so the thirst shall have drink. Eventually. The Yeasts were happy with theirextra bento boxes, and after a few hours, a nice white head had reformed on top of the wort (no pic, you'll have to take my word for it).

With still about 4 days to go till brewing day, I heeded the advice of the learned and stopped feeding the yeast for a while. Fitted the bottle with an airlock and allowed them to come to rest for a bit.

Airlock. No seriously.

Three benefits from this resting period:

1. I won't have to keep feeding the yeast for 4 more days. It's a bit of a hassle, what with the risk of infection imposing a serious level of sanity from my part.
2. Extending from this, I will have a manageable volume of yeast starter by the time I need to pitch it, instead of 5 liters of the stuff
3. the yeast, which now somewhere its 100th generation since I started cultivating it, can have its first fling with anaerobic respiration and (yay) alcohol

Tomorrow evening, D-day-minus-one, I'll feed it again so it'll be all ready and gung-ho by the time I get to pitch it on D-day.

Till next time!

Greetz

Jo

Not quite settled after moving

The Yeast family have all moved out to a bigger place. Since I'll need to scale up the yeast starter in order to achieve a decent volume when the time comes to pitch, I've transferred them to a 5 liter jug.

This morning, they looked just fine.

After aeration

However, when left unattended, the head seems to subside somewhat, and turn a not-quite-so-pleasant off-beige color.

I'm not sure what's causing this, but it could just be that the yeast is slowing down for lack of oxygen. Carbonation has almost completely halted, so it looks like it's gone back to sleep.

Not sure how to take it from here, but it's clear that I need to do something.

Greetz

Jo


 

Go forth, and multiply

My yeast is doing good. Not great, if I'm to believe the words of more experienced brewers, but good enough to make my happy.

It's been five days since I kidnapped a few milliliters of yeast out of a Moinette bottle, and it looks like they're doing fine. Scaling up the volume of wort to allow the yeast to propagate has brought me to about 400ml of yeast primer now. With six more days to go till brewing day, I'm in good spirits alright.

Time to look for a bigger apartment

Some carbonation going on, with a steady stream of tiny bubbles rising from the slurry at the bottom to the white foam on top. In fact, so much carbonation that I've replaced the screw-top cap with a wad of cotton. I've had some messy experience with exploding bottles of ginger beer in the past and I'm not going there again.

So tonight, the Saccharomyces family are moving out, and into a bigger vessel.

Stay tuned!

Greetz

Jo

 

Life!

This were looking grim this morning. The first rays of the mid-september sun awoke the sound of dismayed groaning, a bit of wailing and the occasional gnashing of the teeth.

The surface of my slowly awakening yeast colony was dotted by little white islands of, for want of a better word, muck.

This can't be good, can it?

That, my fellow uninitiated yeast enthusiasts, looks like mould to me. A quick and cautious sniff, however, revealed no suspicious odours, so I left things as they were. But I admit: the spirit of the moment was lost and I was about ready to pour the contents of the flask, microbiological denizens and all, into the sink.

Read that last paragraph again. Notice the past tense? Notice how the tension builds up, and you're left wondering how things went from there?

Oh enough already, here's what things look like right now:

This must be good, mustn't it?

Now hold your horses, I know what you're thinking. "But that looks even muckier than before! Why don't you trash the whole thing for it starts to stink up the place?"

But no! See that foamy mess between the clots of the other white mess? That's the yeast head forming! We're in the clear! They live!

THEY!

LIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVEEE!

(A quick recap for the slow-witted or the unaware: the yeast I'm cultivating is a top-fermenting yeast. This means that as it gets more active, it'll form a white, dense head of yeasty froth on top of the wort. And what we're seeing here is the birth of that very head. Yes, you read that right: we're watching the birth of a head)

But wait! It gets even better!

There's a reason why the above is a movie clip and not another boring still picture: it moves! There's life in this muck, and the rising bubbles indicate that the yeast is busy producing carbon dioxide. Of course, I don't want it to be producing too much of that; I'd rather have it focus on producing more yeast, but hey, we're on a roll here!

All this notwithstanding, I'm still set to start a parallel batch of Westmalle yeast. Because pessimism isn't all about the glass being half empty, but also about being prepared for the worst. As long as the yeast isn't more active, it's still at risk of being infected by all sorts of nasties which consider wort to be the ideal breeding grounds. And I don't want moulds, bacteria or duck-billed platypi pissing in my wort, thank you very much.

Go little yeasties, go! You're doing great!

Greetz

Jo