Friends who read this blog (all three of you) often ask us how we have time to cook so much. We usually answer it’s because we don’t have a TV, but the truth is, most of the dishes we cook don’t take all that much time. Almost all dinners are on the table within 20 or 30 minutes. But, occasionally, we like to take the time for a food project: making a dish from scratch that we’ve only ever bought pre-made, or setting aside time to cook something more time-intensive. These food projects are generally worthwhile regardless of how successful they are—there’s always another chance—but it’s just so f-ing exciting when they work out on the first try.
Sunday night we cozied up to some Internet television with two completed food projects: homemade microwave popcorn and a homebrewed brown ale. One was a long time coming (the beer), and the other was a spur of the moment experiment (the popcorn.)
I’ve been wanted to brew my own beer for years before I could legally buy it. Finally, I have the space, time, and companion to do it. We decided to go with a prepackaged box of ingredients for our first attempt, rather than a recipe. We probably would have been able to get away with forgoing the beginner’s kit and moving right to the real stuff, as the brewing process was far simpler and foolproof than expected. But it wasn’t without trouble.
After one week of primary fermentation, another of secondary fermentation, and one week of letting the bottled beer sit, Spencer and I popped open our first beer in eager anticipation. As I decanted it into a pint glass, I noticed that something was wrong. There was no white head on top, no bubbles releasing from the glass’ bottom. It was flat, like beer tea. We opened a second bottle and it was the same. Then another. And another. And another. We went back over everything we had did, making sure we didn’t forget any steps (we didn’t.) Worried that we had just wasted $40 and three weeks, I frantically searched the Interwebs for an explanation for “flat homebrew.” Luckily, homebrewers spend a lot of time on online forums. Numerous other newbies had tearfully posted about having a problem like ours, and the veteran homebrewers were happy to instruct that the solution was simple: give it some time. Like, at least another week or even two. Apparently our yeast just hadn’t had enough time to convert the sugar we added before bottling to carbon dioxide (and alcohol! Woot!) The cold temperature at which we left the house while on vacation for the last few days didn’t help either: the ale yeast we used needs to be close to 70 degrees to work their magic.
So, we bought a six-pack and waited it out. After two more weeks (five weeks total: two in fermentation and three in bottles,) our beer was finally ready to drink. We celebrated our success at being yeast wingmen and took our first sips. Good, not great, but definitely drinkable, especially for a malt extract-based kit. The brown ale was what I’d imagine drinking in an English pub a few decades ago—a bit watery, astringent, and chalky with a teeny noble hop presence—not your typical rich Mountain Sun brown ale. Truthfully, it’s not my type of beer, but it’s my beer. A Corona would taste good if I had brewed it myself.
Despite being a bit overeager, we had succeeded in creating a beverage that lots of people drink but few are willing to make. There is something magical about brewing your own beer. It’s not like making orange juice, where the final product is easily obtainable from the initial. It takes time, chemistry, heat, and lots and lots of steamy microbe “sex” to get from barley, hops, and water to beer. The process is invisible for the most part, heightening the anticipation and magic.
This same concept of invisibility causing magic applied to our other successful food project, microwave popcorn. We had bought some popcorn kernels to decorate our Christmas tree but never got around to it. After an unsatisfyingly small dinner at Radda, we came home looking for a snack. Spencer decided to try popping some popcorn in the microwave, and, well, it worked! All we did was put about ¼ cup of kernels in a brown paper bag, fold up the bag, and cook it for about the same time as a regular store-bought bag of microwave popcorn. We experimented with mixing the kernels with some oil and salt before popping, but it seemed to work best topping the popcorn after it had popped. I usually go with (vegan) butter and truffle oil on my popcorn, but since Spencer doesn’t like truffle oil (the horror!), we used olive oil, which was delicious and really highlighted the oil’s flavor. (We used a cheap grocery store extra-virgin, so good olive oil on popcorn must be heavenly!)
So here are two food projects for you to try. If brewing your own beer looks like a pain, come over and try some of ours. I’m sure there will be some new, delicious, American-style brews in the works soon. They will go great with popcorn.
