Homebrew Life

I’ve written before about my experiences as a homebrew widow, but that was over a year (and another blog) ago, so I thought it was time for an update.  Ryan is still going strong with his hobby, and he has brewed close to 35 beers now.  He’s also begun entering contests, mostly to gain feedback about his recipes, and he won second place in a competition sponsored by the American Homebrewers Association.  It’s something he’s really passionate about, and because I feel the same way about writing and this blog, I can definitely relate.  I’m incredibly proud of him, and his hard work is really paying off.

We’ve worked out a more efficient brewing schedule, and he now brews every two weeks, either on Friday or Saturday evenings.  He has a small group of loyal friends who faithfully attend each brew session, and he’s also gained the attention of a neighborhood beer drinking club (composed of a few retired guys).  I’ve been trying unsuccessfully for years to meet neighborhood moms, but anytime Ryan’s outside doing something beer-related, random people stop by to chat with him.  Some want to know what those big pots are for, some people ask if he’s making Moonshine, the occasional police officer attempts to make a quick joke, and fellow homebrewers come to learn a thing or two.  It’s phenomenal, really, and I never knew that beer could literally bring a community together.

Ryan keeps most of his large equipment in the garage, but much of his preparation takes place within our kitchen.  He’s great about cleaning up after himself, something I really appreciate, but I’m still amazed at the random things I find from time to time.

Like this:

(No, that’s not a potato.)

That’s a large flask (ordered online, since Texas has strict Breaking Bad-type laws against selling them) holding a single, white, knee-high stocking (like the kind your school nurse used to wear) filled with some strange coffee concoction.  I think it’s that fancy coffee made from the excrement of some weird animal who eats the beans and then, well, you know.  I don’t drink coffee, either, so I’m not dwelling on it.  The flask is then covered with a latex glove and secured with a rubber band.  It’s all very scientific and part of Ryan’s latest recipe.

And recently, I was working on an upcoming post and needed to take pictures of our kitchen while the sun was shining.  My plan was foiled, however, by Ryan’s yeast starter, which was mixing on the stir plate two days before brew day.

(Notice the flask on the left, carefully balanced with cookbooks.)

I tried to camouflage the flask and stir plate with a strategically placed vase of flowers, but I wasn’t very successful.  And since the mixture could not be moved, I just gave up.

(My attempt to hide the beer behind a vase of flowers.)

But it really helps to keep a sense of humor about all of this, and I know it could be so much worse.  This is Texas, after all, and it’s not that uncommon to see hunters and fishermen cleaning freshly killed creatures in their front yards.

I should thank my lucky stars that our trash can smells like hops, and not something much, much worse.