Beer Thoughts explores my philosophy and approach to homebrewing. These are my thoughts from my point of view, and aren’t meant to diminish or disparage anyone else’s ideas on the subject. Feel free to disagree. It’s your beer, after all.
There's No I in Beer
One of the great things about being a homebrewer nowadays is the many social media sites dedicated to the hobby. By becoming a member at any one of a number of homebrew communities, a newcomer can learn a lot, avoid costly mistakes, and not be the guy who blathers on about mash/sparge ratios at the office Christmas party.
Most participants in these message boards are nonjudgmental. They check their egos at the door, and they love to answer questions and offer advice. I know I got a lot of help when I moved from kits to extract recipes and then to all-grain brewing. Two of my favorite communities are The Beer Borg and Brewer's Friend. There are plenty of others, so anyone can find the one that suits them best.
Opportunity Knocks
Being a member of an online community or an in-person homebrew club also opens the door for the chance to collaborate on creating a recipe. I started what I called the Recipe Collaboration Exchange, and it turned out to be both a learning and teaching experience for me. I could learn about styles I hadn’t investigated before and ingredients I hadn’t used. And I’ve gotten some recipes out of it that I still brew regularly.
I got to help out new brewers this way, too. There were times my partner was toying with the idea of graduating from HME kits to extract with steeping grains. Or they hadn’t brewed anything other than Pale Ales and IPAs, but they wanted to try making a brown ale. I liked that I was able to help them learn something and take their brewing to another level. It was my way of giving back to the community that had helped me in my development as a homebrewer.
I’ll never forget one particular collaboration, though.
We’re All In This Together. Sort Of….
Remember when you were assigned a group project in school? You and three other kids would have to work together on a science experiment or a presentation about the Spanish Conquistadors or build a scale model of the Mayflower. Remember that?
And remember how there was always one kid who never did any of the work you agreed he would do, so the rest of you had to rush around frantically the night before the project was due, completing the work that Kyle didn’t do? (He was always named Kyle.)
And remember how you were really sore at Kyle because he got the same grade you did, even though he never did any of the work he was supposed to do? So you all chased him after school and pushed him down and rubbed snow in his face?
Well, one of my experiences unintentionally turned me into Kyle. The guy I paired with was an extract brewer who was interested in making an Irish Red Ale. I had never made one before, either, so I was onboard. We messaged some ideas back and forth, and before I knew it, he had developed a recipe that looked solid. I was still in the preliminary planning stage and hadn’t contributed anything other than a suggestion that we use a bit of smoked malt just to give it some character. That was my big contribution, but I guess it saved me from getting snow rubbed in my face.
Although later, when my partner made the leap to all-grain brewing, he converted the recipe from extract, so maybe that counts as the snow-in-the-face incident. But it doesn’t really matter. As I said, I hadn’t planned on being Kyle; it’s just that my partner’s enthusiasm put him way ahead of my curve. Sometimes collaborations are like that, and there were other times when I was the leader of the pack. As long as it’s a positive experience and you get good beer out of it, nothing else matters. And speaking of good beer, I continue to brew this recipe at least once a year, so I can tap it on St. Patrick’s Day.
2Daves
As it turns out, my collaborator was also named Dave, so I decided to name the recipe 2Daves Irish Red. A little quirky, but memorable. I’ve added it to the Recipes page, and when you brew it, remember that the smoked malt was my idea.
And look into collaborating on a recipe with someone. You can start at the sites I listed above, or at your local homebrew club. Whether you’re the master, the apprentice, or Kyle, it can lead to some good things.
3/17/2021
New Recipes From Old
I like diversity in my pipeline. And I like creating original recipes. So I find myself having to come up with new recipes, even for styles I’ve brewed before.
It’s not a matter of waving a magic wand and a new beer appears, although how cool would that be? (Note to self: work on developing magic beer wand)
I’ve found a few secrets that make some new recipes easier to create. See, beer is kind of a family affair, at least when it comes to the recipes. I don’t mean Cousin Mert’s suggestion that you make an asparagus beer; I mean the family of ingredients.
All in the Family
The diversity in a family tree is vast. It explains why some family members are athletic while some excel in music, and how a tall, dark-haired man can have a short, redheaded brother. It doesn’t completely explain Cousin Mert, though.
Still, it’s amazing how many beer variations can be had from just four basic ingredients. So let’s look a little closer at what we have to work with.
Not Better; Just Different
When my daughter was planning her wedding, I was asked to brew some beer as a gift to the two groomsmen. They like IPAs, so I decided to go with a new IPA recipe. This was fortunate, because according to the BJCP style guidelines, there are no fewer than six variations within the American IPA style. They’re on pages 37-42 if you want to read up on them.
So I had a lot to choose from, and I decided on a Black IPA. I began experimenting, but was ultimately disappointed with the results. But I was working under a deadline and had to come up with something.
That was when I realized I could alter an existing recipe that I knew was good. I took the 100 Years War recipe and gave it a going-over. I figured if I made a couple of adjustments, I’d come up with something that could work. I knew I was on the right track when an Evil Genius Laugh™ emerged from my throat.
The original recipe, which you can find with the Recipes link above, is extract with steeping grains. It’s a pale, crisp IPA, without too many frills but featuring a strong hop presence from Centennial and Warrior hops. I decided to augment the recipe by adding roasted barley for flavor and mouthfeel, and Crystal 120 for color. The result is a full-bodied IPA with a color just bordering on the upper edge of the style guidelines. It could be seen as a brown or a red IPA, as the specifications for color overlap.
The important thing is, I had my new beer ready for the occasion, and now I brew Groomsman’s Pride as often as I brew the 100 Years War. I’ve included it on the Recipes page for you.
Digging Deeper
It’s not just changes in the grain bill that can transmogrify a recipe, either. A different hop bill can make an IPA out of a blonde ale. Depth in a beer’s profile doesn’t come just from the grains. Some hop combinations blend as perfectly as chocolate and peanut butter, and a varied hop bill can create a dramatic new taste. Just be careful getting too creative with a specialty beer; we don’t need a Cousin Mert ale, after all.
