Showing posts with label secrets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label secrets. Show all posts

Saturday, 24 October 2009

I can't put that many hops in

It's been said to me a couple of times. "I can't put that many hops in." By brewers when we've been discussing recreating old brews. I don't know. I thought this was supposed to be the age of heavy hopping.

You're doubtless fed up with reports of my ferreting around in brewing records. I would be. But that isn't going to stop me. Otherwise I might have to come up with some new ideas. And I'm way too old for that. Anyway, my current ferreting has a goal. Or two. One is gathering information on hopping rates.

I'm assembling a table to contain all the info. So far it's got 1,421 entries. Still a long way to go. The beer with the most hops isn't a surprise. At least not to me. Barclay Perkins IBSt. That's Russian Stout to you and me. When I gave Menno the recipe for the 1850 version, his response was "I can't put that many hops in." He calculated the IBU's at something over 250. Just as well I hadn't used the 1855 version. That had even more hops. A full 10.12 pounds per 36 gallon barrel. The 1850 recipe only had 9.31 pounds.

The quantities of hops used are terrifying. Barclay Perkins used tons. Literally. In some brews, more than two tons. That's right, two tons of hops. I can't imagine what two tons of hops look like.

Did I mention my secret projects? Obviously not, otherwise they wouldn't be secret, would they? Can't have you knowing everything I'm up to. That would be scary. Even I'm not aware of everything.

One of my now-not-quite-secret projects involves brewing an old beer. "I can't put that many hops in." Was the initial response of the brewer. Admittedly, I had cocked up the hopping rate. I'd given it as 8 pounds a barrel rather than the 4.3 it should have been. The brewer thought the lower figure was still a lot.

Those crazy Victorians, eh? The beer in question wasn't even particularly hoppy. By Victorian standards. It comes 213th in my list of 1,421 beers.

Saturday, 8 November 2008

Secret Pubs

Sharp, sunny days have a simple adolescent charm. But when the taillights blur into a smudge of red, it's time for adult pursuits. Jenever time.

Cloaked in fog, the world becomes muffled and discrete. A time for secret pubs and strong drink. A cloak for the body and a cloak for the mind.

Secret pubs. I wish I'd kept more pubs secret. How many I'd love to cover again with fresh untrodden earth. But it's too late. Bastard.

I'll not make the same mistake again. Mike and I shared a drink or seven tonight. Good beer and old jenever. No, I'm not going to tell you the pub's name. Some things are best unshared. Sorry.

Without secrets, we're naked. I prefer to remain clothed.