Beer Geek Oddyssey: Hispania!

First off, an apology. This blog entry has been long overdue, but hey, it's the holidays.

Holidays for a true BeerGeek mean just more work, and more opportunities to score some new and exciting brews.
I'd been told the craft revolution is really happening on the Iberic Peninsula, so with anticipation soaring, we set out, diagonally across France (where, it saddens me to say, the revolution is still so deep underground it may only be experienced if one applies a shovel) into Iberia proper.

Catalunya to be more precise.

Pretty much like most European contries, the zythological topography of Spain is dominated by a couple of national/local superbrands (Damm and San Miguel) and the usual noxious international megabrews you'll find the world over (Heineken, Amstel and the ubiquitous AB/InBev). I steered clear of the latter but a word on the former: Spanish megabrew is mostly okay, in an easy, inoffensive "it's hot and a need a really cold drink" kinda way. Most of the Spanish megabreweries have at least one decent lager on offer, which is what you'll be ordering if you ask for a canya.

That beer-shaped thing in the foreground.

While it'd be easy to mistake these Spanish cervezas for pilsners, they are in fact not. Most of them, if not all, have a bit of rice in the malt mix, sometimes a bit of corn. The corn varieties are the least savoury, reminding me of generic American lagers. The rice varieties are ok, really. In the hot summer sun, they get the job done and any beer that makes you want another as soon as you see the bottom of the glass is fine by me. Unassuming, smiley-faced quenchers.

First stop, then, to test the waters: the local supermarket. Expect those same cervezas you just had at the bar, canned or bottled (go for cans if possible; the Spanish sun does not treat beer in transparent bottles kindly). And lo and behold: a whole section of "specialty" beers. Most of them from the same handful of megabreweries, but five years ago, supermarkets simply didn't stock them.
Here's a handful of the ones I sampled.

Voll Damm (Doble Malta)

Märzen in July. In Spain. Makes total sense to me.

Of all the Spanish commercial breweries, Damm is the one least likely to let me down. Their Estrella is the archetypal Spanish cerveza, and this double malted hybrid between a spécial Belge and a märzen is quite okay. It's nothing special, mind, but sometimes, that's all you're likely to get. Don't expect big bold flavours here, nor even anything subtle like you'd expect in a well-poured Bolleke. I don't really see the point of drinking a 7.2%ABV beer in this weather if you're only getting a relatively thin-bodied, lightly malted brew, but given the rest of the commercial range of beers, this is a welcome change of style.

Bock Damm (Negra Munich)

"Black". Ish.

Notice a trend? Most of what we're seeing here is German in style if not in function. Some of the cans even had a bit of Reinheitsgebot blather on them. Nothing wrong with that, but it's saying something about Spain's lack of zythological identity. Here we have a beer which can't decide whether it's a darkish dunkelbock or a lightish schwartzbier. Like the Voll, the Bock is okay, if lacking in ballsy gutsiness. Nothing inherently wrong with it, except perhaps an utter lack of, well, espiritu catalàn.

San Miguel 1516

Now in an fancier bottle!

Here's a "true" pilsner, which apparently won gold in the World Beer Awards in 2012. Now I'm no beer judge, and pilsners are a dime a dozen anyway, but this one was, again, merely okay. Sometimes, that's all a beer needs to be, but it makes me wonder about the contenders who didn't go home with a  trophy in 2012.

Onwards then! Things sort of lose focus once you see fancy bottles with gold writing on the labels, but a true scientist never shirks his duty.

San Miguel Selecta XV

Not my pic. Señores in the background unknown by me.

This is where things get dodgy. What we have here is something which we call a specialty beer. Irony being what it is, this term covers a wide spectrum of beer, many of which are anything but special. This Selecta epitomises the current state of afairs where Spanish commercial brewing is concerned. It's just trying too damn hard to be something it is not: special. Too much alcohol in a watery brew. A whiff of hops but utterly devoid of direction and focus. A slightly unpleasant bitterness which hints of chemicals. Drink it ice-cold and it's barely enjoyable. Drink it slightly too warm (i.e. five minutes after pouring it straight from the fridge) and it becomes unpleasant enough to give up on it. A bottle covered with pretentious descriptions tops it off: this is a Spanish mutt, crawling with the lice of Belgium's Specialty Beer tradition (*).

