We’ve had what passes for cold weather out here in the Bay Area for the last couple weeks; I’ve had to scrape ice off the windshield many mornings, my coworkers all grumble and complain, and the citrus crops have suffered serious damage. But there is one personal advantage to this.
I’ve brewed lagers almost every year since we moved into this house in 2002. Lager in German means storage, as lager yeasts ferment and condition at cooler temperatures than ales do — thus lagers are stored in cool cellars. So I try to brew mine early in the wintertime for the cooler weather, but the last couple years I didn’t brew until the end of January, meaning I’m bottling in March and the beer is bottle-conditioning in spring.
And here I am once again reminding myself, “next winter, I’m going to brew my winter lager closer to the solstice, so it stays nice and cold.” On January 10th, I made myself go out and buy the grain, hops, and yeast I needed so I could brew last weekend. (Progress. We have to content ourselves with what progress we make.)
And then something came up Saturday, of course, and I ended up volunteering Sunday, so I got a later start than I would have liked, and one thing led to another with those darn jackrabbits. But on the way home I hit on the bright idea of using the kitchen stovetop burners upstairs to make up for lost time while I set up the equipment down on the concrete patio I use for brewing.
Brewing can be compared to baking; you can bake from scratch, you can use some premade ingredients, and you can buy doughs premade you just pop in an oven. I brew from scratch, which involves putting malted grain in a tall large cylinder on stilts called a mashtun and seeping the grains to extract the sugars myself, rather than buying malt extract syrup.
This gives me a little more control over the flavor, the way a baker might tweak ingredients in their dough. I also have to use my propane burner twice–first to heat the water for the mash, and after I return that liquor (called wort) to the kettle to cook it, adding hops for flavor.
Temperature is critical, depending on the recipe, I need 4 to 6 gallons of water heated to about 170 degrees. I usually fire up my propane burner to get the brew kettle going late morning, but Sunday I was late. My first not-so-bright idea was to not even use the propane tank for this. It’s a nuisance to light, especially if there is any wind, so why bother?
So, as I sterilized and set up all the equipment, I had every big stockpot we own going on the kitchen stove. (Hey, heats up the house nice, too — bonus!) I figured I had 3 to 4 gallons fired up close to boiling on the stove by 1:30 PM, when it dawned on me that I’d be mixing this with pretty cold water, because it’s what Californians call cold here lately. And as I try to make sure I have enough 170 degree water I’m starting to wonder — is it cooling down in the kettle out there quicker than I’m heating it on the stove in here?
Better the water be too hot (I can always add cold to cool it) than too cold (takes a while too heat up). Maybe my idea wasn’t so bright after all.
Suffice to say, I got some exercise running up and down our back steps with kettles of near-boiling water as I realized how very efficient that darn propane burner is — it delivers a heckuva lot more BTUs, and really, I’d already gotten my morning’s workout. Okay, my day job is sedentary, but this was enough exercise for one day. Realizing how dim my notion had turned out, I fired up the propane burner long enough to fill the mashtun by 2 and finally sat down to relax and snack.
My wife, Roberta, wisely knows that it will save on aches and pains if I take a little Advil or Motrin at these times. The thing that bothers me about this is the little warning on the label about alcohol. I like to drink beer while I brew. Lager, remember? This labor is all about the lager, right?
But she’s right — it does save on aches and pains, so I took the pills with my late lunch, and the brewing went fine. I became very relaxed, after all that running around. I was kicked back as the hops (Tettnang and Hallertau) were added according to their schedule, and all was hunky dory, until I had my next bright idea.
It’s called knockout when the beer has cooked long enough. I then need to chill the simmering beer down to about 75-80 degrees, to add the yeast. I’ve had good luck with my beers in part because I look out for the little yeasties. I don’t scrimp on yeast. I buy a tube for each carboy (the 5-6 gallon bottles, shaped like water cooler bottles, where the beer ferments).
The point is to create a little population explosion, as many as possible of the lager yeasties I’ve introduced and as few as possible of the airborne, natural yeasties who might give it an off flavor.
Usually, to chill the beer down as quickly as possible I put a large copper coil with over a dozen loops in the brew kettle, attach one end of the coil to the garden hose, turn the hose on, and the cold water circulating through the coil cools the beer quickly. When I turn on the spigot, the first water through the coil is almost scalding hot when it comes pouring out the nozzle.
It takes a while, especially toward the end, and I hate running the water that long. But hey, it’s winter, right? It’s already cold outside–plus it’s now getting dark. So I figured what the heck, I’ll go inside and let the weather work for me. When the covered brew kettle has cooled down to 80 degrees I’ll drain the beer into the carboys, pitch the yeast, and I’ll save myself fooling around with the coil.
So I cleaned up as dusk approached, and once I was inside and reclining; the Motrin and a glass of beer had me very relaxed. Limp, even. I was in no hurry to go anywhere–but I had to keep an eye on the beer. It wouldn’t do to pitch the yeast too cold.
It took an awful long time to cool down ten gallons in that brew kettle. It was probably below 40 degrees outside when I shut off the propane burner at 5:30. The beer was simmering then, but when I checked at 6:30 it had only cooled to about 180 degrees. Around 155 degrees at 7:30.
I checked in every hour or so and it took until 11:00 before I was down to 90 degrees. I drained some of the beer into the carboys and set them on the cold concrete so they’d cool faster. And there I was, turned into silly putty man and ready to go to sleep, thinking about hefting those five gallon carboys up the backsteps. They’re damn heavy, I was damn tired, and six-packs from the supermarket were starting to sound pretty good.