Also, while the style guidelines are a good starting place for formulating recipes, you don’t need to stick to them. If you want to add Amarillo hops to your Vienna Lager, I promise not to squeal on you.
The Lager Saga
And speaking of lagers, yeast is another game-changer. The different strains have characteristics all their own. Some accentuate the malt while others bring out the hops. Some ferment clean and some contribute flavors that enhance the beer’s character. Don’t be a Johnny One-Note when it comes to your yeast choices. I learned that lesson a while ago, and it paid great dividends.
You see, I had created a nice amber ale, my first attempt at it. Shortly after that, I acquired a refrigerator specifically to ferment lagers. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I took my amber ale recipe and swapped the ale yeast for a lager yeast. This mellowed out the beer and made it smoother and cleaner-tasting.
When my brother Ed tasted it, he said it was so good I should enter it in a competition. Imagine that; my first attempt at a lager being my entry in my first competition. But I figured why not, and took the plunge. Imagine my surprise and delight when I won a third-place ribbon in the dark lager category.
Conclusion - Change is Good
Just changing a single element in a recipe can give it a whole new personality. If you’re smart and careful, you can get a different beer by making something new out of something old. Kind of like when Cousin Mert fell down the cellar stairs and landed on his head. He just wasn’t the same after that, somehow.
2/14/2021
Whoops! I Learned Something!
It’s not a secret that the science and chemistry of brewing isn’t my bag. If it works, and I get beer out of it, I’m good. I don’t need to know why. Even if I’m introduced to a certain technique or procedure, if I get the desired result, fine. Put simply, I’m more concerned with the what than I am with the why.
I think a lot of people are this way. After all, most people who drive cars don’t have any real understanding of how an internal combustion engine works. Hell, some people don’t even seem to know how to use their turn signal.
And it’s not a bad thing to have this outlook. Some homebrewers really dig on the chemistry, and that’s fine; it’s just not for me. And I’ve learned to look past it. As long as I get the advice I need, Mr. Science can take a back seat.
Usually.
The Trilby Dilemma
See, I wanted to make a nice, sweet, malty brown ale. One with lots of body and intermingling flavors throughout. Since I’m FedoraDave, aka The Hat, I decided to name this beer Trilby Brown Ale. I’ve always considered the Trilby a British style of hat, maybe because the late Sean Connery wore one as James Bond. And brown ales are the quintessential British ale, so….
I kept revising my recipe, trying different combinations of dark malts at different percentages, and it simply didn’t work. You know how you can see things in your “mind’s eye?” Well, I could taste this beer on my “mind’s tongue,” but the actual beer never measured up to what I imagined.
Until I made a mistake.
I misread one of my recipes when I was ordering my grains at the LHBS and instead of 0.12 ounces of chocolate malt, I got 2 ounces. So, figuring I’d have beer no matter what, I brewed it up, and this was closer to the taste I’d been chasing than anything else I’d made. It needed minor tweaks, but once I substituted the domestic two-row base malt for UK Maris Otter, I had what I was looking for.
Except for that lingering sweetness. I needed to work on my process in order to lift it higher.
The Process of the Technique
Over time, I learned of three techniques to enhance the flavors and mouthfeel of this recipe. And it was only after adopting them that I came to learn, quite by happenstance, why they do what they do.
Cart Before the Horse - Part 1: Kettle Caramelization
The first thing I tried was kettle caramelization. It takes a bit more attention than other procedures, but the benefits make it worthwhile. Simply put, it’s just reducing a bit of the wort in a separate pot, then adding it to the boil kettle. You need to keep stirring as it boils down to avoid scorching, but it’s a simple way to enhance a darker beer.
Horse, Meet Cart
I was able to suss out the reasons for this all by myself. The reduction thickens the wort and the resulting syrup is concentrated. The sugar in it is caramelized, intensifying the sweetness and flavors, especially of the darker malts. It also increases the mouthfeel of the beer. It’s essentially adding Liquid Malt Extract during the boil.
Cart Before the Horse - Part 2: Mash Temperature
I had read in several homebrew message boards that mashing at a higher temperature would make for a sweeter beer. Not an insanely higher temperature, but if we’re taking 155º F as an ideal standard for mashing, then bumping it to 158º will sweeten the pot, as it were. Turns out, it does.
Horse, Meet Cart
I only found this out a couple months ago, but you know how mashing converts some of the grain’s starch into fermentable sugar? Well, hoisting the temp just a few degrees produces sugar molecules that have longer chains, and the yeast, being lazy, go after the shorter-chain sugars and make alcohol out of them, leaving the harder work undone. And you know what? I can identify. I think we all can. The benefit of their laziness is that these sugars remain. The beer is slightly lower in ABV, but not enough to make it a soft drink. These sugars also increase mouthfeel, since the specific gravity is slightly higher.
Cart Before the Horse - Part 3: Calcium Chloride
This one I learned from my LHBS. I happened to be talking about this beer, and how I wanted the malt profile to really pop, and he immediately said, “Calcium Chloride.” Now, I’ve stated before how I’m not into water engineering and such. But adding one teaspoon of these crystals to the strike water didn’t seem destined to qualify me for a Science Fair gold medal, so I gave it a try. Looking back, taking one guy’s word for it demonstrated a trust and credulity worthy of a toddler’s belief in the tooth fairy. But he didn’t steer me wrong.
Horse, Meet Cart
This is another explanation I only just learned. When grain is kilned, something called the Maillard Reaction occurs. It’s what gives grilled cheese and toasted marshmallows and the seared bits of steak such wonderful flavor. I was going to try to explain the Maillard Reaction in more detail, but it got extremely science-y real quickly, and I couldn’t understand it, so here’s a picture of my cat instead.
The thing is, once you pass a certain threshold in the malting process, in addition to the distinctive caramel and toffee flavors we want from the darker malts, you also get more acidity. So you get a negative trade-off that causes some bitterness. The good news is that calcium chloride raises the pH of the mash. The less acidic the mash, the less bitterness. The less bitterness, the more the other flavors, including sweetness, become noticeable.
As it turns out, the first two methods increase what I was looking for and the third decreases something that was getting in the way. So there’s more than one way to skin a cat.