*) A bit of off-tangent ranting on "Belgian Specialty Beers": do not mistake the word "specialty" with "special". Belgium has idly been wallowing on its laurel-scented bed called "Beer Country of the World". While it's true that Belgium hosts a staggering number of brewers and beers, what's truly staggering is how few of them are truly special, despite being promoted as "specialty beer". In fact, any beer proclaimed to be "special" tends to be conformistically uniform and devoid of identity. Self-proclaimed specialty beers are seldom special at all, but this is true in any country, not just Belgium.

Cruzcampo Gran Reserva

Note to Self: inquire about World Beer Awards and its judges

The only thing missing here is specks of gold leaf floating in the bottle, Anthony Martin style. Strong lager generally means "something boozy pretending to be beer". Fortunately, this one never even comes close to the vileness you'll find in Gordon's Finest Platinum or other beers of its ilk. Nevertheless, just like the San Miguel Selecta, it suffers badly from SpecialtyBeer-itis: it's just full of pretense, trying too painfully hard to be the next best thing since canned laughter, and failing equally painfully. Not sure what the Gran Reserva's supposed to mean, since this one probably wouldn't survive a single year in the best of cellars.

Oh wait, it would.
Because no one would be drinking it.

Ambar Export

More gold on label

Another fine example of the principle "gold label = prentetious overcompensation", Ambar Export is a overly sweet, overly strong amber beer, flaunting various "special this" and "exquisite that", and blending it all into an overall experience of mildly annoyed meh. Another beer with no purpose, no focus (or rather, the wrong focus on the wrong things) and no appeal. The only thing which sets this one apart from the Gran Reservas and the Selectas of the world is that it's not a turbo-lager, if that's any consolation.


None of this inspires me to loud whoops of approval regarding the state of Spain's beer culture, but to be fair, it's not hard to walk out of a supermarket in any country (including my own) with a dozen inferior brews in one's hand. We're talking commercial beers here, and despite the megabreweries' efforts to polish off the patina of Greatest-Mean-Denominator blandness (by means of lots of gold labels), commercial brews in Spain simply don't stand out.

But hark!

Cervaza artisanal is booming in Spain, and nowhere more so than in Catalunya. Stay tuned for a specialty (ah ah ah) report on Iberian craft brewing later on. I promise it won't be as long in the making as this one.

Until this,

Greetz

Jo

Mini Magic BeerGeek Night

You know what's fun about all those big ass brews out there? Those more-is-better, bigger, bolder, boozier brews? Those "anything below 10% ABV is for frail old ladies and babies" brews? You know what's fun about those?

They practically scream to shared.

So when Fellow Beer Geek Bert showed up last night carrying a box of zythological discoveries in one hand, and a fistful of Magic cards in the other, I was quick to help ease his burdens.

Because there's always room for more Geek.

First things first, a host must offer to share bread and salt, lest the laws of hospitality remain disregarded and his House shamed forever. Recent events in Westeros however prompted me to skip the bread-and-salt bit and cut right down to the beer: Brew#6, the Lawnmower Citra weizen.

I still owe you all a pic about that, but suffice to say, it looks okay. It's cloudy and (very) pale, with a bit of a disappointingly unstable head, atypical for a weizen. But in the nose, and on the palate, the hops and the yeast and the wheat combined do all that I wanted this brew to do. Fruity, just bitter enough, light and refreshing.

Beer: Brew#6: Lawnmower Citra
Brewery: HoppySlosh Home Brewery
Style: Hoppy hefeweizen-ish
ABV: 4.5% est.
EBU: 45 est.
EBC: about 10
Served: 330ml bottle


I think Bert's comments were "quite okay" so not quite the winner I'd wanted it to be, but a good starting to point to vamp this until all the stops are pulled.

Maybe not all of them.

But hark! Slumbering in Bert's cardboard box was more beer to be sampled. Without further ado, I give you...

FLTR: Even More Jesus,

even more Even More Jesus,

plushie,

and half a Bert

Evil Twin are a Danish brewey, specialising in potent, slighly off-beat brews. They've a certain lack of seriousness which I find quite charming; a boyish "for the heck of it" attitude which strongly appeals to my Inner Geek.
Even More Jesus is an imperial stout, which is obvious from the moment gravity tries to coerce the beer to vacate the bottle: thick, viscous, bordering on treacle. No head whatsoever at any given moment, and a colour which, according to science, isn't one.

