Alright, it’s late in the springtime, my yard is bursting with an amazing variety of plants, and I seem to have the gruit bug.
Here’s the grain bill for a one gallon batch of gruit ale. Here’s the herb pack that’ll go in:
Bottom to top, this is Calendula, Cleavers, an ornamental Artemisia, and then three handfuls of Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris).
But wait! There’s more!
This is honeycomb – but notice that it’s open. Ripe honey is stored in these cells underneath an airtight wax cap. When the cells are open like this, it indicates that flower nectar – not yet ripened into honey – is in the cells. You can also see stored pollen in varying colors.
Like an old school brewer, I put it all in – wax, pollen, nectar and all.
I love being a beekeeper. And for an ultimate low-tech milling solution, I use my grandmother’s meat grinder.
I mashed the grains for 90 minutes in a grain bag, with water starting around 155 degrees. It was still around 140 when I started the boil. Did a 60 minute boil, adding calendula, cleavers, and artemisia at 60 min (start), 45 min, and 30 min, then mugwort at 20 min, 10 min, and flameout.
Ended up with a little less volume than I was hoping for, but it should keep the airlock on. I think this is going to be the sort of drink you have six ounces of before bed, then have crazy dreams. This is, by the way, actual kitchen witchery.
A few weeks ago we had a group brew day with a bunch of people out at Spyke’s and two batches of all grain done up in turkey fryers. I’d never brewed on one before, so that was cool.
Since I compost, I was sent home with twenty some odd pounds (dry) of soaked grains (very heavy), and the next morning decided to do another running for a few-gallon batch of something.
Heated up some water, poured it in, and let it mash/sparge/whatever for a little while. Took a sample and, temperature adjusted, it clocked around 1.030. I started pulling a gallon or so out, bringing it to a boil, then pouring it back in. Added some molasses. Things lying around. It was a gray Sunday and small beer, so whatever.
I went out to the garden and pulled some yarrow leaves. Yarrow is one of the many bittering herbs in use before hops took over, and I’ve been growing several varieties of it in my front garden for three or four years, some from seed and some from store-bought bunches. I’ve always intended to use it in brewing, but it also has cool medicinal properties for wound healing, earning its botanical name of Achillea millefolium, the many-leaved herb of Achilles, hero of the Trojan Wars in Greek mythology.
Anyway, I grabbed some yarrow, and a touch of parsley, then from the spice cabinet pulled out black pepper, a few coriander seeds, bay leaves, and some other stuff. Just a pinch of this and that, mostly whole leaves or whole seeds. I was out of ale yeast when I put it in the carboy, so I threw in some Lalvin D47, which I like for meads, and let it go for a week or so.
Herbs and spices instead of hops, and a yeast strain better suited for another primitive drink. Yup, that’s what’s called a Gruit – an old school approach to brewing that predates the universal use of hops.
And it’s an interesting approach, because like yarrow, many of the plants that would have appeared in gruit ales have medicinal or psychoactive properties.
In my own garden, I grow a variety of mints (a remedy for gastric complaints), comfrey (excellent for healing soft tissue injuries and even bone breaks), calendula (great antiseptic externally, good for inflammation internally), and a few dozen other things that I cultivate or that volunteer seasonally. I’m amazed by the pharmacopeia that surrounds me just in the form of weeds – add in the stuff I do or am trying to grow, and suddenly anything seems possible.
Here are herbal tinctures – plants steeping in vodka for several weeks as a way of extracting some useful component. The bright orange one is calendula, tinctured because my asshole cat has a way of inflicting extreme injury on me, but I was thrilled to have it on hand recently when a piece of popcorn kernel jammed itself into my gum, apparently causing a little infection. I woke up the next day with a toothache and started a 3x a day rinse with the ointment. All gone.
Beside it is various things – anise hyssop, mint, maybe some brewing spices, mostly mixed up for flavor. These freeform “bitters” (originally utilized as a medicinal digestive aid) will be splashed into or onto things over time.
