For an explanation of the origin of this ale, see the entry for the first attempt.

A few batches on now from last year’s Inklings Ale debacle, I thought I’d tackle the recipe again and bring some to the Glen for the Thomas Parker Society. The CAMRA recipe calls for some Diastatic Malt Extract and a certain amount of mashing. Not having any Diastatic Malt Extract, in fact discovering that such an animal is not only hard to come by here in the US but increasingly so back in Merry Old, I decide to change things up a bit by adding some base malt and doing a partial mash procedure I read in BYO magazine. I also decided to try a different yeast than last try. Instead of the standby Wyeast 1028 London Ale, I tried out 1275 Thames Valley (which is supposedly a Burton ale yeast). My big excitement here was that I have purchased an erlenmeyer flask in which to make yeast starters.

Brew day went fantastically, with me hitting my marks on the nose. In fact, it may be the most exact brew day I’ve had.

The Numbers
OG: 1.050
FG: 1.013
ABV: 4.82
IBU: 30.2

Tasting notes
I’ll post some detailed tasting notes later. Off the top, it looks great: coppery cyrstal clear, decent white foam. I continue to be amazed at the difference between the 12oz bottles and larger vessels; considering it’s bottle conditioned, I suppose I shouldn’t be, but I am. Some of the 12ers have a highly fruity quality that I’m not sure I like, whereas the larger bottles seem to be more balanced, allowing the EKG hops to shine.

At Thomas Parker, the ale was rather well liked. “Kick %&#!” was one response, along with many “Well dones” and people wrestling with their better angels over whether they could have another glass and still be fair to those who hadn’t yet tried some.

Ah, the free day. A good idea. After Wednesday’s richness and fullness (did I mention I had my poems critiqued on Wednesday), everyone’s a bit gassed and needs a breather. I spent most of the day wrestling with MS Word to get Sherry’s manuscript ready for the publisher. She felt horrible about needing the help while I was at the Glen, but, truthfully, the work was a bit mindless and gave me some needed solitude and a chance to “be”.

I did have some fun today, though. Laura, not Morefield, who was in my fiction workshop last year orchestrated a good old-fashioned hymn sing at breakfast. It was great fun and edification standing around with 10-15 people singing “Be Thou My Vision”, “Were You There”, and “How Great Thou Art”. Later, after getting ditched by the folks who were also supposed to come, Laura and I headed out to the Santa Fe Brewing Company for lunch. After chawing our way through some excellent burgers (I love being able to get avocado on my burger.) and two fine ales, we headed over to the brewery proper. Laura’s friend Cullen works for the brewery and was working today, and the two of us were taken on a fantastic tour of the brewery. We even got to help “grain out the lauter tun”, that is, Laura took a hoe and extracted spent grain from the lauter tun while I pressed “Stop” and “Go” to spin the paddles inside the tun which moved the spent grain to the exit hole. I can now say that I helped brew a batch of Nut Brown Ale. It was fascinating to see what I do on a professional production scale. Cheers! to Cullen and the rest of the Santa Fe Brewing staff for being so friendly.

When I come to The Glen, I must admit to a small amount of disappointment if all I get in the workshop is high praise and little suggestion for improvement. It’s not that I’m unappreciative or masochistic; I know my work needs improving, and I desire constructive criticism. However, when I packaged up six 22-oz bombers of my Inklings Ale to be enjoyed by members of the Thomas Parker Society, I really wasn’t looking for constructive criticism. I wanted full-on adulation. Bob D made my day when he enthusiastically declared, “This kicks *$$!” Ann O’s struggling between her desire for another glass and being a good, sharing hostess was equally satisfying. Two gentlemen from Colorado Springs–nearby to the great brewing town that is Denver–gave me rather sincere “Well done’s”. And I hope Brett Lott doesn’t lose his Southern Baptist membership, but I believe he may be the most well-respected word-smithing personage ever to taste something I’ve made, the only possible competition would be poet Gary Gildner. Brett thought the concept was “cool”, and I am now only two degrees away from Oprah. The bottles were emptied at rate that I truly found surprising. In fact, the reception was so enthusiastic that there was only the smallest of mentions of last year’s Porter the Rhine Coffee Porter.

