Of Your Own Make

Monday, January 22, 2007

The great homebrew experiment has begun.

Yesterday, while Donna and the girls were at church, I took another trip to my local homebrew shop. This time, instead of information, I was after gear. Buckets, funnels, tubes, hydrometers and other mad scientist stuff like that.

230 dollars later, I was on my way home. In the trunk was everything I needed to brew and bottle 5 gallons of amber ale. I felt like a regular moonshiner. Also in hand was a new book of scripture, The Complete Joy of Home Brewing, by Charlie Papazian or as it says right on the cover, The Homebrewer's Bible.

Charlie's simple mantra throughout the book is good advice for both me and Donna, "Relax. Don't worry. Have a homebrew."

As I opened the trunk of the car to show Donna the fruits of my spending spree she laughed. "I guess I know what we're getting your friends for Christmas this year."

Despite the fact that she had pretty much agreed to allow me to brew in the garage earlier in the day, I had braced myself for a punch in the stomach. A chuckle and a joke came as a pleasant surprise.

How did I get here, you ask? What magic did I cast on Donna to make this sort of evil-doing acceptable at my house? Well, I don't know exactly. I have been persistent in voicing my desire to learn the brewmaster's art. Persistent but not imposing, demeaning or histrionic. I think perhaps that has been the key. I have stood up for myself and my rights without expressing a need to trump her morality.

The distinction is important here. It is clear to her, I think, that this is not an attempt to reject Mormonism or to usurp her wishes. Rather it is a legitimate attempt to do something new and try something I actually want to do of its own merits.

I do have a right to exercise within the bounds of my own morality. As soon as I made my points about that and not about some opposition to her morality, she seemed to quickly warm up to the idea. OK, perhaps she's not hot on the idea but she did explicitly agree to it and that's something. She's smiling through clenched teeth a bit but I know she'll be alright.

Her primary concerns have not been what I expected they would be. I was sure I would hear about how she doesn't want it in the house, around the kids, or where her family might see it. Instead she wanted my assurance that my fermenter wouldn't explode under a bed like so much dog urine.

Last night, as I read the first few pages of Papazian's opus, I read aloud, "Remember, the best beer in the world is the one you brewed."

"Did you hear that, Honey? The best beer in the world. I think I am going to enjoy this."

"I really hope you enjoy it." I think she actually meant that too. She sounded sincere.

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