Barely in the frame, but probably my favorite, is a tincture of ashwagandha, an Indian herb classified as an adaptogen. Basically, if you’re tired, ashwagandha gives you a boost. If you’re stressed, it helps calm you down. It’s a great herb, and has been part of my mental health medicine cabinet for a few years now. I’ve always brewed it into a tea, which is time consuming (it’s the dried, woody root of the plant, so a certain quantity has to be boiled for a certain length of time….). As a tincture, I can take a half-teaspoon before bed and curl up in full relaxation mode a short time later.
Procedure for making a tincture:
People actually have written tomes on herbs, proportions, dried v. fresh and all that. I – of course – eyeball it. Guess. Use my intuition. Whatever. You should absolutely Google your favorite plant and “tincture” to see how people who know more than I do generally do it.
But basically, put plant matter of your choosing into a small jar. Be generous. Top with vodka or pure grain alcohol. Close it and leave it closed for at least two weeks. Shake it daily, or twice a day. Or all day long. But agitate it a bit so everything can blend.
After a few weeks, strain it out, squeeze as much liquid out of the plant matter as you can, and viola – you have a tincture. A clothesline of herbs in your living room is entirely your choice.
For Christmas, my brother gifted me with Sandor Katz’s excellent The Art Of Fermentation (affiliate link), and as I’ve been greedily tearing through it, I haven’t been able to help myself from trying some of the more exotic fermentation processes in it.
One that immediately captured my imagination is what he calls “rice beer.” Though, to be fair, the first thing you should do when you hear that term is drop any notion you may have of what comprises a beer. For the purposes of this discussion, a beer is a fermented grain beverage, and Katz presents a simple process, most likely in use in Asian households for centuries or longer, for using rice as the grain.
Basically – Cook rice and let it cool, add an Asian “Yeast Ball” (I acquired them at a local Asian grocery), put it in a crock and allow to ferment. But if it were that easy to turn universally available, extremely inexpensive rice into alcohol, wouldn’t everyone be drinking it?
Photos and my own cut-rate science below…
Let’s start with quantities. Katz says that two pounds of rice will yield about 3 liters of brew, so I felt like that was a manageable quantity, about 4.5 cups, which I cooked in 10 cups of water. The dry rice nicely filled a one quart container.
These are the magical Asian yeast balls (the link explains more about them), but unlike the packets of bread yeast or brewer’s yeast that you buy, these aren’t a monocultured strain of one organism. This is a community of yeasts, molds, and bacteria, because rice, unlike brewing grains like barley, lacks the enzymes necessary to convert starch to sugar. So while a home brewer can steep whole barley and wheat in hot water and drain off sugary wort an hour later, steeping rice that way will produce rice and warm starch water.
So when you crush up a yeast ball and work it into cooled, cooked rice, you’re inoculating the rice with organisms sufficient to create a two-, or most likely, three-stage fermentation. First, the molds – Aspergillus oryzae and Rhizopus oligonsporus, and likely others – come to life and begin their metabolic processes. Aspergillus in particular produces amylase and glucanase enzymes, which brewers will recognize as primary starch converters.
As the mold life cycles liberate sugars from the starches, the second wave of fermentation ramps up and the yeasts bloom, devouring sugars and producing alcohol and CO2. The final product was quite sour, so there’s a third overlapping fermentation from lactic acid bacteria overlaid throughout this.
So the basic procedure is this: Cook rice, let it cool, crush up an Asian yeast ball, work it into your rice, then put it into your preferred fermentation vessel. Here’s mine, a one-gallon glass pickling jar with an airlock. I put it into my bathroom alongside a beer I was finishing at about 80 degrees.
From my notes: “24 Hours – No significant change @ 80 degrees. Took to kitchen and removed lid. Aroma is rich, sweet, earthy, similar to oyster mushroom growing media.”
From my notes: “48 hours, noticed some yellowing [Aspergillus causes yellowing] and one spot of mold visible [which looked very much like this shot of Rhizopus]. Opened vessel and mixed a second yeast ball in. Stirred thoroughly. Strong airlock activity at this time. Aromatics are sweet, strong, boozy.”
From my notes: “72 hours – looks like sourdough starter. The ‘well’ shaped into the center has fully collapsed as liquifaction takes over.”
“85 hours – looks like porridge.”