Other highlights of the night included a wacky 50’s-style space adventure by Chris, a Jamaican folk-tale told (with special voices), a preview of Jeffrey’s forthcoming book, and a funny/touching essay by Lisa on living with obesity.

Tomorrow it’s back to the grind and possibly some disc golf.

Brewed December 14, 2007.

After two failed batches, I thoroughly cleaned all equipment, got some fresh yeast, and procured an ingredient kit from Grape and Granary. Let’s get back on solid ground, I said. Having had a great summer of pale ales, I wanted something different, so here we are at an oatmeal stout. Besides, it should be well conditioned and ready to drink for St. Patrick’s.

The one innovation I tried on this batch concerned the steeping of grains. When brewing with malt extracts, specialty grains are usually tied up in a muslin sock of some sort and allowed to soak before adding the extract to the water. The purpose is to extract the color and flavors of the specially kilned grains. Taking a page from my coffee brewing, I thought that rather than smoosh up the grains in a tiny sack, I’d like to allow the grains full reign of the brew kettle. Using the nylon bag from the Pumpkin Ale, I allowed the grains and oatmeal to float about freely.

A fun surprise of the steeping was that the oatmeal created a thick wort that glooped and gurgled during the steep.

Ingredients
As this is a G&G recipe, I won’t be posting the exact recipe so as to protect their interests.

Grain Bill

• Flaked Oats
• 2-Row Pale Malt (I asked John about using PM grain in an extract brew, and he explained that the oatmeal requires certain enzymes in the PM to properly contribute to the stout.)
• Black Barley
• Chocolate malt
• Roasted Barley

Hops
Being a fairly traditional stout, there was only a simple bittering hop addition using Horizon.

Yeast
Used Wyeast 1028, London Ale

The Numbers
O.G. 1.064
F.G. 1.018
ABV: 6.01
IBU: 44.3

Tasting Notes
The brew pours a satisfying black with a slight roasty aroma. The taste is also quite roasty and smooth. If there’s anything on the down side, it’s that I’m really not certain what the oatmeal brings to the table.

However, that hasn’t stopped anyone who’s had one from wanting another.

This batch was a very satisfactory recovery from the ails of the previous batches.

Brewed: 10/23/2008

Knowing that the fam was getting together on Thanksgiving, I thought it might be a hoot to have some good old fashioned Pumpkin Ale, not just something with some pumpkin pie spices in it, but a real honest to goodness made with some real live pumpkin ale.

I located a tasty looking recipe in Patrick Higgins’ (et al) The Homebrewers’ Recipe Guide. It called for 8 pounds of FRESH pumpkin. I was so excited.

There was a bunch of extra work to be done in preparing the pumpkin: cleaning, quartering, spicing, roasting, cubing. Then there was a sort of partial mash process to extract some sugars and flavor from the pumpkin. After all the work and boiling, I was quite pleased to have just about nailed the OG.

It was then, I fear, that I really messed up. I repitched some saved yeast from the T-9 batch. Egads was that a bad mistake. You might remember that there were some taste issues with T-9. Well, whatever small problems began in that batch flowered into full-bloomed disaster in T-10. After bottling and conditioning was done, I popped one open. It was totally undrinkable. There was a sort of cidery, bitter, chemical taste that was simply horrible. I opened another bottle to see if it was just that one bottle. This time, the instant I released the cap, a gush of tan foam shot 12 inches into the air before befouling the countertop. Unlike T-9 that yielded some less than good but drinkable (for me, not for guests) ale, this liquid was fit for neither man nor beasts. Down the drain it went. I won’t even report the numbers. 10 batches into the hobby, and I hit my first total loss.

C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Charles Williams used to meet in the Eagle and Child pub in Oxford. They’d share a pint and conversation about their literary works, theology, or whatever other ideas tickled their fancy. Shortly after beginning this new hobby of homebrewing, I got it into my head that it would be cool to figure out what kind of ales the Inklings quaffed as they massaged their brains.

Perusing the published letters, I found some specific references in Lewis’s letters indicating his delight in drinking bitters. A conversation over at Into the Wardrobe from 2006 provided the information that at the time of the Inklings, the Eagle and Child was supplied by Morrels of Oxford. Morrels signature bitter is called Varsity.

