crown codes

I've posted about bottling before, and in that post I mentioned the idea that each bottle can become its own world, with the contents of that bottle following a unique path that won't necessarily replicate the path of the other bottles. For example, in every batch of beer I bottle, I seem to end up with varying levels of carbonation--some fizzier than others, no two exactly alike. It's likely that these differences result from different amounts of priming sugar entering each bottle--I add a specified amount of priming sugar to the fermenter just before bottling, but that sugar doesn't necessarily disperse perfectly evenly. It's also likely that different bottles end up with different amounts of time to condition--I keep my bottles in an 75 degree Fahrenheit basement, and throw them in the fridge a half dozen at a time, so the last half dozen to leave fermentable temperatures for the yeast-numbing fridge temps might have had an extra month or two of time for the yeast to build CO2.

Recently I finished bottling another batch of my Southern Breakfast Stout, and I realized that I've developed an esoteric sort of coding system for the crowns, in hopes of giving me a hint of how the beer in the bottle will turn out. I think it's interesting when new information--like the meaning of the marks I put on a bottle's cap--sort of develops out of its own volition. In the picture above you get a hint of what I mean by coding. Every bottle in the shot comes from the same batch, but you've got three different types of cap markings:

SB: On every bottle, stands for Southern Breakfast. Most homebrewers probably initial their caps, in order to tell the beers apart once you've got selections from several brews sitting side by side. I certainly do.

SB underlined: I didn't sanitize enough crowns for the batch--I had a second pile of crowns that I forgot to throw in boiling water for a quick pasteurization. I could have left the bottles open while I brought more water to a boil, and threw the extra caps in, but I didn't bother. I just capped the bottles with unsanitized crowns, and marked those crowns by underlining the SB. If something goes wrong with those bottles, I'll have one possible reason why.

SB starred: Usually, at the end of a bottling session, you end up with a bottle that isn't completely filled. Oftentimes I'll try to top this bottle up by pouring some of the dregs from the bottom of the fermenter into it manually. Extra yeast and sediment, more potential oxygenation, and an abnormal level of liquid. I drink it anyway, but I mark it with a star to know which bottle it is.

wild yeast infections

I've lived in Hawaii for about a year now, and during that time I've brewed about a dozen beers. Of those dozen beers, at least three started out lovely, and then developed problems after a few months in bottles. The most persistent problem I've had has been extreme overcarbonation, leading to gushing when the bottles are opened, or even reaching levels that cause the bottles to explode. I brewed a few dozen batches of beer back in San Francisco before moving here, and never had this problem there, so I started thinking it must have something to do with the climate in Hawaii.

My thoughts about the cause of this over-carbonation have developed over time. The first beer to over carbonate was my Lilikoi Amber, and the first theory I came up with was the addition of lilikoi juice in secondary fermentation shocked the yeast into temporary inactivity, and then, when the beer had gone into bottles, the yeast recovered from its shock and started fermenting the new lilikoi sugars. For a while I was convinced this was the answer. But then a bottle of a different beer--without lilikoi--exploded.

The next theory I came up with was that the priming sugar I was using--regular old table sugar--was resulting in more vigorous bottle-conditioning than the refined dextrose sugar you buy at the brew shop. And so I switched back to dextrose for a batch... and had the same problem develop.

Another thought was that the warm fermentation temperatures were responsible. A lot of the beers I brew use English style yeasts that prefer fermentation temperatures in the mid 60s. The coldest I've been able to keep my fermenters here has been closer to 72 degrees. And so I decided to try a Belgian yeast known for enjoying fermentation temperatures in the mid 70s. The beer turned out great, but the few bottles I have left are turning into gushers too.

So the over-carbonation problem doesn't result exclusively from using lilikoi juice, or table sugar, or from having yeast-strains that react badly to Hawaii's warm climate. All of those things might be contributing, but the crux of the biscuit is probably something else.

My new theory is one of the first ones presented to me, by my friend Danny (of Deeper Roots brewing). It's also the main theory that shows up in the "trouble-shooting sections" at the back of basic homebrewing books, and it's the theory offered by most of the beer judges who sampled my gusher entry to this year's Longshot Competition. Being that it's the first theory often presented, of course I ignored it until now.