A bit like this, only darker.

In the nose, you get that rich, dark malt fragrance, earthy and slightly boozy, with such a shitload of chocolate you might be fooled into thinking you're sniffing a bottle of cacao concentrate. Only it's not, and the malt and the hops still manage to come out in high enough doses to make this not just a chocolatey dessert thing, but beer after all. And while all I'll say from hereone still applies, it's also a beer which is somewhat pining for a barrel. There a lot going on, but like so many impy stouts, this one seems made to mature in a bourbon barrel, and it's just a little bit of a pity that this lack of Even More Booze becomes apparent as soon as you take a whiff.

In the mouth, the beer does crazy things with your tastebuds. There's the intense sweetness of the gloopy malt base, combined with a wonderfully balanced, but very present hop bitterness. One one hand, the malt is cloying and chewy, and on the other hand, the hop is puckering, giving a weird in-and-out sensation as the tastebuds contract and expand in quick succession to accomodate all those conflicting inputs. Chocolate is less pronounced than in the nose, but notably present, next to a firmly chunky roastiness. The bitterness, while quite present initially, wears off rather smoothly, and the aftertaste is sweet and aromatic, with sweetened coffee, rich milk chocolate and a bit of toffee or fudge in the background.

Make no mistake: this is a big beer. A bold and spanking brew. It's nowhere near the best in its style, and I can see myself getting a bit tired of the sweet-bitter woingwoing effect after a while, but it has a lot of character, a quality which, ironically, is sometimes overlooked in imperial stouts. Immensely enjoyable.

Beer: Even More Jesus
Brewery: Evil Twin Brewing
Style: Imperial Stout 
ABV: 12%
EBU: pretty bitter but no numerics forthcoming
EBC: a bit darker than that pic I put up earlier
Served: 330ml bottle

Whilst getting beaten up in a little bit of Izzet vs Golgari duel deck Magic mayhem, Bert uncapped the last of his bottled prezzies:

Ceci n'est pas un Barley Wine.
C'est quoi alors, enfin?
(pic not mine btw)

Not to be mistaken by 't Hofbrouwerijke's "Ceci n'est pas" series, this brew from Sainte-Hélène is indeed a Barley wine, coming from a Belgian brewery I've not heard a lot about, It wasn't until I saw their regular labels that I realised I do in fact have a bottle of their Black Mamba waiting to be sampled.
Barley wines aren't at all common in Belgium, and other than the ubiquitous Bush (known in the USA as Scaldis), I can't think of one I might have tried before. It's a bit of an oddity, as it's not so much a beer style as a certain attitude, I suspect.
Ceci n'est pas did pour exactly like I expected, from what little I understand of the style: an almost-flat, dark-golden-bordering-on-deep-amber hue, with a fine lacing of foam on top. Crystal-clear and very pleasing to look at, I'm now wondering why the brewery chose to abandon their trademark mysterious ladies label design in favour of this more austere presentation.

In the nose, you'll find much of what makes Bush such a great couch-lounging brew: oodles of subtle malts, floating on a crisp, alcoholic cloud. There a dark sugary note there, and a bit of almost pharmaceutical je ne sais quoi which I think is coming from the yeast. It's nowhere as present as some of the more phenolic brews I've tried, but it's there, and I'm sure not everybody likes that.

A certain something.

Aromas and taste were spot-on and entirely congruent with the nose: there's that almost whisky-like maltiness, so drastically different from that of the preceding stout, combined with a volatile alcohol presence. Despite the malt presence, it's quite a dry beer, and the alcohol and carbonation levels accentuate this just enough to make the sweetness, which is its main focus taste-wise, enjoyable. Low hops presence, which is a bit of pity if you're a hop head like me, but probably a wiser course for this particular beer. I can see how this beer would benefit from a touch of Sorachi Ace though, something gummy/woodsy to make it hum a little more. A firm yeast presence evokes plenty of estery flavours, all equally subtle and understated.

