Part of the beauty that lies in beer is the discovery.  There are a plethora of styles, a barrage of nuances,and  a myriad of contexts in which to discover the king of beverages.  When the would-be beer drinker starts the quest of exploring a fresh world of beer, it seems as though the sky is the limit.  Bottles are purchased, locations are scouted, rumors of  rare bottles become fictive hopes…

And then it happens.

One day, the beer drinker becomes aware that the thrill for discovery is a little less thrilling.  Searching for the rare bottle takes a back seat.  The 100 tap handles do not seem as awe inspiring.  As Scott from Manland once told me, the kid in the candy store feeling is not there any more.

There is no need for the beer drinker to worry; you still affirm your love for beer.  For that reason, it certainly is not a matter of enjoying the beverage.  Perhaps the cost of paying $15 for each bottle becomes a bit too cost prohibitive, maybe your interest was meteoric (you went to hard too fast), perhaps it is even the extreme nature of our beer culture combined with our programatic notion that the newest/latest greatest is the best.  A number of factors can be sight to explain why the thrill is gone.  Perhaps the most potent answer is the following: it was bound to happen.  It was inevitable.  The wave invariably crests and crashes. However, this is not the end.

If a term could be coined for what happens after the initial push toward loving beer, it might be called “beerturity.”  It is not dissimilar to the difference between married love and dating love.  At some point in a marriage, the equilibrium of love is reached. The lover begins to realize that a mature love, while not as butterfly evoking, is a much deeper one that can account for the lover in a way that was formally impossible while dating.  But beer, of course, is not love.

So, there appear to be several ways to keep discovering/rediscovering beer.  The route that I have taken is to delve into the history, food pairing, and brewing aspects of beer.  In a word, my obsession has become more full and rounded.  It is funny how the enjoyment of something goes.  By all appearances, the more you know about something, the more you appreciate it.

Yet, I do not want to minimize the feeling that the thrill is gone.  Perhaps a new thrill about beer (or something else) will be found. Maybe a new brewery will catch your eye.  You may even possibly take up brewing.  Just remember that an unalterable law of thrill seeking is that it is ultimately unsustainable.  The person who has a deep appreciation and a profound gratitude toward an object can always appreciate it.  This idea is very freeing.

I had a professor who used to talk about postmodernism being, in some ways, the discovery of a second innocence.  Beer may not be unlike literary theory and epistemology in that sense.  What I mean is this:  The thrill may be gone, but a deep appreciation that will set in is far more thrilling in the end.

Thrill—>Discovery—>Lost Innocence—>Rediscovery—>Profound Appreciation

This it seems, is what every single person who loves beer experiences.  I have you and you have (or will).

The sad refrains of ten thousand “lost love” songs ringing in my ears could not match the sadness I feel when I hear uttered the kindred language of Mordor speaking that ever so vile and unsubstantiated phrase, “I really don’t like beer.”  What the phrase has done to my life-span and psyche tongue cannot tell.  However, there is a fortunate and unalterable truth to which I am privy that reassures the knee-jerk crumbling of my soul when I hear that phrase of such affected myopia: it is not true (well, the great majority of the time).

It happened again last night.  A coworker of mine mentioned to a consultant working with us that I brewed beer.  Her response sent me recoiling (on the inside) in horror.  I cannot bear to repeat those words again, and certainly not a third time, due to the fear of accidentally summoning a Burtonesque Beetlejuice-like character.  When I recovered from the sheer shock, I offered a potent rebuttal.  My normal response is first to state, in no uncertain terms, that the person in question actually likes beer but just happens not to know it yet.  The second tier of this robust response is to ask the following question: “What beers have you had?”

Almost without variation the answer to the question is neatly nestled in the barren lands of the big five (or however many they are lately; one can never tell how many there are these days…conglomeration is so confusing).  Once prodded, their tongues are loosened and the mystery is typically unravelled.  Sometimes I ask what sorts of flavors the person likes, talk some more, and beseech them by all that is true and holy to give it another go or two.  Sometimes these persons just keep going and dig a little deeper to say that they once had a Newcastle or other beer and thought it was okay.  Well, that is something one can work with.

Please do not misconstrue what I am saying.  There are actually those people existing in the world whose unfortunate genetic predisposition punishes them with the predilection of casting an unfriendly eye toward this nectar of the gods.  And that spell, my friend, is not easily cast aside.  Yet, I have seen even that mystical hold broken by the logic of good beer.  Why am I casting suspicion and doubt on my fellow citizens and countrymen (and countrywomen)?  It is because they drink wine.