What's the theory: wild yeast.

I brew outside, in the open air, at the back of Palolo Valley. Palolo Valley is a lush place, with lots of rainfall and lots of dense, jungle-like vegetation. The air is thick with life, probably literally.

For many of the beers I've brewed here, I finished the process by hand-ladling the cooled wort from the kettle to the fermenter, and I did this out in the open air. On several occasions I had a breeze kick up during this part of the process. Usually the breezes here are a welcome relief, but when you're out in the open with five gallons of highly fermentable liquid, the feel of the wind blowing over you--and the thought of all the invisible yeast spores it carries--is pretty disheartening.

So, in hopes of addressing this problem, I'm trying to limit my wort's exposure to the breeze. With the last batch I brewed I erected a wind-block (as shown in the picture above), kept the kettle lid on during cooling, and transferred the cooled wort to the fermenter while indoors. Chances are I won't know if it worked until three months after putting the beer in bottles--in the experience I've had here so far, all the beers seemed fine at first, and then started gushing after a few months capped--but if I still have overcarbonation problems, I might try using Campden tablets.

Does anybody else have any other suggestions? Feel free to leave them in the comments section.

LongShot 2013 Results

Back in May I submitted one of my Lilikoi Amber beers to the Samuel Adams LongShot Homebrew Contest, and I've finally got my results. As I discovered in July, that batch of beer turned into a bunch of gushers, so I didn't have high hopes for how my beer would measure up. The judges confirmed that every bottle gushed, but I didn't get slammed as bad as I feared I would, and in the end I'm considering this a positive experience. This is the first homebrew contest I've ever entered, and though I don't have plans of entering another anytime soon, I did find it interesting to hear what the judges had to say. Here are some of the highlights:

Judge 1: "Not as bad as I thought it would be considering the explosion out of the bottle. It did have some slight sourness and plastic-like flavors, but not overwhelming. Watch infection especially with fruit... The passion fruit did come through which was nice and a little surprising." Result: 22/50

Judge 2: "Very distant pilsner malt sweetness with no detectable hop. Remote hint of strawberry. Fleeting breadlike malt aroma emerged with warming, as did tartlike acidity. Persistent off-white finely beaded head. Dry lightly tart/fruit character sits on top of a smooth Brett character." Result: 25/50

Judge 3: "Kept fermenting in the bottle and I think the low alcohol made it susceptable to infection from wild yeast from the passionfruit. Try waiting until beer is finished fermenting and add in the passion fruit with higher alcohol or buy passionfruit that is from concentrate to avoid wild yeast." Result: 23/50

Judge 4: "Faint caramel malt aromas. Maybe some citrusy (grapefruity) hop aroma, and a big passionfruit - sweet scented... Light amber color - a little cloudy with a long-standing ivory head of very fine bubbles... finishes dry with a strange heat... This may have been a really good beer--it seems like a good idea anyway, but there is a wild yeast or bacteria in this bottle that is killing the goodness." Result 28/50

Another interesting aspect was the sense of personality revealed by each judge's comments, and the ways those comments differed. For example, Judge 4 described the beer as "light amber" in color, while Judge 3 called it "dark amber"; and Judges 2 and 4 considered the head-retention to be "persistent/long-standing", but Judge 1 thought the head-retention only "decent", and Judge 3 said it "went flat fast" and seemed "lifeless".

MICROBREWED ADVENTURES by Charlie Papazian; the Waves of Craft Beer

One of the very first books I read about brewing was the third edition of Charlie Papazian's The Complete Joy of Homebrewing. It's a great book, commonly considered the homebrewer's bible--if a homebrewer has only read one book about brewing, chances are the book they've read is Charlie's. Recently I've been working my way through another book written by Papazian: Microbrewed Adventures. I've been enjoying it, and wanted to mention a few of the thoughts it brought up.