In almost all respects, this beer is the opposite of the Even More Jesus. The malts are employed in almost perpendicular strategies, hops play entirely different parts here, even the alcohol applies itself differently. Interesting to see how extremely different these two beers are, in spite of the things they have in common.
After the chunky presence of the Even More Jesus, Ceci n'est pas still held its own, although I would advise trying this on a clean a palate as possible. Barley wines' powers lay in their subtle maltiness, whereas impy stouts are rarely very subtle at all.

Excellent brews, and my appreciation of Berts generosity translated itself into a flawless victory on my behalf.

Would monsieur like some pommes frites to accompany his cul de soi-même?

Gratitude will manifest itself, but certainly not in the form of letting him beat me at games again.


Beer: Ceci n'est past un Barley Wine
Brewery: Sainte-Hélène
Style: oh it's a barley wine alright
ABV: 10%
EBU: 60 IBU, although you'd never tell
EBC: rouge-brun. That's science for you.
Served: 330ml (green) bottle

Until next time!


Greetz

Jo

Ten Fidy (Oskar Blues Brewery)

An ode, perhaps.

To beer, because I figure you already suspected as much.
To stouts, because it's pretty hard to get more beer in your beer than with a stout.
To imperial stouts, because they're pimped out chromed out stouts so more beer in your already-a-lot-of-beer.

To beer then.

But most relevantly, to canned beer.

Let me go off-tangent here for a short while.
Canned beer, in this country, seems to embody all that is wrong with beer in the world today. Canned beer spells cheap-ass lager like nothing else, and if not that, then it spells comfort to the homeless, in whopping half-liter cans of blisteringly boozy chemically enriched Frankenbrew.

Yes, Anthony Martin, I'm looking at you and your triple-X steroid lagers

It's ironic that we all seem to trust bottled beer just a little bit more than its canned counterpart, when a tin can is such a superior vessel in every way. It doesn't break, it's somewhat easier to clean and supposedly more sustainable than glass, but most importantly, it keeps the light out of the brew.
Light which, as you may already know, is pretty damn bad for beer.

Filthy nasty little lightses. We hates it!

But in spite of the redeeming qualities of the tin can, you'll find most beers which actually come in cans are, well, not the best.
Oh who am I kidding: most canned beers are crap. Period.

Coming slightly back from what only appears to be a tangent: when last I hooked up with SaintDennis, we did the usual "yay you got me beer, here's some beer" thing which beergeeks the world over know as "swapping". Among my stash that night was...a can.

A can of imperial stout.

Someone (*), somewhere (°), not only decided that a can is indeed a fit receptacle for all things beery, but took that decision one step further and delivers all of their brews in a can.
Not one can.
Just, you know, in cans. 
Canned. 
Whatever.

*) Oskar Blues, apparently.
°) Colorado, apparently.

So here we are, with a can of 10.5% ABV imperial stout in our hands. Ain't nuthin' left to do but drink it then.

Da's one big ass mofo brew.

 When poured, Ten Fidy ticks all those boxes you expect in the style. Thick and almost gloopy, black as an inkwell in a safety deposit aboard the Titanic, with a humble tan head which is swiftly pulled under into the darkness below.
"Are you drinking ink now?" werethe exact words of my son when he saw me pour it.

Seriously, Google?

In the nose you'll find a massively dense malt presence, with the mandatory chocolate and coffee fragrances taking the lead. Underneath is a not-very-subtle-but-quite-alluring whiff of soy sauce, giving the beer an almost meaty aroma. Deeper still you'll find subtle and, yes, elegant specialty malt touches, not unlike what you'd expect to find in barley wines. Not an easy beer on the nose, because there's such a lot of depth to it, but I could sniff this all night long.

Ah and when it hits the lips and passes on from there into the mouth, across the tongue, to the back of the throat and way into, well, let's not follow it quite all the way, shall we?
In the mouth, this beer again does everything right and more. It's thick and velvety, sweet-bordering-on-clingy-sticky, with a massive 98 IBUs of bitterness being wonderfully balanced by the shitloads of malt that went into the brew. Coffee and chocolate again, as well as a subtle roast, but also a deep and almost undetectable hint of dark red fruits. It's a beer which sighs yearningly, almost mournfully, for the inclusion of bourbon.
This is quite common in imperial stouts: the style seems to be almost dependent on barrel ageing, and often you'll find the base beers somewhat lacking, deficient almost, when not invigorated by boozy barrels.
The Ten Fidy however, merely whispers promises of even bigger, even more, even better, but is perfectly capable of holding its own without being propped up by a barrel of Bourbon. A barrel aged version does exist, I'm happy to hear, and while I'm dead curious to see how that turned out, the base beer is, in all respects, phenomenal all on its own. If I ever manage to brew a stout half this good, I'll be counting my blessings (if somewhat double-sightedly).

