52 Weeks 35: Alameda Irvington Juniper Porter

It’s a pretty solid porter, but there isn’t much juniper to taste. 

Or is there?

Like so many things involving beer, patience is required. Put the hops in for 60 minutes, not 35. Wait three, four weeks while the beer ferments, wait one, two, three weeks while it’s in the bottle so it will carbonate. Sometimes, I wait for the beer to warm up before tasting it. It’ll probably take about as long as this post will to write before I can drink it, and that really doesn’t do anyone any good; I’ll be done writing, you’ll be done reading and neither of us will know how this beer is. 

It’s not as though I can force you to go away for five minutes. It’s 8:47 now; do you mind? Time becomes a much more fungible element online; you can trade your time for a window into my life, but while you’re waiting for the beer to warm up you can listen to a song, or read someone else’s post, enjoy comics or a short skit. The possibilities open up now, whereas before you were stuck until 8:52. 

It’s not easy filling up five minutes. You have to practice it. Waiting is usually not something we do well, and it’s something I do especially poorly without distractions. A book to read, paper and pen to write with, television, card games, videogames. Conversation, if there is someone to converse with. To sit and just wait becomes a kind of endurance that I’m not used to, nor welcoming of chances to practice. 

Five minutes have passed. The porter still tastes like a porter; drinkable, coffee, faint barista nose, but still no juniper. No pine. A faint dryness that wasn’t there before at the end of the mouthfeel. Is the beer flawed, or does it need more time? Do I have the qualities to give it ten minutes? Do you have the time to wade through this text to see what I experience? 

The Christmas in July  celebration at Bailey’s continues. I’m almost convinced now that this celebration has torqued the weather for my fair city, giving us a cooler month than we ought to have. Mayhap I’ll see snow before August is upon me. 

Ten minutes. There’s a space in the middle of my tongue that goes numb when I drink this beer now, as though there is a void of flavor there. The dryness of the beer, more pronounced? Juniper trying to peek out from under the porter? I’m nearly halfway though the beer now and it still remains veiled. Certainly a perfectly tasty beer for what it is but when one adds strange words together an expectation of the unusual arises. Juniper and porter ought to be wrestling here but juniper seems to be happy to let the porter take the stage, lazily working the ropes behind the curtain. I don’t have to show up, you know.

Fifteen minutes. Long enough for me to set aside the request that this beer be something that wears a bold costume with strange symbols on it. It merely sits at the table, jeans and black tshirt. Why be special, when you can just be solid? This is a porter, like the porters before it, and it doesn’t have to prove anything to me, right? I can drink it, wish for a double cheeseburger and be satisfied, damnit.

Tease. 

Now I really want a double cheeseburger too. Grrr. 

Twenty minutes. This is long enough; anything that should be there ought to be there. It is possible my palate is unwilling or unable to appreciate the nuances of this drink, just as it is possible that there is no juniper for me to take in. Hard to say, but at this point I think I’ll move on.

Odds and ends

Casualbrewery forwarded to me this article on brewing with hot rocks. Apparently it’s old school brewing Finnish style. I have actually had the Hot Rocks Lager and I enjoyed it. However while it was a good beer I have to admit, I liked it more because the idea of people throwing superheated rocks into water is very appealing to me.

And my friend Ed has this post at his blog about a North Korean brew, Taedonggang. I generally don’t go for brews from that part of the world, but this has everything to do with exposure. All I seem to see are lagers, and big brewery lagers at that. Budweiser from Japan, in essence. That said, I like to give anything new a chance and I don’t know that much about North Korea so if they can ship a bottle to me unbroken, I’ll drink it.

Me vs Technology

I hate to say it, but technology is probably winning. 

This post was meant to go up yesterday. What happened? My internet went down and I’ve had enough troubles with it that I just couldn’t generate the energy to fix it. Easy enough to deal with once I’d slept for eight hours, but by then it’s Thursday.

Plus, I’ve discovered that my camera wasn’t broken, as I’d previously thought. The battery just went dead. I stumbled upon this fact when I was clearing some wires behind the computer, and found out that the charging stand for my camera wasn’t plugged in. Considering the electrical cord going from the stand to the outlet can separate into two parts, my overlooking the disconnect is understandable. Still, it’s like wondering why your frigging car won’t start only to have someone come up to you and tell you ‘there’s no gas in it’.

The bad news: I look a bit foolish. The good news: this blog will soon have more photos again! 

In beer related news, I’ve been drinking a Chiswick mild clone I made earlier this year. I first made this beer last year, on National Homebrewer’s Day. The suggestion was that we would brew the Chiswick mild because it was Michael Jackson’s favorite brew. MJ the beer writer, not the pop star. 