Having found a brewer and product name, I now needed to find a recipe. In our local library, I happened upon CAMRA’s How to Brew British Real Ales, which–you guessed it–had a recipe for Morrells Varsity Bitter. So there I was with some historical data and a recipe.

I ordered up the ingredients, including a nice British yeast, and set to making the brew. The CAMRA book was a tad bit dated and asked for some malt extract that doesn’t seem to be available. I ended up doing a rudimentary version of a partial mash to compensate, which was kind of exciting since I’d not done that before. Everything seemed to be going well throughout the boil–I nailed the OG as well as remembering all the ingredients. But trouble started in when after 48 hours, there was no visible fermentation activity. I tossed in some Nottingham dry yeast, which kicked things off. Then, to my horror, there was a late October heat spike, and the temp of the wort shot up to 75. After getting things under control, I bottled it up.

Upon bottling, I noticed a strong caramel flavor and noticeable alcohol. That should have been my tip off that something was amiss since Varsity Bitter is not a strong ale. Suffice to say that the results were very disappointing, almost undrinkable. After carbonation, that hint of caramel and the alcoholic aroma combined into a rather nasty taste experience. After giving the batch a few months to settle down, and noticing no improvement, I poured the batch down the drain.

Brewday: 10/22/2008
OG: 1.050
FG: 1.012
ABV: 4.9
Bottling day: 10/31/2008

Pie and coffee
This morning I sit here drinking stale coffee and eating bad pie. And I’m happy. The coffee, while stale, started out as good coffee a few days ago. And by good I mean freshly ground, properly stored, french press brewed Garuda Blend coffee from San Francisco’s Peet’s Coffee. Sure, two or three days (who can remember) sitting in the press on the counter hasn’t done it any favors, but I’m sticking by the idea that good coffee gone stale is still better than bad coffee fresh.

As for the pie, it’s not really the pie’s fault. It never really had a chance. When our friends Jack and Nancy moved to Baltimore–what? two years ago?–they gave us some gleanings from their freezer. Among the goodies was a box of frozen pie dough. It’s been sitting in the frost-free since then. I finally decided it was time to free up the space, so I thawed it out, slammed it in a pie plate, scooped in some canned pie filling (1 can blueberry, 1 can raspberry), slapped on the top layer of dough, and had done with it. And you know, for two-years-plus old dough, it came out ok. Nothing to write home about, mind you. Oh wait…

Two fingers
So yesterday, to celebrate turning in final grades, I went out to the disc golf course. I’ve been feeling that I’ve hit a plateau in regards to my distance throws. Yes, I get good spin. Sure my form is basically good. My accuracy is passable, and my consistency is ok. But, man, I just couldn’t get the disc to GO FURTHER. So, yesterday morning during my morning internet stroll, I happened across some youtube videos of folks throwing their discs FAR. I watched them. Despaired. And then caught something out the side of my ear. Someone mentioned using a two-fingered grip.

A two fingered grip? I’ve been using what’s known as the “power grip”: four fingers curled under the rim, thumb on top. It’s served me well. But this two-fingered idea intrigued me. So I decided to use the two-finger on every hole. Well, except #7 and #11, which are too short/tight for me to be messing with. I was amazed. I did nothing different on my drives except change my grip on the disk, and I was easily adding 20-30 feet. That’s almost a 10% increase just by moving two fingers. Of course my accuracy and consistency took a hit, but nothing that some dialing-in work won’t cure. I was very happy.

By the end of the round I was looking at the possibility of shooting under par for the first time on my home course, but some unlucky wind gusts took care of that perfect ending. Still, it was a good day on the course thanks to two fingers.

Regular followers of this site may remember my logs of homebrewed adventure from last summer. Those logs took me up to batch T-8. Then…nothing. No posts to the site.

That doesn’t mean that I’ve been idle. It just means that for any number of various reasons (laziness, lack of energy, forgetfullness, disappointment) I haven’t posted the batches since then. Which is kind of a shame. I’ve learned alot in the past six months or so. So, here’s the deal. The brewery at the corner of Walker and Circular is still hopping, so the posts will go from dim to bright. Expect to see reports on the following creations:

• T-9 Inklings Ale
• T-10 Pumpkin Ale
• T-11 Oatmeal Stout
• T-12 Simcoe Pale Ale 2
• T-13 Brown Fox
• T-14 Albino Amber Ale
• T-15 Inklings Ale, second attempt (ooh! foreshadowing!)

