Something a-Brewin'

My calves are sore from hiking 11 miles. I'm sweltering in a house that doesn't have air conditioning or proper ventilation -- it only has heat and insulation -- because 85 degrees at 11 p.m. was not in the minds of the builders of my home nor those who funded its construction. I have to wake up at 8 a.m. to attend Native games.

I guess I've become a bit Alaskan -- maybe.

Then again, there are days when I could not feel more out of place. The days when I talk to the hunters, self-made adventurers and free spirits who roam this great land. I feel I'm not doing enough. I haven't seen the edge of the world; I just know what it looks like.

And that's fine. I can't shoot things, and I'm not much of a fisherman. I've gotten by with wits rather than grit, and I suppose thats just my way. Alaska's an outdoorsman's haven, an journeyman's requiem and a entrepreneur's gamble. I don't fit in any of these scenarios.

But there is one passion I can share with the people of this beautiful state: beer. Sweet, lip-smacking beer.

I dare say I've never tasted anything like the concoctions they brew up here. While most stray toward IPA-ish, alcohol-stingy bitterness to ward off winter's bite, there's brews for all palates.

Thusly inspired, I began brewing my own beer.



Thanks to some help from American Homebrewers Association gold medal-winner Geoff Hall and and Awsome Man (sic) Brian Martin, I'm on my third batch.

I began with some halfhearted online research an a quick perusal of prices and equipment at Gold Hill Liquor, the only homebrew supply store within 350 miles of Fairbanks. It's quaint shop in the hippie enclave of Ester, a few miles east of town. There I met Susan, proud extract brewer and wife of the head of Zymurgists Borealis -- the only brew club in the Interior.

Geoff pointed me in the right direction with some book suggestions, and Brian has supplied me with invaluable troubleshooting and esteem-building.



I believe I described my work best to Geoff at 4:42 a.m. via Facebook message:

Batch 1:

A kit brew that was supposed to replicate Newcastle, it came out too alcohol-ey for what I wanted a nut brown to be. Still, it got rave reviews from folks at our Memorial Day BBQ (called the Bob-O-Que after its host) and I've come to love it as a writer loves his dyslexic son. It's my first born, even if it was pre-packaged and can't-miss.

Plus, the kid can read better now. It's ripened well after a month and is best served warm in a huge glass. The mondo-sized mugs from Wal-Mart are a perfect vehicle.

Batch 2:

Another kit brew that said "Mexican cerveza" on the can, though everyone tells me that's redundant (they forget there's this lovely country named Spain and about two dozen other independent states that speak its language).

It was horrible 17 days after bottling. Way too sweet and a syrupy mouthfeel. Then I went on vacation with my parents. Upon return, the extra 10 days paid dividends. The flavors are milder and it's best when poured directly in the center of an upright glass.

As for the third, it will be ready in a few days. I'm teeming with anticipation.

It's not hard to find good beer up here, mostly because it costs $5 per pint at restaurants and bars. A cheapo beer like PBR is $3/pint, so you might as well get your money's worth. Thus, the supply of quality beers has met our demand.

It's a major part of why I'm proud to be an Alaskan -- even if I am a half-breed.