Old Dog, New Tricks
So yeah, I actually did find out why these things produce certain results. This proves I’m capable of learning, despite always having to ask my wife where the Tupperware goes. But here’s my point, and this has always been my point since the first paragraph: This stuff worked whether or not I understood why. I’d have been perfectly happy making my sweeter, maltier Trilby Brown Ale in total ignorance.
Still, if you’re doing something right, it’s kind of nice to know why. It certainly doesn’t hurt. And you can check out my recipe and the steps for this beer in the Recipes tab.
12/7/2020
Notes On Taking Notes
One of the first things new homebrewers are told is how important it is to take notes on every batch. Record the mash temperature, mash volume, pH level, pre-boil volume, what went on during the cooling process, post-boil volume, original gravity, fermentation temperature, how long it took for krausen to form, how long it took for krausen to fall, how much attenuation, how much flocculation, final gravity, color, carbonation level, aroma, clarity, mouthfeel, flavor profile, head retention, turn-offs, turn-ons, emergency contacts, and next of kin. Write it all down!
And I get it. Mostly it’s to ensure consistency or catch any mistakes you may have made in your process. I’ve even seen people on homebrewing forums post that they’re afraid they screwed up somewhere, only to get a dozen responses telling them, “Take notes; this may be the best beer you’ve ever made.” Note-taking is really big among certain homebrewing sectors.
Of course, awareness counts, and I’m not going to knock the note-taking process. It’s just not for me. I try to keep this hobby simple. Besides, it kind of feels like a homework assignment, and I’ve been out of school for 40 years. I have no desire to go back.
Small Time and Big Time
I view batch notes as being essential for the two extremes of brewing: the newcomer with little or no experience and the people who are actually dependent on brewing to make a living.
Obviously, professional brewers are aiming for the finest product, the most consistency, the least amount of waste throughout the process, and anything else that will maximize their profit. They’re like the major league baseball player who analyzes every opponent in order to find their vulnerability and exploit that down-and-in slider.
And the new brewer who’s just starting out needs to make sures she’s got her process down for those first few batches. She’s the Little Leaguer who has to be reminded to check her stance every at-bat or look for the cut-off man.
But after a few batches, once you’re comfortable with the set-up and the process, a homebrewer becomes more like the high school ballplayer: He can still learn a lot, but he doesn’t need to be told which end of the bat to grip, and over-analysis can actually be counterproductive at that stage. As Yogi Berra observed, you can’t think and hit at the same time. And brewing notes are supposed to help clear things up, not muddy the water.
Little League Dads
Still, there’s a lot of insistence on always taking notes on every batch. I began wondering why, and I think it’s because of Little League Dad Syndrome. The book authors and homebrew bloggers and message board denizens encourage it because they want to promote success. And they’re not wrong with the advice they give. After all, it’s not easy to remember from one batch to the next, or if you’re brewing the same recipe a year later. So you take notes, and those notes are the same as the dad who stands behind the chain-link fence and hollers at his nine-year-old, “Keep your weight on your toes, Kenny! Bend your knees, that’s it! Eye on the ball, Kenny! Look it into your glove!”
The thing is, by the time Kenny gets to high school, his brain is automatically anticipating three possible scenarios for each pitch, and what his responsibility will be in each case. So he doesn’t need to be reminded to bend his knees and stay loose.
So it’s all well and good to start with notes to make sure you’re doing it right. That’s how Kenny got to be the All-County All Star center fielder. And it’s definitely what the pros do, which is how Ken Griffey, Jr. got to Cooperstown.
The Ultimate Beer League
Let’s face it, though -- most of us are somewhere in the middle of those two extremes. We’re the beer league softball players, taking a weekend here and there to run around, have fun, and pretend we’re still young and fit. If we’re lucky, we’ll hit the go-ahead RBI or make a perfect pivot on a 6-4-3 double play. And it’ll make the next morning’s stiffness worth it.
Just like we’re not going to be scouted by the Yankees, we’re not going to market our beer. We don’t have to worry about cost analysis or bulk providers. If one batch turns out a little different than the last time we made it, can we even tell the difference? Or do we just appreciate that it’s a good beer? I’ve won some ribbons in brewing competitions, and even when I didn’t, the comments I received were positive and encouraging. But they never motivated me to change a recipe or a process. You see, that judge may never taste my beer again, and I’m happy with it the way it is. If I change a recipe, it’s because I want to, not because I was told to.
Yes, some folks who take up homebrewing go on to do it professionally. And yes, even a lot of the weekend warriors take notes, even though they’ve been brewing for fifteen years. It’s what works for them, and I wouldn’t knock it any more than I’d knock someone for drinking a saison instead of a brown ale. It’s just that I don’t think it’s a prerequisite for being a dedicated homebrewer.
Making It Personal
So my notes are minimal. I only stress a few things for each batch. I write down the original gravity so I’ll be able to have a final gravity to aim for and an ABV to calculate. My most important item is mash volume. I hate having to dump any wort, so for each batch I note the mash volume, pre-boil volume, and post-boil volume. This has helped me a lot when I’ve made subsequent batches.
That’s pretty much it for me. Other things are either automatic by now, or else, like fermentation temperature, beyond my control to the extent that notes wouldn’t change future batches.
I have three constants in my personal philosophy of homebrewing:
- If you’re happy with the beer you’ve made, you did it right.
- Keep it simple; you’re making beer, not sending a rocket to the moon.
- It should be more than a hobby; it should be your therapy.
So if taking extensive notes makes you happier with your brew day, then it’s worth the effort. But I’m already happy with my beer. And aside from a few numbers and calculations, I like my brew days to be as simple as possible. A lot of notes would make it too technical for me, and it would be a lot less fun and relaxing.
I may not be making the best beer around, but even Ken Griffey, Jr. struck out now and then.
11/15/2020
What Cost Homebrew?
Now and then I come across someone who wants to know if brewing my own beer costs less than buying commercial beer. This is unusual, because I don’t hang around bean-counters if I can help it. But the question does come up. And I suppose it’s a legitimate question if you care more about the cost of things than the value of them.
Legitimate or not, it’s a tricky question, and if you ask ten homebrewers, you’ll probably get fifteen different answers. But I’ll do my best to break it down. Try not to be disappointed.