Beer: Ten Fidy
Brewery: Oskar Blues Brewing
Style: Imperial Stout (in a can!)
ABV: Ten Fidy uv coahse
EBU: 98 but you'd never tell
EBC: So black as to no longer really matter
Served: a spiffy 330ml can!

Oskar Blues Brewing have a whole range of canned brews, and unless this impy stout is a lucky one-shot fluke, I whole-heartedly recommend trying some if ever you get the opportunity.

A toast then.
To canned beer, to Oskar Blues and their Ten Fidy, and to SaintDennis and his Underground Treasure Trove of Beery Bliss.


Wassail!

Greetz

Jo

Lawnmower Inferno goes pop

Rejoice! Brew6 went pop today, after only 4 days in the bottle.

Like this, only more docile.

Carbonation was on the light side, which is normal after so little time, and in fact desirable: I don't want this beer to be a fizz bomb. Hoppy, thanks to my last minute decision to up the dosage dry hops to 30g in a 20 liter (*) batch. Fruity, thanks to the hefeweizen yeast, which I'll definitely be using again, in spite of a sluggish latter half of fermentation. Fresh and wheaty and light and summery, just as I'd conceived it. Oh yes, this will definitely be repeated.

Bit pale in color (pics forthcoming once it's reached a more mature stage) but that's not something I find worrying in a weizen, be it hoppy or not.

In a few days, it'll be all ready and then I'll find me a good excuse to drink one. Pity the lawn's already mowed though.

*) speaking of volumes, I really need to get a grip on those. Between boiling and bottling ,my 20 liters of wort (measured using the HoppySlosh Unified Graded Measuring Spoon Handle) somehow got reduced to 12, which implies a volume loss far greater than I can account for. More careful measuring needs to be undertaken by yours truly, as part of the fun in brewing lies in the sharing of the brew, but with the final result being so scarce in quantity, there's little to actually be shared at all.

So yay! Another beer under my belt, and more lessons learned, with satisfying results. Next brew will need to wait until after the holidays, but rest assured, more brews are upcoming.

Until then,

Greetz

Jo

Hel & Verdoemenis Misto (De Molen)

The Constant Reader may recall that I am far from impartial where Dutch brewery De Molen is concerned. In fact, my very first encounter with them was in the form of that ridiculously redefining imperial stout of theirs, the Hel&Verdoemenis.

Since this brew is so damn good, the De Molen guys have used it as a basis for some of their superlative barrel aged beers, of which the Misto is only one example.

Proving internet memes, as well as the expression "only one", sadly lacking in both truth and bearing.

The Misto, then.

Told you I was doing all of this for science, didn't I?

There's that lusciously thick pour which so defines imperial stouts. The sheer majesty of it, the anticipatory glug of a dense, chewy brew hitting the glass. What little tan head it has is swiftly pulled under into the darkness below.

In the nose is that intensely chocolatey, just-barely-registrable coffee buzz which made me go wow the first time I had the basic H&V. Ladled gently in between are rich, fruity overtones, lifting up the brew and making it a bit more playful. A dainty whiff of vanilla maybe, hidden by the present-but-restrained boozy undercurrent of bourbon. I say boozy, but the alcohol is very low-level, and nowhere near the saturnine extravaganza you can expect from an American brew of similar caliber.

And when the brew hits the tongue, what else is there to say but oh my goodness? Hell and effing Damnation indeed, this brew is wickedly divine, with just enough bourbon in there to impart upon an already mind-bogglingly tasty base beer an expansive quality, making it throb across the palate like a wanton seductress. Velvet and smooth, warm yet not scorchingly hot, with wood tones, a heady bourbon presence just bordering on boozy, dark dark chocolate and a creamy, dessert-like ooze which makes the beer stick to the back of the teeth in an altogether pleasant ride.
It's easy to miss but there's actually quite a bit of carbonation going on here, hiding as a fine prickling sensation on the tongue, teasing a bit more fire from the gentle booze from the Wild Turkey.