Before you see red (or white), allow me to explain.  I think wine is terrific.  I truly love a bold, dry, oak tannin filled red.  There are times when an Asti is almost divine… but let’s not get carried away (after all it is not beer, which is why I said “almost”).  Anyway, this is where my theory may seem less tenable but let us suppose that those who can drink ripe, tart, sometimes sour, sometime cloying sweet, even mildly “offense” wine could reasonably tolerate various styles of beer.  Let us suppose that it really is not a matter of taste.  Instead, let us assume it is simply a matter of exposure.  This opens up a new world entirely.

I have seen, on several occasions, not the single batting of an eye over a $15 bottle of Reisling.  Of course this is seen as reasonable and acceptable.  Take that same person and ask them to spend $9 on a 750 ml bottle of beer that is of the same or greater strength and they will bat both eyes and help you to the nearest mental facility.  What is wrong with this picture?

If you have not guessed already I am attempting to build a case that perception is key when it comes to this issue.  For the record (and according to past iterations of this discussion we have posted), I think French Gastronomy has a massive and unrecognized link to wine’s pedigree while snubbing “little brother beer”.  Beer has its work cut out for it because it is fundamentally viewed and associated as unrefined among many people.  So why keep trying it?

But wine has the distinct advantage of “I’m going to like it, come hell or high water”.  I know several people who have weaved wine narratives that goe along the lines of:  1. Did not start out liking it.  2.  Found one or two they liked.  3. Came to appreciate other wines.  4. Started genuinely enjoying various styles.  5. Loves a good wine no matter what style.

Perhaps the point, if I can be viewed as having made a cogent argument or even a point at all, emerges.  Why not give beer another chance?  I know you do not like it, I know you can find one or two you might like, I know you will even come to appreciate some beers you might have not formally liked, perhaps you can start enjoying various styles, and maybe you will come to appreciate a good beer no matter the style.  Please do not write off a whole category based on a few bad apples.

As some of you may have noted (at least those who visit this barren wilderness of posting), we have not been posting much lately. I could hedge my bet a bit and say that I’m not making excuses, but that would be a lie.  I am actually going to make a couple of excuses.

Between putting quite a bit of overtime in at work recently and working on a little project, I have been hard-pressed to find writing time.  Many of you are actually familiar with the other project I am talking about: a future brewery.  Saturday, I will be meeting, for the fourth time, with a possible investor in a future brewery.  Lately, I have been crunching some numbers and doing several other brewery related tasks. To exacerbate the situation, there have been several decisions that we have put in motion recently.  Honestly, it’s time to go for it. At this point, I suppose you might say it’s about a 3/4 court press and that we are really heading for pouring ourselves into the future pouring of pints.

At any rate, I want to thank all of you who have been reading and putting up with our lack of new material recently.  Please note that you are all still very much in my mind and that you have been responsible for making this site what it is.  That being said, please keep us in mind during this time of real searching and lack of time.

I promise we will be back to writing more…my hope is that in the next few weeks there will be a whole lot to say.

One of the many important steps to proper brewing is crushing one grains, ESPECIALLY for the brewer who bypasses extracted malts and brews all-grain.  You see, the all-grain brewer must extract sugars from the starches hidden inside malted barley.  To access this treasure trove of future beer, the husk of the barley must be cracked open in a process known as crushing.  One does not want their barley to look like flour after having been crushed, but they do want to see each husk split open.  While most home brew stores will do this free or at minimal cost, a lot of us home brewers like to take on every aspect of the brew process; it makes us feel better about our beer.  Besides, I myself order a lot of my grain online and prefer the grain to be un-crushed in case I decide not to use all of it at once.

I use a Phil Mill to crush my grains.  The Phil Mill just my be the least sophisticated method of crushing grain.  In fact, it looks like something Laura Ingalls Wilder would have lying around her kitchen.   Unlike many larger two roller crushers that crush large amounts of grain between two steel rollers, the Phil Mill gets the job done with one small steel roller that compresses and crushes the grain against a curved steel plate.  The single roller–only about 2.5 inches long–is turned by hand.  The grain is fed into the simple mechanism via a hole less than an inch wide.  I fix a empty 2 liter soda bottle to the whole to feed the grain through.

Crushing 19 pounds of grain in this manner is a tiresome, but rewarding process.  Tiresome, because one pound of grain takes about 55 cranks.  You do the math…you’re in for a bulging bicep via this method.  Nonetheless, it is rewarding for several reasons.  First, the grain is crushed to a level of perfection I have yet to see any of my home brew shops attain to.  And I am not the only one…check out this guy’s review of the Phil Mill.  Besides this, I am rewarded each time I crank that little steel wheel, because I am reminded of the ancient and commonplace history of beer.  I think of all the farmers, vikings, monks, and family men of days past who produced their beloved beverage with the sweat of their brow and without the aid of sophisticated equipment.  I am reminded that beer is not rocket science…it is love and devotion.  Yeah, that probably sounds corny…but it is pretty darn accurate.