Over at Basic Brewing they had a podcast about “marketing” homebrewed ales to folks who might not necessarily be open to the idea. Turns out I was already planning one of their top ideas.

Last Saturday night, we had about 10-12 folks over to the house for a blind tasting of six pale ales. We provided the ales, bread, and water. The guests provided their favorite appetizers.

The excuse for the event was celebrating Oktoberfest, but since all the ales were English and American in derivation it wasn’t exactly the hofbrau house. In any event, I hung the blue and white colors of bavaria and we soldiered on.

At the beginning of the night I gave a short history of pale ales and noted the differences between English and American. We then dove into the tasting. Four of the ales were my own Summer of Pale Ale creations. The other two were Honker’s Ale from Goose Island and Doggie Style Pale Ale from Flying Dog. I wanted to mix in two quality ales with my own just to see if folks could tell the difference and to provide some commercially viable–yet high quality–examples of the style.

Each person was served two ounces of each ale, only being told what style it was and some basic info like ABV and IBU. We then took notes and discussed our reactions.

I think it turned out to be a great time. Even non-beer drinkers were giving it a shot and experiencing a wide-range of flavors. At the end of the evening we revealed our favorites, and there was a wide range of response. Honker’s finished both first and last. Flying Dog also took a first. My own Limping Dog Pale Ale was very well received as was the IPA.

My big hope from this is that when I show up at future parties with a few of my own, I won’t be the only one sipping.

This morning I was sitting in my house in Tiffin, OH at the dining room table, stacks of papers on three sides, dirty dishes in the sink staring at me from across the room, more items languishing on the breakfast bar inbetween. While eating my peanut butter toast, I was reading Henri Nouwen’s _The Return of the Prodigal Son_ and preparing myself for a day of rating written responses for ETS. Yet, while my body and mind were firmly ensconced here in Northwest Ohio, my soul was breathing powdered sugar and sipping au lait at the Cafe du Monde in New Orleans. Such is the power of taste and smell.

Two days ago I’d brewed the last whole coffee bean in the house, what I call our house blend but what is really Garuda Blend from Peet’s Coffee. I muddled through yesterday, but was a bit concerned about getting through a scoring day without the coffee goodness. While rummaging through the caffeine cupboard, taking stock of our tea situation, I found a can of Cafe du Monde coffee that we’d purchased in the spring while on our big road trip south. I rejoiced.

Cafe du Monde coffee is a blend of coffee and chickory. My guess is that the peasants of the New Orleans area long ago used the native chickory to stretch the expensive, imported coffee. Today it’s a trademark flavor of the Big Easy. The chickory adds an acrid bitterness that can be a bit harsh when served alone. It’s one of the few times that I like milk with my regular coffee. The coffee, chickory, and milk blend together to produce a taste that is all NOLA, creamy soft, roasty smooth, all with an undertone of bitterness that reminds us of the harsh realities underlying the bon temps.

Nouwen’s book was the product of being entranced with a detail from Rembrandt’s painting of the Prodigal Son parable. That moment sitting in a colleague’s office, staring at a poster, transported him to a place of contemplation where his deepest longings were revealed. Sitting in the outside cafe of Cafe Du Monde, sipping au lait and nibbling beignets, I was able to turn out a rough draft of the story I workshopped at the Glen. This morning, I contemplate the power of a single cup of coffee to transport me a thousand miles. It’s perhaps not the deepest longings of my soul, but it is a comfort.

To crib and mutilate a phrase, this morning, this cup of coffee is evidence that God loves me and wants me to be happy.

Thank you.

I was pretty excited about batch 8. Besides being the last brew in the summer of Pale Ales, it was also going to be the first ale I was going to make according to my own original recipe. Sure, I’ve tweaked kits here and there in the past year, but I hadn’t actually started something from scratch. After much deliberation and reference to various books, websites, and podcasts, I decided that I wanted a piney ale. Something to remind me of a northern forest (more…)