And the beer came out really well! So well that I thought I should do it again. With summer coming, I thought that now would be the time, as this beer is really good during the hot weather. Portland hasn’t given me a lot of reason to drink it, but the beer is still tasty. I’m proud to say  that once again my Chiswick mild has come out to be a very tasty brew. Recipe follows:

Steeping malts:
.35 lb Caramel 120
 .25 lb ESB Domestic

Other malts:
6 lb Pale liquid malt extract

Hops:
.6 oz  Sorachi Ace @ 60
.5 oz Mt Rainer @ 15
.5 oz Sterling @15
3/4 tsp Irish Moss @5

Secondary hops:
.75 oz Sterling

I transferred this beer to secondary after eight days, and bottled it twenty five days later. The OG was 1.048, the FG was 1.108. This gave me a beer that was 3.87 ABV according to the beer calculator.

52 Weeks 34: Amnesia Sleigh Jerker

Check it out: it’s a winter beer. In July. You can see the reflection of the table of patrons on my right in the glass. That’s dark, kids.

Geoff tells me that it’s a theme for the month: Christmas in July. Says it’s being done to get everyone ready for the 2nd anniversary party on August 1st. 

Excellent, because this beer is friggin’ liquid awesome. Like drinking brown sugar touched with bourbon and a hint of pine. I realize that doesn’t sound appealing, but it’s practically the heart of winter beers as I think of them. Or add nutmeg, and you’ve got it. Along with neon peach light from the street illuminating Bailey’s, black as sin nights and the city shiny as a Ridley Scott vision from the rain, winter is now here. I even put my jacket on from the chill. 

The bar reflects winter tonight; large groups crowding around tables, getting louder and more amused as though they were hiding out just a little longer, to avoid the chill outside. They’re waiting for the night to come, and if it won’t then they’ll just flip the sun off and pretend it isn’t there. 

I think I’ll be drinking these winter beers for the next four weeks. I know, the sacrifices I have to make. 

I don’t miss winter. It’s the only time of year I give myself permission to complain about the weather. I chill easily, and my hands ache when that happens. I wear gloves in October in the mornings (the only person on the bus with such accessories) just to avoid the pain. Winter seems to be a long, long season in Portland, coming from Spokane where the winters are colder but they don’t last as long. Here they stretch out like a bad sock.  

At the same time, I love winter. Friends come to visit, or I visit them. There is a communal huddling that happens which brings everything good and bad out. In my case, the good often outweighs the bad, which I attribute to awesome people around me. It’s dark. The trees are stark and beautiful, or evergreen and defiant. I can go walking at night with thoughts that should only be called my own, and the night wraps them up, delivers them to the moon who says, ‘It’s ok. I understand.’

As it’s still daylight, I’ll take the darkness of my pint.

Might have to try this

There’s a beer haiku contest.

Also, a cheap summer beer taste test. For those of you suffering in the heat, maybe a cheap beer made from the times when we didn’t know any better will help.

Finally, a list of events during Oregon Craft Beer Month-which is now!

Bonus section: the beer that I wasn’t meant to brew has been bottled. The OG (Original Gravity) on that beer was 1.062, the FG (Final Gravity) was 1.02. That puts the beer at about 5.44% alcohol by volume. I had a sip of the dregs and it tasted more acrid than usual on the back end. However, I know that’s not the best barometer of the quality of a beer. A couple weeks in the bottle and who knows? It may yet be drinkable.

And on a personal note– there were 190 people looking at this blog around Monday. I don’t know who you are, but thanks for visiting.

Oakshire Imperial IPA (or, it’s hard to drink outside)

The wind is taking away the nose of this beer. Unfortunate, because it’s really, really bitter and there ought to be some real strong hop aroma from this beer. Oakshire’s IPA has a pine resin flavor, which coats the mouth and seems to compound the bitter flavors with every drink.

So I really wish there was something to smell to help enhance the beer. But I don’t object to the beer; it’s tasty. I object to the outside.  

I have to say, I like what’s become of the Green Dragon. The outdoor seats are spread far enough apart that it’s easy to navigate, with room to stand around if you want. There’s even a version of horseshoes to play out here, tho’ with rubber rings to make damage to humans less likely. The beer prices have become more reasonable, which is a huge plus. Still pricey, but not ‘Are you kidding me?’ pricey.  

Although I just stumbled on the beer and blog event, I was able to make it work. I met people, and they were nice and wanted to tell me about what they did. I think I might attend again, when the opportunity presents.

52 Weeks 33: Terminal Gravity Tripel

I’m talking to Fuz in the photo. 

I’ve known Fuz a long, long time. Almost 25 years, which I’m sure you’d agree, is a hell of a thing.

He’s joined me for the last 52 Weeks post while he’s in Portland. I’ve been lucky enough to have his company in this great city for the past 4 years, and now employment takes him elsewhere. 