All my answers are from the standpoint of all-grain brewing, since that’s the fairest comparison to commercial brewing. Also, I don’t feel like doing any more work than is necessary on this topic.
Equipment
While it’s possible to use pots and spoons and things you’ve already got in your kitchen, I think it’s important to have dedicated equipment for brewing. Diligent cleaning and sanitizing procedures aside, I just wouldn’t feel right brewing beer in the same pot I make my barbecue sauce in. Brew pots tend to be a lot larger anyway. A five-gallon batch of beer needs at least an eight-gallon pot for the boil. I don’t make five-gallon batches of barbecue sauce, even though my wife thinks I should.
Some equipment is specific to brewing anyway. A beer thief, auto-siphon, and hydrometer, for instance. And I can’t think of any other application for my mash paddle that wouldn’t get me arrested, either.
The good news is, as far as the cost of equipment, I consider it negligible. There’s a cost outlay at first, yes, but I’ve had my equipment for so long, the cost amortization per batch is now so small it can only be seen with the aid of an electron microscope.
Cleansers/Sanitizers
One category brewers can’t skimp on or use substitutes for is cleansers and sanitizers. I do save some money on the regular washing-up chores by using a detergent that’s free of perfumes and dyes. There’s really no need to use a more expensive product targeted to the homebrewing community when it comes to the ordinary cleaning.
That being said, doing occasional deep-cleans of scorch marks and gentle soaking of dried krausen does require something specialized, like PBW. But if it’s only used for those chores, rather than regular brew-day clean-up, one container lasts a long time.
For sanitizing, don’t scrimp. Let’s face it, your sanitizer is the last, best defense against infected beer, so get a product made for the job. It can be reused, and if stored properly, will last quite a while, and healthy beer is worth it.
As with equipment costs, the money spent on cleansers and sanitizers is absorbed and diffused through every batch. So it’s a wash.
See what I did there?
Ingredients
Now we’re getting down to the nitty-gritty. This is what these pedantic fuddy-duddies are really asking about when it comes to homebrewing costs. So buckle your lederhosen and hang onto your beer stein, because here we go.
I figure I can get grains, hops, and yeast for one five-gallon batch for maybe about $35.00 or so, depending on the complexity of the recipe. But let’s go with $35.00. My LHBS guy agreed that it’s a good ballpark estimate.
Five gallons at $35.00 is $7.00 a gallon. At 128 ounces per gallon, that’s a little more than ten 12-ounce longneck bottles per gallon, or around 50 for the whole batch. So that’s around 70¢ a bottle. Pretty good, eh?
Hold on, though, I didn’t figure in the cost of the water. For a five-gallon batch, I’d probably start with nearly 7 gallons before the mash. And I use cold water and nearly half a bag of ice to cool it down before pitching the yeast. I’m lucky that I can use tap water for my brewing. Some people need to buy spring water, or start with Reverse Osmosis water and add chemicals and minerals (yet more expense) to create a water profile.
We can’t forget the cleanup, either. It’s a lot of water, all told. I’m not sure how much that amounts to, but it definitely contributes to the overall cost. It might even bump the cost of each bottle up ten cents. So 80¢ a bottle. But $4.80 for a six-pack is still pretty good.
But wait! There’s more!
The cost of ingredients only scratches the surface. There’s the electricity and gas I need to use. It takes a while for the strike water to come up to the proper temperature for the mash, and then there’s the time it takes to bring the runnings to a boil, and then there’s an hour of boiling. So my stove has two burners running on high for over 90 minutes, I’m sure.
And I’ve got the lights on the whole time, obviously. Again, I don’t know how much all that costs, but let’s say another 15¢ a bottle. Let’s see, 70+10+15…. It’s still under a dollar a bottle, and quality craft beer is way more expensive than that, last I checked.
Did you read the fine print?
Of course, my time is worth something, isn’t it? What’s minimum wage now? Because I’m spending a good five or six hours on a brew day. So let’s say I’m a generous brewmaster and pay myself $15.00/hour. For a six-hour brew day, that’s $90.00 I owe myself. But of course, I’ll pass the cost on to the consumer. Who happens to be … uh … me.
Oh, and since I drive to and from my supply store, I should figure the time, gasoline, and vehicle wear into the cost as well. Man, I didn’t think this was going to spiral out of control like it did. What are we up to now, $100.00 a six-pack? I had no idea there were so many hidden costs!
But you know what?I don’t brew my own beer to save money. I don’t brew my own beer in an attempt to stick it to commercial breweries. It’s not like I’m thinking, This’ll show those Arrogant Bastards at Stone Brewing Company! Because they don’t know me, and they wouldn’t care anyway.
I brew my own beer because it relaxes me. It’s a learning experience. It’s a creative outlet for me. I can make beer to my specifications instead of relying on someone I don’t even know and who certainly doesn’t know my taste. It’s my hobby, and hobbies always cost money (unless your hobby is saving money). It’s something I do exclusively for myself. In fact, it’s more than my hobby; it’s my therapy.
And whatever it costs, the value of that can’t be entered into a ledger.
9/23/2020
Big Batches or Small?
I recently came across a guy at my LHBS who was buying a couple of one-gallon kits. He bemoaned the fact that after all the work and waiting, he’d wind up giving away half of his bottles to his friends, and wouldn’t have all that much beer left for himself.
Now, I don’t know this guy’s circumstances. Perhaps he lives in a small apartment and doesn’t have much room. Or maybe his house is big enough, but has a family and is pretty busy with Daddy Duty, so he doesn’t have a lot of time or energy to brew. Could be he’s fairly new to homebrewing and didn’t want to make a big investment right away.
Or maybe he just has friends who keep mooching free beer off him, I really don’t know.
But batch size preference is an individual choice all homebrewers make, and it does involve a certain commitment. Too many people jump that broom before they realize the hobby’s not for them, buying all sorts of equipment and then losing interest. The saddest thing to see is a garage sale with a bunch of pots and carboys and a sign reading “$5 for everything.”
So why does a homebrewer decide when to ramp up the volume? I’ve done extensive research, consisting of several minutes of making lists of what I do, and I’ve come up with some reasons. Because there are reasons for what I do.
