Medusa, Kveik, and Other Joys
I had a post all lined up today that discussed the grim state of beer. Perhaps I’ll still post it. But let’s go in an entirely different direction, shall we? Grim and bleak may describe the overall state of affairs in the world right now, but that’s doesn’t mean there’s no joy. I found some yesterday, as I sat in the shade of a summer day listening to Marvin Gaye and watching wort bubble and boil. This is one of the few benefits of the coronavirus: I’ve been brewing more.
A couple months back I brewed a batch of pale ale followed by a Czech pilsner. Yesterday, Patrick and I decided to do something hoppy. We wanted to delve into unfamiliar hops and went to the homebrew store (101-year-old Steinbart’s) with no real plan except to see what they had. We ended up with a beer that uses four hops we’ve never used: Comet (bittering), Medusa (five minutes before flameout), Riwaka [edit: Wakatu!], and Sabro (both whirlpool). Will these hops play nicely together? 🤷♂️ We certainly don’t know!
But that’s the joy of things. I can’t tell you how fun it was to crack open the pouches of hops and inhale their strange new aromas. As we pulled the hops out of the whirlpool at the end of the process, their heady aromas issued from the kettle in great, intoxicating plumes:
Comet had a lemon-rind scent;
Medusa, with neomexicanus heritage, was especially unusual. It had hints of orange and mint and something Patrick and I could only describe as creamy;
Spicy Wakatu from New Zealand, which we selected for its purported lime note; and
Newish, coconut-y Sabro, which we hope will lash everything together in Beautiful harmony.
We’ll dry-hop it with something, but we’ve got some time to think about which variety.
We also decided to screw around with Kveik yeast, because why not. So after the chiller had cooled our wort down to a steamy 85 (I just couldn’t bring myself to stop at 90), we pulled it out and pitched the yeast. Four hours later there was a skiff of foam; after five it was a dense pile of fluff. This morning it was still roiling.
Five hours after pitching.
For those if you who haven’t brewed, it may seem surprising to hear this, but: I don’t care how it turns out. The pleasures of inhaling those hops and watching this yeast go crazy were the primary benefit. If the beer is tasty, that’s just gravy. (If it’s a typical batch it will have some tantalizingly wonderful qualities as well as a few weird ones. Because we’ve introduced so many new variables, we’ll have no idea what’s causing most of them.)
The coronavirus sucks and has caused a massive disruption to all our lives. It’s important we continue to battle it with our wits, science, and goodwill. But life must include some joy, and beer provides some of that, whether making or consuming it. Not only is it relieving to put our troubles aside from time to time, it’s critical for our mental health.
So go enjoy some beer, my friends, and have a moment of relief and joy.