It’d been two-ish years since I brewed a batch of beer. Saturday afternoon I finally sucked up the will to deal with the tedium that follows when one homebrews (e.g. cleaning, sanitizing, trying-not-to-multitask-cuz-you’ll-fuck-it-up-ing). The rewards have, in the past, been substantial: gratification through the act of creation, artistically satisfying, and socially uplifting.
I dusted off (literally) my numerous pieces of brewing gear and began the process with recipe and ingredients procured from the local Lafayette Homebrew shoppe.
With the boil underway and molecular excitement reaching peaks, the smell of my homebrew is positively intoxicating.
With the hops added and frustrating boil-over largely abated (I reviewed the preceding link after the fact), I spent the next 45 minutes of the 60 minute boil preparing for the post-boil events. Namely, after you finish the boil, you’ve got to cool it down. Lo & behold my trusty wort chiller was no longer, so I had to do it the old fashion way (that is super low-tech).
Sorta longer story short, this batch marked one of the most disappointing weekend projects as of late. A catastrophe suitable enough to inspire even the laziest of writers to blog.
As I turned the corner, well ahead of my four minute go-fuckin’-check-on-it timer mind you, I experienced a moment of realization that I am not the Flash nor Superman. All I could do was watch, the beginnings of an eventual long, dreadfully sorrowful “no” forming on my lips.
If only the irony derived from this beer’s name and fate were as delicious as the beer would have been.