What I Do - And The Reasons Why
I started small myself -- two-gallon batches using Hopped Malt Extract kits. And that’s what I would recommend for a beginner. They’re pretty much goof-proof, they’re easy to do, and the results can be very pleasing. For me, it wasn’t so much the beer itself as it was the realization that, hey, I actually can make beer! And the investment wasn’t going to break the bank if I decided this hobby wasn’t for me after all.
As I advanced, creating my own recipes with extract, steeping grains, and hops, I stuck with the small batches, bumping them up to three gallons. I was investing in my education rather than my output, and I felt I didn’t need bigger batches.
But when I moved to all-grain recipes, I knew I was getting serious, and since I was investing in a mash tun, I figured it was time to invest in raising my volume to the five-gallon level.
I stayed with the smaller volumes as well, though, and I still do about two-thirds of my batches in 3-gallon recipes.
Wait, what? Why?
Well, because for me, there are advantages and disadvantages to the different volumes I work with. And just because you can brew five gallon batches all the time, that doesn’t mean you should.
Pros and Cons
Okay, the obvious advantage to brewing five gallons instead of three gallons is that, according to professional mathematicians, five is greater than three. So you’re getting more beer for basically the same amount of work. That’s a definite plus for the fivers.
I keg nearly all my batches, be they five or three gallons. And I’ve found hidden pluses and minuses there.
I can fit three kegs inside my keezer. Doesn’t matter what volume they are, the circumference is the same. I have only two taps, and that’s nice, because I can charge the third batch and have it ready to tap when one of the other kegs runs dry.
So an advantage for smaller batches is that the rotation is quicker, which means more variety in the pipeline. Unless, of course, that small batch was a really tasty beer, because it always runs out a lot sooner than I’d like. It’s a double-edged sword, that one, and it cuts on the side of bigger batches, as well. With five gallons to get through, even a really good beer can become tiresome. If I know I have to finish this keg of brown ale before I can get to that Belgian witte I’ve been looking forward to, I can begin feeling resentful toward that brown ale. And I hate to hurt a beer’s feelings.
By keeping a regular rotation between small and large batches, there’s usually a tap that’s due to run dry pretty soon, so the variety keeps the pipeline fresh.
This idea holds true for recipe development. If I’m working on a new recipe, it may take a few tries before I get it the way I want it. And three gallons of a disappointing beer is easier to live with than five gallons of a beer that’s not quite making the grade. So I tend to make larger batches from recipes that have been in the stable for a while and develop new recipes in smaller batches.
Oh, remember how I said you’re doing basically the same amount of work for five gallons as you are for three? That’s kinda sorta marginally truthfully accurate when you look at it a certain way and squint real hard.
Well, except if you’re still bottling your batches. That’s a real disadvantage against fivers. I don’t bottle too many batches anymore; just competition beers and styles that need specific carbonation levels or longer conditioning times. For those, I brew three gallons, and I cut the work down even more by using bombers more than 12-ounce longnecks.
Here’s another thing: An all-grain batch requires certain time-consuming tasks. I’m talking about milling the grain, heating the strike water, bringing the wort to boil, and cooling the wort afterwards.
If I’m making a fiver, we’re talking anywhere from ten to thirteen pounds of grain, as opposed to four or six pounds for a three-fer. My mill’s hopper holds about six pounds, so that’s twice the milling time right there.
Ditto for the strike water, the boil, and the cool-down. Professional physics people (and all the guys down at Jay’s Thermodynamics Shop) agree that larger quantities of liquid take longer to reach a certain temperature than identical liquids of a smaller quantity. Added up, a small batch can cut a chunk of time off your brew day.
But of course, there’s the disadvantage of some of the chores being equal for both size batches. I’m talking about the washing up, which means you’re sometimes doing the same amount of work for less product.
But the fact is that larger batches just last longer. It’s easy to fill a growler and bring it to a get-together, or fill a couple of bottles from the tap to keep your friends happy, and still feel like you’ve got some left over for the guy who did all the work.
For me and my approach to homebrewing, I’ve found that a combination of small batches and big batches works the best. You take the good with the not-so-good, and lift a glass to the joy of beer.
8/30/2020
Seasonal Brewing
Tradition
The craft of brewing beer has been around for centuries. It’s as old as civilization, actually. So it figures there would be quite a few traditions surrounding beer. The cooler of suds at a cookout or tailgate party, the lifting of steins in a congratulatory salute, cleaning the mess all over the kitchen when your kid shook up a six-pack for a practical joke.... Well, let’s move on.
One of these traditions concerns what we call “seasonal beers.” The examples are right there in front of us:
- Maibock This is a beer named after the month of May. That’s pretty specific.
- Oktoberfest/Märzen Yeah, same idea; brewed in March, served at Oktoberfest. The Germans make great beer, but they’re not real creative when it comes to naming them.
- Saison This is such a seasonal beer, it’s actually named “season.” Belgians are pretty literal, too, I guess.
- Green beer for St. Patrick’s Day No. Just … no.
The Chase for Taste
There are some good reasons for different styles being more popular for different seasons. We seem to have a natural preference for certain flavors at certain times. For instance, I like to have beer on days that end in Y.
The seasons have a strong influence on our taste preferences. Lighter, sweeter beverages are more appealing during the warm months. So a fruity wheat beer or a bracing pilsner really hits the spot in the summer. Likewise, bundling up in the winter with a heavier, malty stout, a smoky porter, or a robust brown ale is just the thing by a fireside while the snow drifts down outside.
The historic brewmasters understood that the end of the growing season changed the nature of their diet, so they tailored their rotation to fit the seasons. These food pairings make sense. Lighter beers and hoppy beers are perfect for poolside cookouts that feature burgers, salsa, and corn on the cob. As the weather gets colder, the comfort foods of autumn and winter, such as hearty beef stew, piping-hot chowder, and shepherd’s pie call for heavier, maltier brews. Necessity is not only the mother of invention, it’s the second-cousin-once-removed of tradition.
Carpe that Diem!
