Beers and Beards Book 3: The Big Brewhaha

Two days later we stood before the tanks of Light Brew, preparing to imbibe in the fruits of our long wait. My eyes were bloodshot from staying up all night using [Rapid Aging] and testing yeasts. After subjective years of fermentation and multiple generations, I now had a lager yeast capable of surviving over fifteen percent ABV, and that would have to be good enough.

Back in the old days, I was always on tenterhooks waiting for Beavermoose lagers to ferment. Caroline said I was more anxious than a dog headed to the vet whenever lager racking day approached. With ales, you only had a week or two of waiting and any problems were immediately evident. Lagers were different. When you were waiting up to 5 weeks or longer for your beer, you wanted it to go just right.

Secondary fermentation was as simple as siphoning the lager from the primary fermentation tank to another tank and then disposing of, or saving, the leftover Ancestral Seed yeast cake. There was a lot that could go wrong during secondary transfer, but [Refine Brew] made any such worries a thing of the past.

Mostly.

Sanitisation was still an issue, but between Darrel’s elementals and our own hard work it was probably okay.

We were joined today by Master Brewer Schist, Guildmaster Malt, and our one-time beer inspector Master Brewer Blunt. Or as I was starting to call them in my head, Larry, Curly, and Moe.

They really did channel the famous three stooges. From the time they’d arrived, the three hadn’t stopped talking about what Schist’s finger smelled like. I… couldn’t bring myself to ask why. Annie and I were busy doing final checks on the brew and taking notes for future brews.

Our first Light Brew turned out to be a fairly standard pale lager in colouration which put it at a little lighter than a witbier. I stuck my head over the popped view-port and took a deep sniff. It had a very slight sulfury rotten-egg scent. The smell was caused by hydrogen sulfide compounds uniquely given off by lager yeasts. The long, cold, fermentation was designed to get rid of those compounds completely, so their presence indicated a screwup somewhere. Thankfully, the stink was faint enough that it was probably fine, but we’d need to let the beer ferment a little longer or cooler. That, or I could scrub it out with magic. [Rapid Aging] go!

I activated the Ability and sniffed. Sulfur free! Gods, I loved this world.

Annie was of course stressed out of her socks. This was a big moment for her as the first Goldstone to rack a Light Brew, and the only thing keeping her from devolving into a nervous wreck were Balin and Aqua standing behind her and muttering lines of support.

We were also joined today by Johnsson’s famous boyfriend, Dwarf Draconis. Johnsson had gotten his beard and hair done up to look like flames, and was wearing an in-vogue red sequined set of lamellar armour. The interlocking plates had dark orange undersides, which meant that as he shifted and moved, the armour looked like it was flickering in the light.

It was a neat effect.

Draconis was wearing his usual leather pants, steel toed boots, and not much else. Fire burned in his eyes, and from the flush he’d already been drinking. He looked like a BDSM lumberjack with rosacea.

I gave a welcoming smile to Darrel and Rosie, who’d been invited into the brewroom for this grand event. They'd been inside briefly to fetch us, but this was their first time really standing in the vast space, and Darrel was looking around with great interest.

Bran, of course, was in the kitchen. He didn’t really care, and he was busy with recipes. Kirk was out as well, dealing with ‘family business’ as he put it.

Which left Richter as the only one not accompanied by anyone. Excepting Penelope, who was curled expectantly at his feet with her bowl out. He didn’t seem to mind the bachelor life, as he had his head buried in a book. He was scheduled to start classes full-time at Archis Academy next month, and he’d been studying in earnest. He seemed to think that he’d juggle his schooling and work, but I seriously doubted it. Time would tell, and he’d promised that he wouldn’t let his grades drop due to his work at the Goat.

If it came to it, Annie and I had agreed that we’d force him to concentrate on his schoolwork. Besides, all the automation meant his strength just wasn’t as necessary as before.

Copperpot and Whistlemop were unable to attend. They were both a bit too busy with their own work to, as they said it, “Watch the future of our business be decided by an alcoholic animal.”

“Okay, Pete. I think it’s time.” Annie murmured, coming to stand next to me. I hopped down to the floor and Annie took center stage.

“Thank you for coming, Master Brewers.” She clenched her fists together and bowed to the trio.

“Get on with it!” Master Malt complained. “Yer fussier than a Blacksmith over a hunk o’ Mithril!”

Annie’s lips thinned. “Of course, Master Malt. Pete, if you would, please?”

“Of course!” I stepped over to the faucet and rubbed my palms together. On the ground, Penelope gave a happy bleat.

“Wait, wait, wait! What about tha racking song!” Master Brewer Schist said in alarm. “Can’t do a good rack without tha song!”

I shared a look with Annie. Actually, he was correct, there used to be a song that Johnsson and Richter sang as they filled barrels back in Minnova. Since the new system was automated, we hadn’t done it in a while. Which, now that it’d been pointed out, was a complete and total shame. You’d think as a fan of the greats, I’d have more appreciation for song and dance in my brewing.

“Well, far be it from me to tell you that you ‘can’t get no satisfaction’!” I gestured expansively at Master Schist. “Would you care to do the honours!”

*Baaaahhh!!* [Translated From Primma Donna Goat] “Why?!?! Give me my beer!!”

“Gladly!”

And with that, Master Schist led us in the old racking song. It was a bit different from the Goldstone’s version, with a lot more stamping of feet and stilted shouts.

“Stack, Hack, Crack, Rack!

Another batch is done at last,

And so the dice of life are cast!

A perfect brew is much to ask,

When all we want is one full cask!

Stack, Wrack, Crack, Rack!

We’ll pop the cork to test the taste.

Then drink it down, with none to waste!

So clap your fist on oe'r yer chest.

Don't yer brew just taste tha best!

Stack, Wrack, Crack, Rack!