The shot below is actually of bubbles forming and rushing to the top. By now the mixture has a goopy texture, and the bubbles rarely moved straight up the way they would in a more liquid medium. Instead, they’d form, then shoot away through all the liquid places in the mixture, so you’d see little ghost impressions of bubbles here and there then an eruption at the top.
Okay, so the next Friday, after fermenting for a week, it was time to test this out. Below, my lovely assistant squeezes the rice mash through a grain steeping bag.
We got two quarts of thick, milky liquid. Flavorwise, the closest comparison I can think of is to milk kefir. The flavor after a week at 80 degrees was both alcoholic and strongly soured. My assistant and I took these to a party where a number of people tried the Peasant Rice Brew. I wouldn’t call it a hit, but it was fun to discuss the microbial processes that led to that distinctive soured flavor and share a taste of what one might find traveling in rural Asia.
This isn’t an easy sipping kind of beverage. It’s more of a sour tonic beverage than an alcoholic beer, but it has several advantages – it’s gluten free and it’s dairy free. One food-sensitive friend commented the day after that she could really tell that she’d had some living food and was experiencing less intestinal trouble than she normally would, and I don’t doubt the probiotic nature of this stuff.
The mash left over from the straining was turned into batter the next morning and baked in muffin tins for a really lovely and unique breakfast. Soured rice mash with tart cherry preserves and cocoa nibs – that would have been a hit at the party.
I’m fermenting a five gallon batch of brown rice with a lot more water in it, at ambient temperatures. All in all, this has nearly everything I like – weird food, weird booze, and tons of microbes.
When I started brewing, I loved malty beers. I did not yet know that the world of hops was varied and beautiful, or what an art form it is to modulate your sugar content to produce a relatively low-alcohol, session-drinking beer.
I’ve been expanding my repertoire quite a bit – all grain, better control over color, and of course, exploring hops like a madperson. But I want a simple, go-to recipe that’s quick to brew, finishes fast, and won’t get me hammered when I drink one. Enter: Lynchpin Pale Ale, v1.0, a partial mash approach to a solid craft beer.
.5# Flaked Barley
Steep the grains (mash) in a grain bag at approximately 155 degrees for at least 25 minutes. I mashed for 60. I’m experimenting here. After the mash, remove grains and sparge to bring kettle volume up. Bring kettle to boil.
3# Golden Light DME
3# Bavarian Wheat DME
I believe most any light or golden dry extracts will work fine.
To control SRM (color), I’ve been playing with the “add the sugars late” approach. So for the extract, I added half of one bag at boil, then commenced with the hopping schedule. At flameout, I added the remainder of the sugars and stirred it into the hot wort. This helps keep the sugars from caramelizing during the boil (most of my homebrew has been brown), allowing a wider spectrum of colors.
Note: Some sugars *must* be added at the start of the boil or the hops don’t process properly, from what I’ve read.
1 oz Cascade – 60 min
1 oz Styrian Golding – 40 min
1 oz Whitbread Golding – 20 min
1 oz Crystal – Flameout
Hops should be adjusted to your taste. If you prefer pine flavors, go in that direction. If you just like facefulls of bitter, there are hops for that.
I’ve been experimenting with big quantities of yeast and multiple strains. For this, I used one sachet each of Safale-04 and Safale-05. No particular reason, except that I want a nice dry, hoppy, slightly fruity end result. And because I’m curious. Do competing yeasts muddy the flavor, or clarify it? No idea. Maybe neither one. Maybe the result is neutral.
You can see in the picture at the top that it has a nice robust color, not as light as I’d hoped for but not as dark as most of my brews. I’ve had it sitting in primary for three weeks or so. I could put it into secondary or bottle it straight away. I’m leaning toward bottling. I really want a no-fuss, easy drinking beer that I can throw together simply and inexpensively. In other words, my Lynchpin recipe that I can go back to again and again.
I’m always looking for recipes that incorporate beer. This particular recipe takes a while but it is worth it. Great for a large crowd and the favors are well suited for football tailgating or any other fall activity.
Note: This needs several days to marinate and at least 7 hours of cooking time before serving.
Mix spices, sugar, and salt in a bowl. Stir in molasses to form a dry paste; rub all over beef. Place meat in a nonreactive container or resealable bag. Let marinate 4 to 7 days in the refrigerator, turning and rubbing beef once each day.
