Das Brauenhaus

A few weeks ago our friend Pete, who met SOB in med school, came to visit. He lives in California, and we only get to see him once every few years, so his visit was something of a celebration. It was a Saturday night. There were steaks, wine and lots of talking. During the course of the evening we got around to reminiscing.

Gee, wine and reminiscing! Who would have figured?

All of a sudden Pete's eyes got very bright, and he asked if SOB remembered back when they used to talk about making their own beer? You see, SOB, Pete and 4 other guys used to sit in a windowless room with six library carrels and study silently for hours on end. When they would take a break, their conversation had to be of the optimistic fantasy variety, otherwise they would have ended up shooting themselves in the head. It kinda went like this: One day I'll have my own boat. One day I'll have a big house. One day I'll brew my own beer.

As it turns out, Pete wasn't just talking. He is making his own beer and it's pretty darn good. It's even won some awards! Well, on Sunday morning we all had breakfast and then Pete had to get on the road. He said goodbye around 10:30. At 11:30 SOB asked if he could go out to 'run some errands.' Generally when he says this it means he's going to Home Depot, and maybe stopping at Best Buy to fondle the televisions. I said sure. The kids were about to go down for their naps and I could use the time to catch up on some laundry reading blogs.

Two hours later he showed up at the back door carrying six gallon jugs of water. Then he went back to his car and came back with six more. And then six more. It was at that point that I began to worry. Next he started bringing in the five gallon buckets. And finally came the glass carboys. I could have swore someone started playing the according as he began boiling and mixing grains together in his giant cauldron in our tiny kitchen.

Three hours after that, his beer was finished. Well, kind of finished. It was bubbling away in one of the five gallon buckets, the bubbles evidence that fermentation was firmly taking place. That first batch has since been racked, bottled, and some of it has even been consumed! SOB makes a new batch every 3 or 4 days, it seems, and my basement smells like an old, dingy bar. Nice.

I would complain, but having this new hobby brings him a great deal of happiness. He hasn't been this into something since he was in high school and a huge comic book nerd. And he usually waits until the kids are in bed to start a new batch. Plus, all the experience he's gained has cut his brew time down to just under two hours. I spend more time than that blogging/reading blogs most days, so I can't begrudge him that time once or twice a week.

But he better start winning some awards, too. Otherwise he's just going to be know as 'drunk father of the year!'