Of course, there are other reasons besides the yoke of our forebrewers for certain beers at certain times. Let’s say you make an outstanding peach-flavored blonde ale from local fresh-picked peaches. Well, in that case, you’ve got a fairly narrow window in which to do it.
I make my spiced porter specifically for the winter holidays. It’s meant to invoke the aromas and tastes of the Christmas season, and while it would be pleasant any time, it would lose some of its special appeal if I made it throughout the year.
If you must get in step with the pumpkin spice craze every autumn, go ahead and brew a pumpkin spice beer. Oktoberfest is more my style, but you do you.
Just please don’t even talk about green beer for St. Patrick’s Day.
Why, tho?
Besides the culinary aspect, many seasonal traditions came about because brewing was and still is dependent on temperature. And when mechanical temperature control is a few centuries yet to come, you just have to follow nature and adapt to the conditions. For instance, the English dug cellars and brewed malty ales that taste best when served between 50º and 55º F. So brew your Best Bitter, gather round with the lads for some darts and songs, and tip a pint or two. That’s a grand tradition!
The Germans had the Alps nearby, so they ’Alped themselves to the cool mountain caves and made crisp lagers in the spring that mellowed and matured throughout the summer. This led to Märzens, also known as Oktoberfest beers. Their tradition expanded from the original 1810 celebration of a royal wedding to a 16-day international event. Trust the Germans to turn a wedding party into an annual excuse to eat sausage and drink beer. Works for me!
Saisons use a yeast that thrives in higher temperatures, producing some lovely flavors. They were brewed by Belgian farmers during the warm months to take advantage of this. While we don’t have the primitive temperature constraints of the 1500s, we still tend to consider saisons summer libations. They also figured out a way to rescue infected beer by mixing it with the previous year’s good beer and making refreshing fruit lambic.
While these conventions are venerable, they’re not set in stone. Things are different now. We can control our temperatures, we have sanitizers to combat infected beer, and we have specially cultivated yeast strains so we don’t have to rely on wild, airborne yeast. We can make lagers in the middle of summer, and control the amount of Brettanomyces to get a sour beer just right. So we’re not bound by the same restrictions of medieval Europe. Unless that’s your thing. I don’t judge.
And let’s face it, just as nobody is shunned anymore for wearing white after Labor Day, the Beer Police won’t arrest you for drinking an amber ale on your summer vacation. Bock beers are wonderful lagers, so why only enjoy them in the spring? Let’s expand the notion of it being “5:00 somewhere” to include the seasons around the globe. After all, when it’s summer in the US, it’s winter in New Zealand. So I promise not to rat you out if you brew a winter wheat or an autumn saison.
Just don’t ever make a green beer for St. Paddy’s Day.
7/25/2020
The Joy of Extract
Too darn hot
I live in New York State’s Lower Hudson River Valley -- LoHud for short. It’s a nice area, but the sad truth is, when summer rolls around, LoHud is definitely HiHumid. My discomfort is made worse by the fact that my house lacks central AC, and doesn’t generate cross-breezes, even with all the windows open. So you’d think I’d be tempted to take a break from homebrewing for a couple months.
Nope.
There are too many reasons to soldier on, even through the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer:
- The pipeline may be in danger of drying up. The AHA won’t drum you out, but your lack of beer will bum you out.
- Lighter summer beers are good, especially if you make them yourself. If you’ve ever had commercial light beers … well, unlike those watered-down lagers, low ABV wheat beers, fruit beers, British bitters, and blonde ales are loaded with flavor.
- Even quarantine won’t completely stop get-togethers and cookouts, and they’ll be enhanced by your homebrew. One way to make sure you’re invited to stand six feet apart with your friends and family is to say, “I’ll bring the beer!”
Brew days are hot days in the best conditions. Heating up strike water, waiting through an hour-long mash, tending a boil for another hour, cooling it all down, cleaning the equipment -- by the time you’re done, even if you brew outside, you feel like you’re sweating gravy. For me, brewing in my tiny, one-butt kitchen, it’s even worse.
But it doesn’t have to be that way.
Reduce time and heat
The two biggest enemies of summertime brew days are time and heat. The former also affects the latter. Even if you start shortly after sunrise, a five-gallon all-grain batch will take until nearly noon to finish completely. There are a couple of ways to combat this.
Reduce stove time - I like to brew smaller batches, not just in summer, but throughout the year. Three-gallon batches are nice for developing new recipes and trying experimental techniques, and they keep variety in the pipeline. But it also takes less time for the wort to come to a boil, and less time to cool down to pitching temperature.
Sometimes shorter brew days are a welcome change, with everything else going on in our lives, be it yard maintenance, family time, or binge-watching Seinfeld. For summer brewing, cutting down on stove time cuts down on added heat in the environment. And you’ll have plenty of time left for Kramer’s wacky antics!
Brew with extract - If you’re like me (and I know I am), you prefer all-grain brewing. There’s definitely more control over the ingredients, especially when combining different malts. Precise measurements can make or break a complex AG recipe, and extract can’t provide that kind of detail.
But for casual, quick recipes, whether you choose dry or liquid, extract is high quality, easy to work with, and produces excellent results. And without the added time of a mash, it can cut your brew day in half.
It’s also possible to keep the creative juices flowing while you’re keeping the pipeline flowing. Extracts should be considered the base malt of your recipe, just like two-row barley malt in an AG beer. Specialty grains, steeped for 30 minutes at 150º - 165º F will add color, flavor, and mouthfeel. With a little bit of research and using the ol’ noggin, you can make extract recipes for any style, from blonde ales to milk stouts.
I even took my recipe for the 100 Years War IPA (find it in the Recipes section), added two ounces of roasted barley and two ounces of Crystal 120L to the Carapils and Flaked Rye, and came up with a new, darker, heartier IPA. For another extract recipe, check out my Scramblin’ Amber Ale on the Recipes page.
There’s no reason to suspend brewing between Memorial Day and Labor Day. Smaller-volume extract batches produce really good beer, and formulating recipes for them is easy. Give it a try next brew day. If you start at 7:00, you’ll be done by 10.
No sweat.