A medium-long aftertaste, with sticky, chewy sweetness of malt and liquor pairing off perfectly with the gentle bitterness of subdued hops and roast malt. Don't expect the everlasting, all-night-and-straight-into-next-morning lingering of present-day USA barrel aged brews; this is actually a beer you can have seconds of, provided someone's willing to drive you home.

Speaking of bourbon: I happen to have, stored away in the safety of my cellar's darkest recesses, a bottle of Hel&Verdoemenis Wild Turkey. I had to do some research, however limited, on the Misto to find out this one also involves Wild Turkey. What I'm guessing (and I really wish Menno & crew would be more centrally informative on these matters) is that the Misto is actually blended with Wild Turkey and then aged on new barrels (thank you ratebeer), while the Wild Turkey is probably aged on used (and probably not-entirely-dry) barrels wherein once resided the Wild Turkey itself. Curious as to how different that one will turn out.

But the Misto...ah the Misto. I could have this beer every night for the rest of my life and not feel sad about all the other brews I was missing out on. Everything about this beer is just perfectly measured out, perfectly and lovingly executed, and perfectly drinkable. There's nothing extreme about this beer, and anyone shaking their heads in disapproval of current trends where every next beer is brewed bigger and bolder and heavier and boozier than the other will be pleased to find that the guys at De Molen know exactly where to stop. This is the dividing line. This is where beer is still unquestionably beer, and points elegantly in both directions.

Deasil, it says, lie normal beers. Beers perhaps too unassuming which are perfecly okay, but which, frankly put, are not this beer.
And widdershins, it says whilst beckoning us on, lie the super beers. Beers which oft belie their humble origins, and which, when all it said and told, are not this beer.

For those in need of directions

De Molen crew, here's to your good health, and to the love your pour into each bottle.

Beer: Hel&Verdoemenis Misto
Brewery: De Molen
Style: Blended Barrel Aged Imperial Stout (Wild Turkey)
ABV: 11%
EBU: 102
EBC: 297
Served: 330ml bottle

Oh.
A side note, just to clear the air. Don't mistake the above for an unwarranted critique on either deasil or widdershins beers. There are excellent beers to be found on both sides of the dividing line, as well as crap brew pretending to be beer. There's a time and place for decent-and-better beers from either side.
But, whichever beer we're talking about, it's not this beer.

Greetz

Jo

Lawnmower Brew ongoing

Eight days after brew day, the Lawnmower Citra Inferno has got me stumped.

Dramatic lighting will save any beer.

Right from the start, the WLP300(*) yeast I'd pitched it with kicked off with gusto, creating a dense, 6 inch head of frothy yeasty yumminess on top of the fermenting wort. Airlock went bubblybubble and all was well and brewsy.

*) a German hefeweizen strain, chock full of estery aromas and whatnot

But after eight days at a steady 18-20°C, my ordinary Safale US-05 yeast should be done already.

Measurements indicate fermentation is still ongoing, or at the very least incomplete.

1012 SG, coming from 1049.
Blurry picture is in fact an opaque measuring glass.

More confounding still: that spanky Valentine refractometer the Missus so kindly donated to science (i.e. me) showed consistent readings at brew day: 1049 OG (13.9% Brix) but is way off at this stage, showing a measly 1025 SG (6.3% Brix) which should be around 1008 or lower (2.1% Brix) at fermentation's end. Whatever the state of my yeast at this time, both the refractometer and the densimeter should show consistent, nearly identical readings.

Whichever is more accurate, that yeast is still going on, but decidedly slower than I'd expected. Perhaps it's typical for the strain, something I plan to ask the lab.
This is my first time using White Labs, and this particular Hefeweizen strain in particular, and the Yinterwebzthingy tells me 14 days in primary is not unheard of. Since the airlock shows more activity is ongoing, I'll take my chances and keep things as they are.

Meantime, I got me a sample and oooh baby is this brew coming together or what?

Plush yeast is being bored by beer.