I’m going to miss him. He’s advised me in ways that cannot be truly measured by any meaningful scale except the heart. Suggested options that I overlooked, played a bunch of Magic against and drank a hell of a lot of beer with me.

It’s been a fortunate thing to have him in town; once they part ways, most people don’t get to have one of their best friends come to hang out again so I’m taking my blessings as they come. As with the best people, Fuz kept me on my toes, nudged me to be a better person than I was and just generally made things that suck suck a whole hell of a lot less.

It’s not the best tribute but I’m writing on the go. Plus, I’m not eulogizing the man. He’s shuffling cards right there, waiting for me to be done with this post. 

As with the toast a few weeks ago I again find myself raising a glass to a friend, albeit for a less celebratory reason. 

I wish it was a better beer. Sorry man. 

But this tripel is…well, it’s strong enough to be a tripel, but it’s not roasty-malt flavored enough, the mouthfeel is very light, and it’s drinkable qualities are…not very pronounced. Fuz, on the other hand, is drinking Silver Moon’s Heather ‘n’ the Rye. It’s a belgian rye beer, but it’s a better one than mine. Ah well; another time. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to play some cards with my amigo.

Beers for summer

As suggested by this guy. I don’t know what his qualifications are beyond writing a column on the internet, especially since he gets the Weissbier wrong; they don’t serve beers with fruit anywhere but America. (Well, they might, but they do it because we started doing it.) PBR is not a good beer, and it’s hoppiness is laughable at best. The Grains of Paradise used in Sam Adams Summer Ale are not what I’d call rare. Then again, I’m just some guy writing on the internet and I don’t even get paid. I leave it to the reader to make some discerning judgments about the quality of that list. 

I found the article via Fark, and the comments of their readers are here. Maybe you’ll find something worth checking out amongst their suggestions, maybe you’ll just enjoy the snark. Maybe you’ve got beers of your own to drink this summer that encapsulate the season for you. I certainly hope so. 

As for myself, it’s been too cool for lagers, kolsches, light wheat beers. I’m going to stick to pales until the weather starts demanding something else from me. 

I’m going to go to the Portland Beer and Blog tonight and see what that’s about. If nothing else I’ll get to check out the Green Dragon which I haven’t been too since Rogue took it over. Should be fun!

52 Weeks 32: Southern Oregon Pilsner

In honor of the solstice and what I guess is the official start to summer, I had a pilsner. 

I shouldn’t have. The beer is fine. More malty than bitter, easy to drink, a fine concoction for a hot day. It’s not you, as they say, it’s me.

I rode down here on a storm of heavy metal. Pounding on the steering wheel like a prizefighter, the snare drums my jabs, whipping my head like uppercuts to the cadence of singers that bring more tyrannosaurus than Plant to the table, fingers riffing on my jeans fast enough to warm the skin beneath. 

And pilsner is not metal. Sure, sure, metalheads ’round the world drink it. Who hasn’t seen a rock show without  the promise of cheap libations, always pilsners. There are no ‘cheap’ IPAs. 

But the very promises of what pilsners are; cheap, forgettable, easily consumable, this is not metal. Heavy metal can be many things; fun, intense, rage to equal to a god, murkier than the motives of your ex lover, dense as an osmium brick, but it isn’t easily consumable. Shouldn’t be. 

Not to say that heavy metal excludes. No music should exclude anyone as a central characteristic, and even my use of the term heavy metal simplifies all the possible sounds (and opinions) you’ll hear in the genre. However, heavy metal is frequently enjoyed by people who get heavy metal, and if you don’t get it, no one, not me, not the Universe, can explain to you what we naively understand. You either hear those sounds in your soul or you don’t.

So it is with this beer. Everyone could enjoy this. Nothing wrong with that. Probably should enjoy it later this week, when the temps get into the 80s and we’re all reminded again that there’s no friggin’ air conditioning in Portland. Even tonight Bailey’s has the front door open-something that seems more like a portent than a necessity.

But it ain’t metal. And I’m in a metal mood. 
/ah, c’mon. You knew that last link was coming.

6′2″ and falling

I wish I had a camera so the progress my hops have made could be seen. 

But I can tell you that the Galena and Wilamette hops have grown to heights taller than me. As a result, they’ve had to be bent downward, so they’ll spread out instead of just going up. 

The Centennial plant has been a very different story though. Though they looked the best when I planted the hops, they have actually faired the worst. They didn’t grow, staying at about the six inch height I got them at, and the leaves started to take a dusty, plastic-y green shade, instead of the lively green of something growing. 

Until this last week. The plant has nearly doubled in height, and the new leaves all look like vegetation!  It’s still got a ways to go before it catches up to the other plants, but as is my wont, it’s the one I’m rooting for. Go Cenni!