Place beef and stout in a wide (6- to 8-quart) pot and add water to just cover beef. Bring to a simmer; cover and cook until tender but not falling apart, about 3 hours (30 minutes more if using chuck). Remove from heat, but let beef sit in pot for 2 hours. When cool, remove beef and chill in refrigerator at least 2 hours.
Attempted to recreate Scary Monsters, but with a couple of changes. First, I sparged the partial mash (not easy in my kitchen) and second, I used a Wyeast American Ale smack pack as well as the Nottingham that came with the red ale kit base.
Yesterday we gathered to put together the red IPA recipe I’ve been planning. As usual, we spent some time snorting (that’s not a typo) hops that we’ve collected (the real winner was Spyke’s Pacific Jade, which had incredible floral and spice notes. We’re going to figure out something really special with that.)
We talked about yeast for a long time too. Our last batch, All Thumbs, was pretty dry when we sampled it on transfer day, so I wanted to steer clear of the American Ale yeast we pitched for that. I love Belgian yeasts and the hints of clove and banana they can produce.
Given the aromatics of the hops in play – citrus in the Magic Hop Dust and Cascade, the fruitiness of Calypso, and the bright grape sentiment of Nelson, we agreed that a little spice in the yeast would probably merge nicely, so we went on a mission to find Belgian Ale Yeast.
Here was the grain bill for Hop’s End Belgian IPA:
8# 2 Row
1# Red Wheat
.5# Flaked Barley
We hit a strike temp of 151° and closed up the tun. Between dinner and bottling All Thumbs, the mash actually ran about 90 minutes. I was working out some weird idea in my head about boil time, color, and volume loss, so we ended up sparging with only one gallon of water. This was way too little and we obviously left a lot of sugars in the tun. Ah well.
We use a two-kettle approach (with two others on standby, actually. You just never know) and stagger the boil so that one can be chilled and transferred as the other is finishing. Theoretically, a quick cool-down helps color and clarity in the finished beer.
Anyway, the boil was uneventful and the timer started when the first kettle got roiling and hops were added. The second kettle was 12 minutes behind the first.
Irish Moss was added to each kettle to encourage strong flocculation.
1 oz Austin Homebrew Supply Magic Hop Dust, 60 minutes
1 oz Cascade, 30 minutes
2 oz Calypso, 15 minutes
2 oz Nelson Sauvin, 5 minutes
(1 oz Calypso, dry hop – future state)
Initial gravity was 1.064, but our volume was short (thanks to my stingy sparging), so we topped off with half a gallon of water to get to something like 1.058.
Pitched two vials of White Labs 550 Belgian Ale Yeast. Took the carboy for a drive to help aerate it, and fermentation was underway in less than 12 hours at 72 degrees.
Aside from the raw volume problem, there is the difficulty of three to four inches of the bottom of the carboy being covered in trub from the six ounces of hops delivered. This volume loss may reduce as fermentation proceeds, but it will still be a lot of unavailable liquor in the mix.
In the future, we should take advantage of the recirculating wort chiller’s fast and dramatic precipitating abilities and siphon the cooled wort into the carboy, leaving a lot of solids behind. This will help with aeration as well.
My plan at this point is to let fermentation roll for the week, but before it’s fully done, boil up three pounds of extra light extract in two gallons of water (SG: ~1.060), then perform a true secondary fermentation with a batch size of approximately 5.5 gallons. Ordinarily I try to avoid a lot of manipulation along these lines, but I’m curious to see if this approach produces a nice golden color without sacrificing any of the other sensory components.
What I’m most excited about though is the opportunity to age this beer for months. I love a good, strong, old Belgian ale, and I think Hop’s End might just be the flavor of my summer next year.
My BFF sent me a picture of this recipe today. It is from Better Homes and Gardens magazine.
Stout-Soaked Porterhouse with Beer Butter
1 Porterhouse steak, 1-inch thick (about 1 1/4 lb.)
1 12 ounce bottle stout beer
1 T Dijon-style mustard
1 T Worcestershire sauce
2 t dried tarragon, crushed
1/2 t salt
1/2 t ground black pepper
1 shallot, finely chopped
2 t olive oil
1/2 c butter, softened
1. Place steak in a self-sealing plastic bag set in a shallow dish. Set aside 2 T beer; in a small bowl combine remaining beer, mustard, Worcestershire, 1 t of the tarragon, the salt, and pepper. Pour beer mixture over steak in bag. Marinate in the refrigerator for 4 to 6 hours, turning occasionally.
