Right there- that word- ferMENtation. Such a misnomer for a process so basically female as it is. Once the cooled wort is poured off into the primary tank, we impregnate it with a yeast culture of choice. Now granted, the act of pouring in the yeast might be a manly task (Onan notwithstanding) but what happens next? Those yeasties begin to multiply faster than Patty Frustaci on fertility pills. Not only that, but that primary (and secondary if you use one) has to be coddled, nurtured, MOTHERED so as to remain at the proper temperature. If it is a ale, it has to be placed just so. I favor wrapping my ales in a heavy swaddling towel affixed with four clothes pins to both darken its surroundings and to keep outside temperature fluctuations less traumatic. If that doesn't make a sight to melt any womanly brewster's heart right next to the toilet in my upstairs bathroom (which is dark and quiet, except for occaisional guests and my husband's sorties if our other throne is already claimed by me), I don't know what does. Of course, I have to ponder my one or two bad batches of ale as possibly being contaminated- what with, I might venture to guess bad aim on my masculine guests' parts. It is also a sure fire conversation starter for you brewsters who entertain. Just tell the neophytes that it's your kid's science fair experiment; some sort of cloud chamber testing the methane levels pre- and post- depositional in the average household.
Lagers raise the maternal brewster's instincts to new heights. Since a lager requires a cold basement (not an option in SoCal, usually) or some king of controlled temperature chamber, I have made use of a small chest freezer with attached controller to raise my yeast babies properly. I might be accused of being Dahmerish in my attention to a chest freezer, but it's just those Mommy Dearest instincts at work. Daily I gently raise the lid and check the progress of my infant brew, not unlike a concerned mom checking to see if the kid's still breathing. I don't swaddle this lager baby but(t) I do make sure its chilly crib has been thoroughly wiped down with enough bleach to take care of a 1,000 diaper pails. Not even J.E. could possibly use more bleach than I do in this endeavor.
When things have quieted down in the nursery tank, it's time to transfer to a secondary. This feat is accomplished with a piece of siphon hose and timing more precise than a well cued actor. Which brinds me to another major difference between brewers and brewsters. It's that hose, guys. We brewsters are infinitely more adept at both starting and stopping the hose than any of you brewers. It's all that practice from high shcool with our boyfriends. We can put that siphoning serpent into action faster than any of you can blink and stop it even faster. That latter action is best accomplished with a smart kink to the end. Like I said- we learned it all back there at ol' Brewster High.
There are some of us (I number one of them) that forgo the secondary tank. On the subject of tanks I find that plastic works just fine for me, rather than glass carboys. Some brewers have probably figures out that my preference for plastic fermentation tanks has something to do with my Tupperware fixation, but hey- that cute aqua snap lid just gives me shivers, not to mention the taget circle that when pressed down, just squooshes out the air. Now if I could just find a siphon hose to match...
Since contact with air isn't desirable at this point of transfer to a secondary, we brewsters have more to contend with than you brewers. First of all, bad hair days figure into the equation. On bad hair days, we brewsters suffer from PMS of the follicles. No amount of hairspray, mousse or gel is going to make our hair go the way we want it to. And if the hair isn't behaving, half our attention isn't on the hose handling. Furthermore, on bad hair days the risk of having loose hais fall into the brew increases. Now you might wonder how hair can find its way into that little hole on top of the fermenter lid. Where is our head, guys? Most likely bent over, concentrating on the hose (follow me on this, just follow me). Puts our hair a little closer to the hole, doesn't it? And we have been spraying glopping and creaming into our hair to make it behave. Those gels and mousses add weight to the hair shafts and you don't have to be Newton to figure out the direction the falling hair takes as it abandons our scalps. Right throught the hole and into our brew. And you judges out there say we brewsters can't brew brew beer with body-- HAH! Wait for my Nexxus dark ale at the '95 Ren Faire.
Whether it's at the point of the first or second fermenter, there isn't much to do at this point but wait until all action has settled down in preparation for bottling. This whole time period between brewing and bottling is not unlike pregnancy. It's sitting around, thinking of names for the new brew and wondering if it will be a blonde, red, or brunette and inherit bad hair days too. There is a major difference though- the whole bulk of the baby isn't worn under our rib cage. We probably won't make the cover of national magazines posing nude with our hands lovingly caressing our fermentation tanks but come to think of it, our newsletter could use a centerfold or two. Our cravings at this point don't turn to pickles and ice cream, but they do begin to develop for the new brew. Some of us brewsters even begin to clean house long before bottling day arrives in anticipation of the blessed event. Some of us have showers- you brewers might call them "drinking up the old stuff to have room in the fridge for the new brew" parties. The showers, though, aren't always for brewsters only. If we waited for all the local brewsters to gather, we'd never get the shelves cleaned out. No, I figure the best audience for a brewsky is usually male, so I invite all those guys with coy invitations for a football game, several brews and some eats- and as a result, spend the next few months trying to figure out the elusive aroma in my new ale that is fermenting quietly by the upstairs toilet the day of the party. See? I told you these "use up the old brews" parties are showers.
I can see that the nice lady in white is waving that syringe at me again- so I had best send this installment off to the newsletter audience in hopes that you brewers have gained yet another level of empathy with your distaff partners-in-brewing. If last month's installment did send you guys to the woods to bond, maybe this month's will necessitate another meeting under the forest canopy to pass talking sticks around. As you meet, do consider the fact that J.E. thinks I don't have a big enough wortpot to deal with the results of irate brewster upon his physical self. I'll just have to go shopping. Oh, darn- I think I hear that mall calling now.