Never mind the sound of gold.

Just keep brewin' till yer old.

Brown or grey or black of tog.

Come and rack this head of hog!

Stack, Wrack, Crack, Rack!”

As the song came to an end, Annie turned the valve, and sparkling clear beer poured into Penelope’s bowl. It foamed gently as it filled, leaving a brilliant white head at the top. By this point, Penelope was used to the fizz, and plunged her nose through it to get at the beer.

The assembled spectators broke into happy cheers as she continued to drink unabated, her happy pleasure evident in her gulps and body language. The cheering was short lived; by this point we had so many perfect brews that seeing Penelope drinking without complaint was the standard.

Annie began pulling a glass for the three Master Brewers. “It looks like our first Light Brew is a success! Thank you again, Master Schist!”

Schist nodded eagerly. “Of course, Brewer Goldstone! Now let me try some! The colouring on that is quite interesting!”

“I still don’t understand the purpose of the goat…” Master Blunt complained.

“It’s just like puttin’ the lucky clan rock in tha tank right before you rack it.” Master Malt replied offhandedly. “Nothin’ to read into it.” He eagerly took his Whistlemug from Annie, not seeming to notice the stares of incredulity that comment had earned him.

The three politely waited until Annie and I poured enough for everyone, then Master Schist raised his glass in a toast.

“To tha Sacred Brew and the hard work of its brewers!”

“Fer Crack and Kinshasa!”

“And Minnova!”

“CHEERS!”

I happily chugged my mug. We’d finally reached the point that I was looking forward to trying new beers again! Lagers were my favourite summer BBQ beer. Crisp, light, and easy on the palate. Our first Light Brew wasn’t much different from beers back home. It felt similar to fizzy apple juice on the tongue, like a Martinelli’s with Thanksgiving Dinner.

The flavour reminded me a bit of Pabst Blue Ribbon, though with a bit more of a licorice tang without the citrusy tang of hops. The mouthfeel was as light as the name, with barely any aftertaste.

Overall, I gave it a 7/10. It wasn’t my favourite, but it was more than adequate.

I glanced over at the three Master Brewers and had to hold back a guffaw. Master Schist was staring through the Whistlemug at the stream of bubbles, Master Malt had already finished his and was fighting with Penelope for more, and Master Blunt was alternating taking sips of the beer and muttering “Unbelievable” under his breath.

“Does it meet your exacting standards, Master Schist?” I asked.

“Aye, Brewer Roughtuff. Yes, it does! The flavour is different from regular Light Brew, but the mouthfeel is quite similar to ours. This’ll go great with a hunk of spiced sausage!”

“That makes sense. I’ve heard through the grapevine that you have the same exacting standards and cleanliness requirements that we do.”

“The grapevine?” Master Schist gave me a questioning look.

“The goldvein.”

“You probably heard it from Master Blunt, who lives up to his namesake both in his conversation and his thick head!”

Master Blunt looked up from his glass. “Whassat?”

Schist rolled his eyes. “Nothing Blunt, how do you like it?”

Blunt worked his jaw, practicing his words before he finally let them into the world. “I like it. I really like it. Honestly, I like it more than yers Schist.”

Schist lay his hand on his chest and rocked back as though wounded. “You dare, Blunt! And after all we’ve done for each other! You were like a brother to me! And here you come with an axe to my feelings!”

“Nay, I’m serious, Schist. This beer,” he pointed at the full fermentation tank. “Is gonna be a problem. This is everything Light Brew is supposed ta be, but more. Folk are gonna get mad that our brews aren’t as good as this.”

“I’m, ah, surprised to hear you say that.” I said, my eyebrows up to the ceiling in shock. “You’re not going to wax poetic on the superiority of the Sacred Brew over this young whippersnapper of a beer?”

“Yer tha young whippersnapper here. Whatever that is. But I’m also a Master Brewer, and I can tell a good beer. This is a damn good beer. And light brew was always the bastard brew anyways” He thumped his now empty glass down on a nearby barrel. “Another pint, Brewer Goldstone!”

“Right away Master Blunt!” Annie called back.

Schist tapped his glass, giving off a ringing noise and causing a fresh stream of bubbles to rise. “I really think it would be better with something spicy to add a kick to it.”

“Peh, you’ve got the tongue of a drake.” Blunt scoffed. “Always addin’ hot sauce to everything.”

Schist ignored him. “Brewer Peter, how do you get the bubbles to stay like that? Is it due to these odd covered tanks?”

I nodded. “Aye. That’s the biggest part of it. The bottling machine helps it stay fizzy in the bottle as well.”

“Fascinating…” Schist’s attention peeled away from me as he left to wander our equipment, sipping at his mug.

I glanced around the room. There wasn’t any insanity taking root this time, just happy conversation as folk drank their beers. Draconis had already finished his glass, and was halfway through his second. Richter was nearly done on his own, and was currently keeping Penelope at bay as she tried to get at what was left. Aqua, Annie, and Balin were chattering away about something, and Rosie and Darrel were just taking things in as they sipped their beers.

It felt like home.

Miss ya, Caroline. And you too, Sammy. Though it was easier brewing without a child constantly underfoot.

There was Bando, but he probably wouldn’t look cute running around the brewroom in a pink tutu. Hilarious, but not cute.

I raised my glass in a toast to the sky far above, to a sun hidden behind hundreds of meters of rock and stone, and a mountain that reached up into space.

“Cheers Barck. Enjoy the new drink. And screw you, gimme my soul back, you bastard.”

I hummed a little Tubthumping by Chumbawamba under my breath as I drained my glass, then went to get another.

*Bing!*

Quest Updated: More Brews Part 2/5!

More! MORE!

Invent sixteen new drinks. Mixes don’t count.

Drinks Invented: 6/16