2. Meanwhile, in a small skillet over medium heat, cook shallot in hot oil 5 minutes or until tender. Stir in reserved 2 T beer. Remove from heat. Cool 10 minutes. In a small bowl combine softened butter, shallot mixture, and remaining 1 t tarragon. Transfer to waxed paper; shape into a log. Wrap and freeze.
3. Preheat broiler. Drain steak; reserve marinade. Season steak with additional salt and pepper. Place steak on the unheated rack of a broiler pan. Broil 3 to 4 inches from heat to desired doneness, turning once, broiling 12 to 15 minutes for medium rare (145 deg F) or 15 to 20 minutes for medium (160 deg F). Transfer to platter. Tent with foil and let stand 5 minutes.
4. Place reserved marinade in a small saucepan. Bring to boiling. Reduce heat to medium and simmer, uncovered, 15 minutes (Do not overcook; marinade can become bitter).
5. To serve, slice steak into portions. Drizzle with some of the marinade reduction, and top each with a slice of frozen butter. Makes 2 to 3 servings.
I fully intend on testing out this recipe with a few modifications. First, a good porterhouse steak is hard to come by, so I’ll most likely substitute either ribeye or NY strip for the steak. Second, I only grill steak, never broil. And finally, I prefer my steaks somewhere between blue and medium-rare, depending on the cut.
I know that there are rules to determine style types: a given quantity of this, plus that, plus that other, with a dash of these hops, and bang, you’ve got an Elephantine Porterhouse. Or whatever.
I don’t know those rules, and I’m not so concerned about them. As much as I’m a brewer, it’s much more significant to me that I’m a drinker of beer. I love certain flavor combinations and certain mouthfeels and certain amounts of carbonation… These are the things I strive for, and I don’t usually consult textbooks in my pursuit of those.
So I don’t know exactly what Scary Monsters is, but the flavor profile, lightness of body (surprising, given the color), and the way it drinks have led me to call it a Black IPA. Maybe that’s even right.
1. It’s partial mash, so bring about two or two and a half gallons of water to about 155 degrees, and in a steeping bag, place:
8 oz Crushed Caramel Malt
9 oz Chocolate Malt
8 oz Toasted Barley
2. Steep them in your 150-160 degree water for 40 minutes. It’s a lot of grain, so it’s a long soak.
3. After about 40 minutes, lift out your steeping bag and gently encourage as much water as possible as possible to drip into your kettle.
4. Bring your kettle to a boil, and add 6.6 pounds of Muntons Light Malt Extract.
5. Hops pack:
1 oz Willamette – 60 min
1 oz Cascade – 20 min
1 oz Centennial – 5 min
6. Pretty sure I used Nottingham yeast, but any good ale yeast will do.
7. When primary fermentation completes, rack onto 1 oz Willamette for two weeks to dry hop.
Oh, and if your setup is prone to blow offs during primary, you might look into making a blow off tube. Scary Monsters redecorated my kitchen and I had quite a bit of cleaning to do the next morning. Like, mopping. It was intense. That beer earned its name.
This is an extract brew that I made ahead of a job loss in August 2010. It’s a huge, sweet beer that got seven or eight people hammered in May of 2011 when I brought it a friend’s college graduation. We all went to high school together, and watching our friend walk across the stage almost twenty years later – yeah, it was awesome to have something really special to contribute to such a great day.
Here’s the recipe:
9# Briess DME Pilsen
3# Briess DME Sparkling Amber
1# Belgian Candy Sugar
(13# fermentables total)
2oz Hallertau 60 min
1oz Syrian 20 min
1oz Saaz 5 min
No notes on yeast, but it was probably a dry yeast, definitely an ale yeast. My notes say that the boil time was more like 90 minutes than 60. I recall having a hard time getting the DME powders to dissolve.
I don’t think I ever put it into secondary. I think it sat in primary for about six months, then went into bottles, then went into bellies.