6/22/2020
Mash/Sparge vs. BIAB
I used to regard my brew days as a personal indulgence. Sometimes it was the only day I had off from work that week. I found the initial hour-long mash and the two 15-minute sparges I’d run to be relaxing. It sort of fit in with my idea of spending a day forgetting the stresses and demands of my job and just concentrating on doing something exclusively for myself. Extending my brew day meant that instead of being as busy as I had to be, I was being as busy as I wanted to be. I liked to say that homebrewing was more than my hobby; it was my therapy.
Since I was saving money on a psychologist, I used those funds to buy what I needed for a DIY mash tun -- a five-gallon insulated water cooler, some hardware, and CPVC pipe for the manifold. Not bad for someone who thinks an engineering degree means you can drive a choo-choo train. But as my AG recipes got bigger, I decided to spring for a pre-made ten-gallon tun with a false bottom to filter the runnings. It worked out well, since I used the small one for my 2.5 gallon batches and the big one for the fivers.
I ran into some snags, though.
The one glaring design flaw in my homemade tun was the inability to securely fix the manifold to the outlet. It stayed on pretty well, but I had to be extra careful when mashing in the grains. If I bumped and dislodged it, I wouldn’t know until I tried to collect the runnings. Then I’d have to empty the whole thing, reattach the manifold, refill, and then drain it, along with a mess of grains and husks. This was obviously problematic, because before I’d even gotten to the first sparge, I’d used up all the curse words I knew.
I decided to do my small batches with the Brew In A Bag method. Not only could I continue to use the insulated mash tun, but I’d save a bit of time on brew days. Best of all, I could reserve my choicest swears for inconsiderate motorists.
I still did my five-gallon batches in the large tun with the false bottom. I liked the idea of thoroughly rinsing as much fermentable sugar as possible during the sparge process, and with a false bottom, there was no danger of a stuck sparge.
That is until the day I had a stuck sparge.
I wondered if DuoLingo offered a cursing program.
I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know why it happened. I don’t even want to know. What I do know is I was hit with the realization that my primary escape from work stress was stressing me out, at least at that exact moment. And if it happened then, it could happen again, and this is supposed to be therapeutic, and it’s not, and why would I do that to myself, and I hate this hobby right now, I hate it so much, and is it really so important to utilize a traditional homebrewing method, and why did I make the life choices I made, and is everyone saying they’re my friend, but they’re really just laughing at me behind my back...?!
That was my turning point.
I gave up on that batch. Just dumped the whole thing out without even trying to salvage it. Yeah. I actually did that. I figured if I was going to make a clean break, it was going to be a complete purge. From that day on, I went 100% BIAB.
This has worked out better for me, and I have no quarrels with anyone who prefers the mash/sparge method. I’ve used both, and I’ve brewed beer that won awards with both. And I’ve discovered advantages and disadvantages to both.
I’m only going by my own experience, but here are some of the major comparisons I’ve noticed:
- During the initial setting up, mash/sparge takes less time. Just measure out the strike water, heat it up, and you’re good to go. My method for BIAB takes more equipment, believe it or not. Since I’m working with the full water volume, I prefer heating up the water in two separate pots. This is especially true when brewing five-gallon batches. Trying to pour approximately seven gallons of water into a 13” diameter vessel is impossible to do without risking serious spillage. And when that water is hot enough to produce second-degree burns and third-degree cuss words, it just makes sense to use two pots. Mash/sparge 1, BIAB 0
- The trade-off to the extra initial time is that after the one-hour BIAB mash, you don’t need to sparge; you’re ready to proceed to the boil. With the traditional mash, I would do two 15-minute sparges, and that added an extra half hour before I even started heating the wort. Mash/sparge 1, BIAB 1
- I had the water volume calculations down pat for mash/sparge. I rarely fell short or had extra volume. I’m still dialing in BIAB volumes, and even batches with similar grain weights don’t always seem to yield the same pre-boil volumes. I’m forced to look up notes on previous or similar batches, and even then, it sometimes doesn’t work out. Mash/sparge 2, BIAB 1
- Some of the tutorials on BIAB say you can use a finer grist on your grain to bring the efficiency up, which replaces the function of the sparge in traditional mashing. But I haven’t changed the setting on my grain mill, nor do I mill my grains twice, and I’m still hitting the same specific gravity I hit with mash/sparge. I do squeeze my grains fairly thoroughly, but I can’t say if that’s making a difference or not; I just want to get as much as I can out of my grains. Mash/sparge 2, BIAB 2
- My peace of mind knowing I won’t be dealing with the frustration of a stuck sparge with BIAB is impossible to calculate. My brew days have become more relaxing and therapeutic, and the categories favoring mash/sparge simply can’t measure up. BIAB for the win!
As far as clean-up goes, either way I’m able to get all my mashing equipment taken care of while I wait for the wort to boil, so it’s a wash (no ten inpunded). I will say the biggest advantage for me has been eliminating the problems I encountered with a detached manifold and stuck sparges. I know there’s equipment that eliminates these problems, but I’m not in any hurry to buy more brewing equipment.
As with so many other aspects of homebrewing, this comes down to the all-important Brewer’s Choice. I would no more tell someone they should switch out of a procedure that works for them than I would tell them what style they should brew. If what you’re doing works for you, and if it produces beer you like, you’re doing it right. All I know is, since switching to BIAB, I no longer feel the need for therapy after my therapy.
5/27/20
Beer Snobs
Do you get people rolling their eyes when you go through the beer menu at a restaurant? Do they sigh loudly when you ask questions about the selection? Do you seem to know more about the styles of beer on tap than the bartender?
If you answered yes, you may be a beer snob.
When you talk about homebrewing or lagers vs. ales or European styles, do people excuse themselves, suddenly claiming they forgot to iron their dog? And they don’t even own a dog?
If so, you may be a beer snob.
When you mention craft beer online, are people convinced you’re a 20-something hipster, complete with a flannel shirt, epic beard, and man-bun?
That’s gotta be rough for you gals out there.
But I get it.
It’s been said that listening to a craft beer drinker talk about beer is like listening to a reformed sinner talk about the day he first saw the light.
Let’s face it: We could probably stand to dial it back a little now and then. Especially when we run the risk of being labeled a beer snob.
I hate that term. “Beer snob.” I prefer the term “beer geek.”