It's a weizen, so yes, it's cloudy to the point of looking like anisette. At this stage, it's flat with a mild tingle, but I don't expect I'll be carbonating this very strongly. The smell is Hefe all the way: a citrusy, estery fragrance, with hints of banana and clove, and juuuust enough hops to spark my interest. Odd, since I was aiming for about 45 IBU, which is about 3 times more than a typical weizen, but at this stage, this is floating my boat all the way to Beervana and back. The original plan was to dryhop the fermented beer with Citra, but as it is, I'm tempted to split the batch and leave half as it is: it really is that yummy.

Plus: be silly to call it Citra Inferno if it only contained a whiff of Citra, wouldn't it?

Not sure how the almost soapy fruity esters  of the yeast would combine with more hops, and I'm inclined to forego Citra, which can impart a pepperminty flavour sometimes, in favour of the more grapefruity tang of Amarillo, which I'd planned for a variant of this brew later on. Choice, the brewer's nighmarish muse...

Pretty stoked about this brew, which puts more forcus on yeast than I'm used to, but is pleasing me no end, even in this immature state. With or without extra Citra (Amarillo? Something else even?), I've a feeling this one's a keeper.

Greetz

Jo

Brewday!

HoppySlosh brews again!

What with spring being somewhat delayed, I had ample time to contemplate my next brewing endeavour. Looking foward to mowing the lawn and doing other potentially dehydrating chores around the house during the summer, I'm brewing a light, hoppy wheat beer this time; an American style hefe-weizen (or a Germanic Murkan wheat, if you will).

First things first: I need to learn how to control my brewing volumes so I'm applying science in the most advanced way possible to gauge the volumes in my kettle:

The Graded Spoon

Yes, that's a (rather oversized) plastic spoon, graded by yours truly to indicate how much liquid is in my kettle. Sometimes, all you need to improve the quality of life is a permanent marker. And an oversized spoon.

Onward onward as the day wanes: mashing was a breeze. I was prepared for all kinds of disaster (*) after reading that wheat tends to clog up the filter bed, but my grain behaved perfectly, and I got a good 22 liters of turbid wort out of the tun.

Steep steep.

*) speaking of disaster, the most important rule in brewing can be neatly summed up as this: Always check your valves. Nothing spoils the mood quite like having to start mopping when you're not even 5 minutes into the mash.

I applied a new technique (well, new for me at least) called first wort hopping.

Not hard to guess what that means.

I've been told the early addition will smoothe out the bitterness from the early hops, so here goes nothing.

Sparging. Note the state of alertness of the nearby mop.



Sparging went well, although I did forget to properly mash out (again). Forgot to take a pic of the pre-boil wort, but one thing I like about wheat is that it naturally clouds the wort, which means I could stop worrying about a super-clean sparge for a change.
No pic of the boil either, so you'll need to take my word for it: I added liberal doses of Centennial, Amarillo and Citra.

Post-boil tampering with the counterflow cooler.

My fifth attempt at brewing and I finally figured out how to properly cool: let gravity do the work. As you can see in the pic, I pour my boiled (and still piping hot) wort in my mash tun again, which will now serve as a filter tun. What's not in the pic is how this time I placed the tun on a stool on top of the counter, raising it high enough to no longer be a pain during cooling. Higher altitude means more hydraulic pressure chasing my wort through the cooler, and less chance of flowback or halted cooling. 

Should have thought of that four sessions ago, but at least I'm improving.

After cooling, only one thing was missing. Well, two really.

Some yeast, and a lovely assistant to pitch it.

I'm using a bit of a character yeast this time: the German Hefe Weizen from White Labs (WLP300 in case you're interested) will impart spicy notes to the beer, which I hope will complement the hoppy aromas.

Fitted the airlock, forestalled any domestic disputes by cleaning up the kitchen, and a good six hours later, the yeast was going glugluglug like clockwork. Next morning, a good 5 inch of thick yeasty froth confirmed all was well with Brew#5. I'll give it about a week in primary (depending on airlock activity and density measurements), after which I'll rack it to secondary, with a generously added amout of Citra hops. From the whiffs I got off the airlock so far, this may prove to be quite drinkable. 

More news as the brew progresses!

Until then,

Greetz

Jo