First of all, I should probably mention that the book feels a bit pieced-together. I'm guessing the text consists largely of reprinted articles he'd originally published in Zymurgy magazine. The pieces are mostly thematically linked, either by travel or by relevance to the American craft beer scene, but the order they're arranged in is dictated by region and subject, not by time. That means you've got stuff Charlie wrote back in the nineties spliced in with stuff written in the 80s and even stuff from the last ten years. On the one hand, this results in a sort of jumbled reading experience. On the other hand, the book offers of-the-moment thoughts and feelings about the state of beer in America. I kept feeling like I was digging through a pile of info, and occasionally unearthing time-capsules from long past.

I felt more interest in Charlie's words about the American craft-beer movement than about his travels (though some of the travel experiences were also fascinating). As I read the first section of the book, I started thinking in terms of "waves" of development in America's craft-beer scene. The first wave would be, in my mind, people (especially homebrewers) becoming interested in beer styles beyond the mass-produced, light-flavor/body "fizzy yellow lager" that dominated the beer market from the prohibition to the late 70s. Some of those people started opening up breweries--especially in the form of brewpub restaurants--that offered beer that was obviously different from that ubiquitous "fizzy yellow lager." These people--folks involved with breweries like Sierra Nevada, Anchor Brewing, New Albion, Boston Beer, Boulder Brewing, Red Hook--were real pioneers. They had to start the industry from scratch, which included a certain amount of legal-wrangling and a massive amount of learning. This wave seemed to carry through to around the late 80s.

The second wave would probably start in the late 80s, and included breweries like Dogfish Head, Stone, Rogue, New Belgium, Left Coast, Brooklyn, and Magic Hat. The first wave had established working business models, had familiarized people with non-"fizzy yellow lager" styles like Pale Ale and Porter and Stout, and had ironed out some of the brewing-related laws. I'd say that the second wave was typified by people starting to push the boundaries a little--creating new styles or exaggerating certain styles--and by people bringing in a more sophisticated business/marketing sense.

The third wave--which isn't really discussed much in the book--is (in my mind) where we are now, and it basically is a furthering of the developments that affected the second wave. The market is now massive, the competition is fierce, the beers are bigger and crazier than they've ever been (necessitating the development of new techniques and equipment). Everybody knows about craft beer, and it's a mad-dash to make a name for yourself and get your share of the market. A good example of a brewery that fits in this wave, and typifies its characteristics, is Maui Brewing. They've shown their killer instinct (successfully capturing headlines by constantly attacking rival brewer Kona Brewing), their mad-scientist approach (featuring all sorts of exotic, rarely-before-used ingredients like Papaya seeds and cocoa nibs), and their business savvy (packaging in cans--cheaper shipping and materials costs = greater profits; massive facility developments currently in the works).

Honestly, reading Charlie's words about that first wave made me nostalgic for an era I never really experienced, when the market was less aggressive, and the atmosphere more convivial and relaxed. And something that I fit into that era, and which I love about Papazian's writing, is the more art/history/mystery-related, less business/science/innovation-focused attitude. For example, Charlie writes fondly of the old Ballard Bitter, and the enjoyable presence of diacetyl--caramel/butterscotch flavor which is commonly considered a flaw--in its flavor profile, which has now been purposefully eliminated by more exacting brewing techniques. There's a wonder and a joy that comes through in those early days, a sense of the brewing of beer as a magical thing. You get a sense of that wonder in Charlie's writing about Mead in chapter Chapter 6. Or here's another example, taken from page 161:

"There are many facets of beer and brewing that go far beyond art and science. They are mysteries and miracles. These are the things that intrigue me the most. I enjoy being able to appreciate them even though I don't fully understand them."

Now we're in an era more focused on the strict, the specific, the scientific. You can see it in how Charlie's Complete Joy book is being challenged for "brewer's bible" status by John Palmer's science-heavy How to Brew. You can even see it in Zymurgy, the magazine Charlie started, which now features a science-heavy column titled "For Geeks Only", with a reader's advisory telling you to keep it away from poets.

Because of all that, I enjoyed reading Microbrewed Adventures even more. It's nice to read the writing of someone who appreciates the poetry of beer.

