Editors note: I’ll add fascinating photos of this entire fiasco just as soon as Wordpress talks to freakin’ photobucket. This is really annoying.

So anyway, just before a crushing bout of influenza, I brewed my first batch of beer. This is probably a subject of tireless interest to the readers of this blog, so we’ll take this opportunity to go on at length about the brewing process that day.

Step 1: do research
I had a beer kit, purchased from a store that sells homebrewing and hydroponic growing equipment. Going there, I definitely got the impression that the whole homebrewing thing was mostly a sideline for the hydroponics business, if you know what I mean, but they did sell a kit for “English Pale Ale,” which, given its simplicity and high-temperature, quick fermentation seemed like a logical place to start my brewing endeavors.

The next step, after acquiring this all-in-one beer in a box, was to remind myself what beer tastes like.  So we went to Swan Market and sampled several pitchers of Spaten Helles, which tasted nothing like what my beer could ever possibly be. But it got me charged up and allowed me to overcome my fear of possible bacterial infection. Of the beer, not me.

Step 2: dump and stir.
It turns out there’s not much to brewing from a kit. It consists of about two fistfuls of grain, complete with steeping net, with which you teabag the heating water in the brew kettle, removing it before the boil so the tannins don’t leech into the beer. Of course you also get a can of malt extract syrup to add to the boiling water. Then you finish up with some dextrose for body, pelletized hops of dubious vintage, and a small bag of yeast that resembles the package of salty shit you add to ramen noodles. The essential instructions: combine kit in pot. Pour into three gallons of water in glass carboy. Add yeast. Wait freakin’ forever.

Of course, having Bruce around meant we were changing the procedure. Bruce, the brewer for the Rohrbach Brewing Company, decided I would “dry hop” the beer by him jamming two fistfuls of hops through the neck of the empty carboy. After vigorous tamping, the bottom of the glass vessel resembled a leafy garden paradise, and the aroma of lupulin was noticeable even through the steam of the boiling brew kettle. Something bitter was about to happen.

We used Bruce’s “special” yeast too.  I found the packet from the kit a couple of days later under a stack of unopened credit card solicitations.  I had his assurance that the yeast he brought in a little baby food jar would be quite vigorous, and more than adequate for the task at hand. I immediately put a plastic tray underneath the carboy.

And really, that was it. Heat. Dump. Stir. Cool. Transfer. Pitch. Brewing from a kit is simple as hell, easier than making dinner.  I have no idea how much of a difference the auxiliary ingredients we used would make over just using the kit hops and yeast, but I can’t imagine it being that huge.

If you’re thinking about brewing, but have been put off by the technical nature o the hobby, just get a kit and give it a try. Brewing can be as technical or facile as you want to make it, and many brewers stick with the extract stuff just because it adapts well to the ordinary kitchen environment.

Of course, listen to me talking before my beer’s ready. Maybe I should just STFU until I actually taste a bottle. We’ll go over that when the first cap is popped.

-Mark