It was a little bit surreal to be outside brewing in January when it got closer to midnight. Sterility is key, so I keep a bucket of water with Iodophor dissolved in it, a powerful germicide. Even if it was below 40, I was keeping busy enough that I wasn’t cold, wearing an old sweatshirt but not needing a jacket or gloves. Still, as much as I can handle cold temperatures, I’ve never liked immersion in cold water.
Ever. Just remembering watching a friend dive into a cold lake once gives me the heebie-jeebies. And now I’m holding a flashlight trying to fish out transparent pieces of plastic. Sinking my forearm into a frigid Iodophor bath for six little pieces to assemble the two airlocks needed to prevent contamination and allow fermentation, and I’m now elbow deep. It’s so cold the chill reverbrates down my skeleton to my toebones and bounces back up.
It occurred to me then, approaching midnight under a cold sky, cursing the slippery plastic eluding my numbing fingers: From now on, I must make sure to begin brewing in the morning. Let’s avoid mid-winter midnight lager.
I hauled the carboys up to a back room to begin fermenting, cleaned myself up, and went upstairs to sleep very, very well.
Well, with all the commenting on my blahg, I figured I’d come on by and throw my two cents into the hat. I do wish I had the space to brew beer, but alas, a one bedroom apartment just doesn’t cut it. Though I do admit I’d make wine as a higher priority, as having milk or water at a meal pales in comparison to a good glass of red. The project this year I think is to grow a whack of Roma tomatos, as I really need some homemade pasta sauce. Being 4,500 km from the family has that kind of effect.
I bet the first glass is gonna taste the best! Haven’t tried brewing anything, but when I had goats, I used to do a little cheesemaking, so I can totally relate to being obsessive about temperature and cleanliness and preventing off flavors.
Jeff, re those tomatters, I’m guessing you know how there are planters now for growing them even inside an apartment? In fact, I’ve heard of one that grows upside down–one turns over the plant so that the stem comes out the bottom of the planter and crawls up the side; you pour water in the top of the pot so it trickles down onto the roots and you dont’t spill. Haven’t tried it, but if I lived in an apartment, I would.
I was struck by the highrises in Vancouver. We’re so used to highrises being primarily for business down here, it seemed a smart way to live urbanely in a small area (SF is starting to do more of this.)
I brew full mash, using milled grain–there are ways to brew stovetop, using malt extract. But it sounds like you’d be more up for vino. Here in Alameda there is a veterinarian who started making wine at home and has turned it into a large business, Rosenblum wines. Quite popular in the Bay Area. I’ll bet two things would happen if you ever tried it. One, your appreciation for what you know and like about various wines would deepen and two, something we’d happen you’d be able to blahg about.
Halfnotes, my mother-in-law loves goat cheese. I’m a cheddar guy myself (the sharper the better) but we have some goat cheese in our fridge now for when she visits, as a treat.
Microbrewing owes a debt to a guy named Fritz Maytag, who kept Anchor Steam Brewery going while the corporate brews drove most little guys out. Of Maytag appliances. In addition to beer he also makes cheese–and it makes sense. You’re right, both demand real care with ingredients, temperature, cleanliness, and yeast.
Yes, I’m optimistic about this lager, actually. I’ve tried a couple different recipes in recent years and this one combines a couple things I’ve liked before. Besides which, it’s staying cool here! (Ice on the windshield again yesterday.)
Do you miss the goats?
Ombudsben,
Yes, I do, but my mom still has some, so I can go up to the farm when I need a “fix”!
Goats and music were dual passions in my life for as long as I remember, but whenever I’d travel for extended periods for music, the question about giving up goats would creep into my mind. For a long time, I just ignored it. Finally, I chose. I figured that, to take either passion to the next level of excellence that I wanted to, I’d have to devote more time to it.
Goats are awesome, and I’m sure one day I’ll return to them. But there is no vet here anymore who will treat large animals (just cats and dogs, thank you, and horses, although there’s only one area vet for those). If I had found a house we could afford with enough land for goats, I would have been so far out in the country that I would have had no students for my piano teaching (lots of people are intimidated by driving up in the hills here in winter). And, even though it got so that the goats were contributing a strong, steady portion of my income, they were either breaking even or slightly operating at a loss, which the music was able to cover because that was always going at a profit.
So, I took a deep breath and leaped.
I still follow the goat pedigrees and things like that, and I’m sure I’ll be out at the farm this spring carrying newborn kids around (they’re about the size of an average housecat when they’re born, perfect for cuddling).
But right now, with travel and other demands on my time, goats aren’t a practical avenue for me to pursue. My husband has suggested I just get two minature goats and keep them in our garden shed. He says that, with my talents, no one would ever know they were there, and with a mini breed now accepted by the American Dairy Goat Association for registration, I could do all my milk testing, showing and other stuff that I used to do.
It’s tempting in theory, but I think I’ll save the goatkeeping for my just desserts after my music career takes it’s natural progression.
I think you made the right choice. It’s good to focus on a strength, and see where it takes you.
But I have to say that the image of Ecko with the miniature goats curled up together in a happy little pack is very cute.
So how did the lager turn out?
Stephanie,
Your timing is excellent, I’m just a few days away from sampling it for the first time. We bottled a bit late (first weekend in March) so it isn’t done bottle conditioning until this Sunday. I’ll let you know!
[…] 24th, 2007 by ombudsben Some of you who have checked in here for a while might remember my lager adventure last January. I had another brewing mishap this weekend. While the lager marathon went down in the […]
[…] maintenance, and I’m hardly ever out here winter nights. Okay, there was <a href=”https://ombudsben.wordpress.com/2007/01/19/mid-winter-midnight-lager/”>the late lager brewing incident</a>. And one annoyed winter evening when the contractor dumped […]