The history behind my Phil Mill makes the process even more rewarding.  I bought the mill from a guy off Craigslist who was helping his buddy’s widow liquidate his estate after his buddy’s untimely death.  When I bought it, he told me his deceased friend was a home brewing fanatic.  It’s nice to know that the little Phil Mill allows a legacy to live in while performing a steadfast duty.  It’s kind of like Toy Story Three…for home brewers.

Yeah…beer is all about sentimentalism.

Dark Lord Day at Three Floyd’s Brewery is a perennial favorite among those who are devout attendees.  And why not?  There is a massive crowd of people doing nothing but getting some Dark Lord Imperial Stout and sharing some excellent beers with one another.  In fact, I was lucky enough to try some rare beers I had never laid lips on previous to last year’s festivities.  Perhaps in a twist of irony, I was able to drink Isabel Proximus at a brew festival in Indiana, which I hadn’t been able to get in California even though I am a California resident (the beer was brewed about two hours away).

Although many attendees have been more devoted than myself and have a much longer streak of presence at the festival, this year would have made three in a row.  I say “would have” because I will not be there this year.  Last year I flew to Indiana.  Of course, my family lives in Indiana so I had several motivating factors.  This year, my brother will be visiting during the festival, so it is definitely out. Aside from that, I really am not into spending the money on a flight this year.

Sure, I am sad that I will not be at the festival this year.  My hope is that I can still get two bottles from someone, or perhaps two separate people would each be willing to part with a bottle…we’ll see.

However, I need to state that the real loss will be my inability to meet up with some of my blogger friends and to rub elbows with fellow attendees.  For this reason, my mourning period is starting early.  I am also mourning for those of you who would be attending without tickets…I hear that only those with tickets will be allowed on the grounds.

Self-denial can be a really important aspect to life.  At least I think so.  Personally, I find that giving up certain practices or refraining from various activities can be a rich and rewarding experience.  As some of you know, Nate and I both are practicing Christians. Both of us choose to see our faith a practice of rich enjoyment but also a practice of sober separation.

By separation I mean that I’ve personally given up drinking beer for Lent.  Is it easy?  No.  Do I wish that I could be drinking a beer right now?  Absolutely.  Am I still brewing for when I am back to the enjoyment of something I love so dearly?  You could not pull me away.

I do have to say I am having an rediscovered appreciation of beer.  No longer and I taking it as a given part of a day, an element that makes the meal complete, the work analgesic.  Instead, I am reflecting on how good it truly is and the beauty of it as a gift that has been given.  I guess I could call it a re-calibration during this time and I think some amazing points of clarity concerning my relationship with beer have come about during this time…I cannot wait to share more about that very soon.  In the mean time, thanks for begrudging me my occasional posts that meld faith and beer.

As I am certain many fellow beer drinkers, bloggers, and brewers can attest, life can be brutal sometimes.  Sometimes it can be brutal in the sense of cruel, but I am speaking more along the lines of breakneck, no rest, drooping eyes type brutal.  Perhaps busyness, clutter—whatever you choose to call it—most aptly describes how life can feel.

Can I get a witness?

Well, as the title indicates, there is no home remedy I know of that surpasses a good home brew.  Sure, most “cold ones” are simply terrific after feeling dragged down.  But something that has only come about by planning, care, and “I don’t give a shit about the pace you prefer, I’m going to do it in my own timing” of home brewing that makes it particularly satisfying after a long day, week, or start to the week that knocks the socks off my tired feet.

Please tell me you know this joy!

For those of you who read regularly, you know that I am a bit obsessed with brewing and really enjoy the process.  In addition, I make no secret of the fact that I love food.  I absolutely adore new types, varieties, and flavors of food.  To be more specific, I especially love foods that involve some form of yeast or bacterial production.

Well, the time for confession has come.  My new obsession is with making sausages in general, but particularly, I am obsessed with making fermented sausages.  Even more particularly, I am interested in making salamis.  Part of my not writing as much lately, aside from being out of town and working 13 hour days, is that I’ve been curling up with some good books.  Nothing unwinds me like reading about making something.

Please consider this my preemptive post about the impending sausage making series that I will be writing in the coming months.  Of course, beer will be incorporated, paired, and appreciated.  Please feel free to add your thoughts at any point.