See, that’s what the whole world of beer does to me - it geeks me out. It geeks me out the same way a musician will just get lost in another artist's performance, or the way a movie nut gets all excited about the way everything came together perfectly in a certain scene, or how a gearhead’s jaw drops when he hears a perfectly tuned engine humming. I guess geeks just appreciate things more intensely than others when it comes to our GeekZone. We’re not snobby; we’re just enthusiastic.
And the most important distinction can be summed up in a single sentence: A beer geek cares about the beer he drinks; a beer snob cares about the beer you drink.
Which brings me to the point of all this.
Sometimes homebrewers can be real snobs.
Don’t get me wrong ... we’re all pretty much geeks about it, but there’s a fine line between geekdom and snobbery. It usually comes during discussions of the brewing process. If it works for us, we want to share it, especially if it might be helpful to someone struggling with an issue in their own process.
It’s easy to cross the line, though, and insist that what we do is the only way to do it. Though it grieves me to admit it, I’ve been guilty of this myself.
I have a friend, Will, who loves his stouts. Every now and then he’ll get a kit for a stout, and the additions he makes create delightful specialty beers: peppermint stout, raspberry stout, vanilla stout. They’re all delicious, and while I’ve appreciated drinking these beers, I also harbored snobbery in my soul.
You see, I don’t use kits. Not anymore, anyway. I started with HME kits, and used them for convenience even when I began formulating my own extract and AG recipes. But then I cut ties completely, and now I don’t use kits at all. So in my mind’s eye, Will was sort of cheating. After all, I formulated my own recipes, why shouldn’t he? My mind’s eye became a stink eye.
Oh, did you notice that I mentioned I formulate my own extract recipes? Yeah, and I still use some of them, because they make good beer, and sometimes I like a shorter brew day, which extracts provide. And you better believe I’d be cheesed off if some homebrew snob looked down her nose at my use of extract.
Even worse, I almost made a disparaging comment when I learned that Will doesn’t use a glass or plastic carboy, but ferments in a bucket with a lid that he fitted for an airlock! But that’s the thought that turned me around and made me realize how wrong my attitude was.
After all, why shouldn’t he ferment in a bucket? Lots of people do, and I’ve seen it recommended in homebrewing how-to books. It’s perfectly legitimate. The fact that I choose to use plastic carboys doesn’t make my choice superior to Will’s. They both get the job done.
Kettle, meet pot.
And that self-inflicted smack in the head got me to realize I was being snobby about Will’s use of kits, as well. There are outstanding kits out there, and while some of the fun of homebrewing for me is researching and formulating original recipes, I have to accept the fact that not everyone likes it. Whatever Will geeks out about when it comes to brewing, well...that’s his GeekZone, and I have no business passing judgment on it. He’s shared his stouts with me, and the flavor modifications he makes are superb.
The important thing is not how someone makes good beer; it’s the fact that they do it. I’ll admit there are recommended procedures that I don’t bother to follow, such as making yeast starters, checking my mash pH, or taking gravity readings three days running to make sure fermentation is complete. These are detail-oriented procedures that seem too fussy to me. And I wouldn’t adopt them simply because someone who had never tasted my beer told me my beer was suffering as a result.
I know Will and I are making good beer. Sometimes we’re making better-than-good beer. In any case, we’re making beer that pleases us. That’s the bottom line. If you like the beer you made, you did it right. We all geek out about different aspects of this hobby. Snobbery – and especially hypocrisy – shouldn’t get in the way of anyone’s enjoyment.
4/28/20
The Baseline
Brewing beer is similar to owning a car. Sure, you can spend your Saturdays under the hood, tinkering with the carburetor and gapping your spark plugs, but you don’t have to know how an internal combustion engine actually works in order to drive a car. So yes, when it comes to brewing, there’s chemistry and other science stuff involved, but it’s going to happen whether I understand it or not.
Yeah. Beer happens. Maybe it’s nice to know the science behind it, but for me, it’s not a requirement.
Now, if I wanted to be an auto mechanic or a Formula One racer, I’d be a fool to think that just starting the car and knowing where the rear defogger switch is would be adequate. And if I wanted to open a brewery, I’d have to study and pay my dues and learn as much as I could about starch conversion, water chemistry, humulone isomerization, and dozens of other specific disciplines.
But that’s not what I want.
I was never a scientist or a mathematician. When I start to read about chain molecules and chemical conversions, my eyes glaze over just a few sentences in. My approach is more like a musician’s. I can blend the main melody of the base malt with grace notes of specialty grains, and harmonize it all with the right strain of hops. I want my brew day to be fun and relaxing. I want it to be creative. I want it to be something I do just for my own satisfaction. I actually need it to go beyond being a hobby and become my therapy.
Having said that, I don’t want anyone to get the idea that I’m flying completely blind. That would just be foolish. There are certain disciplines and rules that you have to follow in order to achieve the bare minimum of competency. Sanitizing, temperature control, malt and hops profiles; these things are key to making beer, and they’re key to enjoying the process and the resulting product. And I’ve actually learned a thing or two, like why you’ll get a sweeter, maltier beer if you mash at around 158º instead of 155º. But I learned why after I learned what to do. Besides, this is good information that keeps my brain and my curiosity engaged.
But for me, a little goes a long way.
I’ve come across homebrewers who insist that you have to start with reverse osmosis water and add chemicals and minerals to achieve the proper pH balance in the mash. Or people who tell me that infusing the wort with pure oxygen prior to pitching the yeast is the key to effective fermentation.
I understand these things work for these people. Otherwise they wouldn’t do them. Maybe the guy who engineers his water has really poor municipal water that has way too much iron or chlorine, and he has to do it. I totally get that. Or maybe there’s someone out there who really digs replicating certain regional styles. So she does everything she can to duplicate the water chemistry in Cologne, Germany or Burton-on-Trent. And I’m fine with that.
Because that’s what puts that particular homebrewer in her Happy Place.
And ultimately, that’s all that homebrewed beer is supposed to do: put each of us in our own personal Happy Place. That Happy Place may change from batch to batch or from one recipe to the next. And that’s okay, too. As long as we get there, it’s all okay. Okay?