Beer tasting at the Waikiki Wine Stop

My mother-in-law bought my wife a Groupon for a beer/pupus event at the Waikiki Wine Closet a few months ago. We finally got a chance to use it on the 8th of this month. Lemme tell you about it.

We got 8 tastings, but there were only five beers on offer. The beers were poured out of bottles. Here's the lineup:

Wells Banana Bread Beer
Big Island Brewhaus Golden Sabbath
Big Island Brewhaus White Mountain Porter
Big Island Brewhaus Overboard IPA
Widmer Brothers Barrel Aged BRRRBON (I don't remember what number)

I didn't really care for the Wells Banana Bread Beer, and I've already had all of the Big Island Brewhaus selections. The Widmer Brothers was pretty good, but it'd probably be more appreciated by someone who loves Bourbon, as that flavor was definitely dominant.

The guy pouring didn't seem to know much about any of the beers on hand--the info he gave while pouring basically consisted of the name of the beer and its alcohol level. He tried to tell me that Big Island Brewhaus has been brewing Golden Sabbath since the 1700s--the brewery has only been around since 2011; I think the guy might have read that the style of beer comes from the 1700s, or something like that, and he confused that information. In my opinion the selection and order of pours didn't really reveal deep beer-knowledge, or a cohesive vision, either.

After we finished the five beers, the guy tried to move us on to some kind of honey whiskey, and some kind of tequila drink that had a pink-colored mixer. We passed on those and went back for more Big Island Overboard and Porter.



There's some novelty to drinking in a store, surrounded by bottles on shelves. There are some downsides too, like the lack of a bathroom (you had to leave the store and take the building elevator to the hotel bathroom on the 4th floor). I noticed, while I walked around, that a lot of the prices seemed pretty inflated. But then again, the place is in Waikiki.

The event pupus (appetizers) consisted of a tray of pretzels and other snack mixes, and two medium sized pizzas cut into 2-inch-square slices.

It wouldn't be hard to criticize the event, but in the end we didn't have to pay for it, and free beer is almost always a good thing.

tasting the Saison

This beer was originally intended to be my first shot at a Saison, but I ended up picking a different yeast than the one I'd intended (I grabbed WLP545--Belgian Strong--when I'd meant to grab WLP565--Belgian Saison I). As far as I can tell, it still fits the profile of a Saison, but it might be a bit drier, and the yeast phenolics are probably less pronounced than they would normally be.



Aroma: Banana and clove phenolics. (Belgian styles aren't typically my go to beers, so the banana-clove aroma isn't something I'm used to. Consequently it dominates my perception of the aroma. Somebody with more familiarity to Belgian yeast strains might be able to pick up on things that I'm not sensitive enough to notice.)

Appearance: Lovely "straw" color. Slightly cloudy/opaque. Had a nice bright-white head, but it didn't last (maybe because I forgot to rinse the glass first--dishwasher soap residue might have knocked the head down).

Flavor: Pronounced banana-clove, but not as cloyingly pronounced as a Hefeweizen. The only notable hop-presence is a mild bitterness that lingers in the aftertaste. A very slight hint of light malt from start to midway through, but you've got to be paying attention.

Mouthfeel: Very light, very crisp. I've been trying to adjust my brewing techniques in order to produce beers better suited to the warm climate in Hawaii, and this beer in particular is a very successful example of me meeting that goal. That said, the way the Belgian flavors come through sort of counters, in my banana-clove hypersensitive mind--some of the lightness of the body.

Overall Impression: I'm still getting used to Belgian style beers, but I'm actually quite pleased with how this beer turned out. My goal was to produce a light, refreshing "session-able" version of a Belgian beer, and this beer successfully meets all of those requirements. I don't know if it'll inspire me to write poetry or to ponder the deeper mysteries of life, or anything like that, but it serves very well as a crisp thirst-quencher. I'm giving it a thumbs up.

Last Drop

I just found out that Zymurgy published my account of exploding barleywine in the Last Drop section of the current issue. I haven't received my copy of the issue yet--always seems to take a few extra weeks to arrive in Hawaii--but I saw it in the online eZymurgy edition. If you're a member of the AHA (American Homebrewers Association) and you're logged on at the website, you can view the issue online here.