Today on my lunch break, this newspaper article from Luzene County, PA newspaper Citizen’s Voice jumped out at me: From Bibles to Beer. Perhaps it was so intriguing because it seemed to be an abstract of my life, but also because I…and everybody needs an uplifting story these days.  As Mike and I tirelessly plunge through jobs that aren’t necessarily fitted to our build, we assume a lot of our readers can relate.

The article (that I implore you to read!) details the account of two homebrewers working to migrate their passion from a hobby to a vocation.  The two homebrewers–Chris Miller and Mark Lehman–actually started a business brewing beer five gallons at a time in their garage, upped the output to 120 gallons, and are now looking to relocate their brewery from their garage to a commercial location.  The location of their choice??? A former Church Sunday school building.
Blasphemy!

Ehhh, not really, but you know that’s what folks are saying.  In fact, the duo are meeting resistance…apparently more so from the community in general than from the current owners (St. Joseph’s Catholic Church) of the property; though clearly there is some hesitancy from some parishoners as the article states.  I chuckled o myself as I read through the comments below the article on Citizen’s Voice website.  For your pleasure, I’ve furnished one such comment and it’s tactful reply.

PA Girl stated:

I think this is disgusting. Granted, the people involved in the business are probably nice people and the business is a legitimate one. I don’t think this is the proper use of the church…the school okay, but probably once the variance is okayed, it won’t be long until something is done with the church that would be considered less than ideal. This should not be approved until all the facts are on the table, and that means that the diocese of Scranton should let their feelings be known. The school is one thing….but the church, people, protect the church and the souls that came through there either at the beginning or end of their lives, as well as the time in between.

To which eqmantr responded:

PA GIRL, Im sorry I do not agree with you, i am a catholic and i would much rather see a building being used instead of it rotting away like MANY other churches around our area.
This is a mom and pop business possibly looking to create jobs which are greatly needed in this area…
good luck guys hope it works out and if more people had your ambition, this city would be a much better place

Hotel5 stated:

Religion is a scourge on the Earth. These guys just want to brew beer, supporting and rebuilding the community they grew up in. It’s pathetic that their dreams are being held up because a now vacant building was once used as a church. I suppose you’d rather it be a rat infested drug den, than a thriving business.

For shame.

I’d love to converse with both PAgirl and Hotel5 the history of the Church and brewing. I doubt either one of them are aware that many of the brewing processes we use today were developed by monks within Church walls by those who adhere to one take on “the scourge of the earth.”  But such individuals ho use such incendiary language are too blinded by tunnel vision to engage in such a peaceful and logical discussion.

Regardless, Beer and religion always prove to be an interesting topic, and I hope and pray that Chris Miller and Mark Lehman get their brewery.  Should they stumble across this post and are in need of a good rebuttal for the local parishoners, I believe this picture of the pope enjoying a brew may come in handy.

I really want to know.  Lay the facts on me as to why this is the oldest beer in your collection.

Below is a picture of the oldest beer in my beer cellar.  I actually picked it up at a antique mall in Toledo, Ohio for just a few dollars.  The beer was brewed by the no-longer-in-operation  Great Lakes Brewing Company, out of Fort Wayne, IN–not to be confused with the exceptional Great Lakes Brewing currently located in Cleveland, OH.  The beer was brewed in 1982 for the World’s Fair when I was just a spritely 2 years old.

Yes, it’s “crap” beer.  No, it’s not worth much of anything.  Sure, it’s a pale American Lager. But when I saw it I just had to buy it, not just for its antiquity, but because it instantly reminded me of a great short story that got my wheels turning when I was a teenager.  The story–written by Vincent Bené–is By the Waters of Babylon. The story depicts a young man’s journey in a post Apocalyptic world in which he encounters relics of  his ancestors/gods.  One such relic is, from the story:

There was drink, too, in bottles of glass—the drink of the gods was strong and made my head swim. After I had eaten and drunk, I slept on the top of a stone, my bow at my side.

When I saw that beer on the antique shelf, even though it was in a can on not glass, it just reminded me of the beer that John–from By the Waters of Babylon– may have encountered.  Sure, it would have been cooler to find a 28 year old bottle of Thomas Hardy’s Ale, but Thomas Hardy’s was not on the shelf, and besides…I am strangely curious to see what morbidly expired cheap American lager–the most liked beer that would be discovered should an apocalypse hit the US today–tastes like.

I imagine when I get around to drinking it, I’ll bust out By the Waters of Babylon too.  After all, beer and reading go hand in hand.