Brewing and festing

I rise at 8:30 and go straight for brekkie. 

They have both bacon and fried eggs. So I have both. Along with orange juice and coffee. And a bit of fruit for pudding. A pretty good breakfast.

Matt comes over and we spend quite a while chatting, while I drink my coffee. We always have plenty to talk about.

The bus to the farm is at 10 AM. To a farm with a wonderful view of the valley. What must it be like to live with all this beauty around you every day?

The house is a log cabin with one of those turfed roofs which are pretty common around here. Next to it is a roofed fire pit, where a cauldron of water and juniper twigs are bubbling away over a wood fire. They never brew with pure water. It’s always juniper infused.

The farmer, his brother and a mate are doing the brewing. Occasionally, giving the water a stir with a long wooden stick.

Mashing takes place in a stainless-steel tub. Though they have some wooden tubs to show us how they used to do things. Water is transferred in buckets to the mash tub. To which the malt is later added.

No measurements, either of the temperature of the water or the weight of malt, are made. It’s all very casual. Done by eye and experience.

While the mash is standing, we go off for lunch. Which is more potatoes and cold cuts. It fills a hole. I do quite like boiled spuds. And you can’t go wrong with salted pork stuff. And home-brewed beer, of course.

The mash is run off through a tap into a milk churn. In which a bag of hops is suspended. Once the churn is full, a perforated hose is put around its neck. Through which cold water flows and runs down its side, cooling the wort.

 

Wort cooling in the milk churn. With a perforated hose around its neck.

As this is a Raw Ale, there’s no boil. When the wort is cool enough, it’s transferred to the fermenter in the cellar of the house. 

At the beginning of the run off, a small quantity of wort is collected in a bowl. To this kveik is added to form a starter. After only 20 minutes, it’s fermenting away nicely, with a head formed. That’s quick.

Kveik straight after pitching.

Kveik after 20 minutes.

The whole fermentation only takes two or three days, despite the beers being 6% to 8% ABV. After that, it’s ready to drink. They don’t bother letting it clear. 

Once the starter has been pitched, it’s time for us to leave. The bus picks us up around three. Giving me some time to chill in my room before the Norsk Kornølfestival starts at 5 PM.

The fermenter, wrapped up warm.

I stop by the Spar opposite the hotel to buy some cheese, salami and rolls. As I haven’t eaten since lunch.

The festival is being held in the gymnasium of Honndalshallen, a sports centre on the edge of town.  I walk there. It's not too far. About 1 km. And on the only piece of flat ground within 1,000 km. I don’t do hills. Why do you think I live in Holland?

The route is quite rural, fields along most of it. From one, a sheep nonchalantly gazes at me. I stare back for a while. You can tell I don’t get out into the countryside very often. When was the last time? With my brother-in-law in Hessen five years ago? I don’t think that counts. I just stepped out of the car for a piss. 

On the way, Christina Wade and Chelsea catch up with me. We finish the walk together.

It turns out that I've forgotten my ticket for the festival. I thought it was in my bag. But it isn’t. Eventually, they let me in, making a note that I'll show the ticket tomorrow. Which is nice of them. I feared I was going to have to pay or walk back to the hotel.

About a third of the hall is given over to the home brewers. Each has their own table. Some have small kegs. Others plastic jugs. A few have some bottles. Many also have some sort of snack.

Most of the rest of the space is taken up by seating for the punters. Along one wall are the stands of a few professional brewers. Who take over beer-serving duties for the last couple of hours after the home-brew section closes at 8 PM.

There’s a separate room with picnic tables where food is served. And beyond that, the room where the talks are taking place. Mostly in Norwegian. Which is fair enough. Most of the punters are Norwegian.

I kick off with some of the beers of Thor Humberset, to whom I spoke yesterday. He has.  some really good stuff. There’s a 100% oats beer, flavoured with bog myrtle. Which sounds a bit like a Dutch pre-hop beer.

He has a few bottles of special stuff. Like a really good Imperial Stout. With all the dense roast malt flavours I love so much. It’s up there with the best commercial examples.

Next, he opens a bottle of a 19.5% Barley Wine. Wow. Another barrage of malt flavours, this time more on the fruity side.

“That’ll put hairs on your chest.” I remark. “Not sure I could drink a pint of it, though.”

Thor is very into British styles.

“Do you know any good sources of information on British beers?” he asks, “I’d really like to brew a proper Mild.”

“You could try my blog. Or my books.” I give him the name of my blog.

I expected all the beers to be Norwegian farmhouse styles. But that’s by no means the case. There are plenty of examples of classic styles. Even Lagers. Though brewers usually have some traditional beers as well.

The ample seating means I can rest my weary old legs anytime I want. There’s enough to seat everyone. A huge plus point. One of the reasons I stopped going to festivals was the abysmal lack of seating. Well, that and the stupidly small measures. What sort of fuckwit wants to queue for 10 minutes for one mouthful of beer?

Christina is giving a talk tomorrow and we discuss weird and disastrous gigs.

“My smallest audience was four. But three of those were staff, so it was really just one.” I brag.

The Widebay Brew stand has Vossa Troll, a 13% beer. They say like a Barley Wine. More like a Quad to me. Very sweet, but punchy, too. And rather yummy.

Thor comes up to me with a dark beer in a plastic glass.

“Try this. It’s another Imperial Stout. This time with dates.”

It’s very sweet. But very good, too.

When the home-brew bit closes at 8 PM, I sit with Christina and Chelsea. I don't get any of the professional beer, though. I just sit and chat for an hour. Then walk back to the hotel. No sheep this time. They must be in bed. 

On the way back, I drop by the Coop, the town’s other supermarket for more food.

I fiddle on the internet, eat a cheese and salami sandwich and sip on whisky. Before sleep overwhelms me.



Honndalshallen
6763 Grodås.