Turned Timber Brewery - Stepping Up the Homebrew System

My parents moved back to my homeland of Pennsylvania last year, building their new house.  My father, along with usually just one friend, did all of the principal construction; in seven months, their home was livable.  No small feat!  The house is gorgeous, well thought out, and expertly designed.  Mrs. Absalom and I have had the chance to visit it in its completed glory for the first time this summer, and I've enjoyed spending quite a few weeks here this season.

Building to my parents' specifications allowed for some very particular design elements.  My mother is a quilter; thus, she has a quilting studio with ample layout space, storage, etc.  For my father, the energy went toward woodworking and homebrewing.  He's set himself up with plenty of space for his woodturning and just about any other project he'd like to take on with a standalone shop; the brewing space doesn't occupy its own structure, but it sure isn't small.  Based on his woodwork background, he's christened the operation the Turned Timber Brewery (TTB).

The brewery, part of the main house, is done in tile and includes lots of drainage, two sinks, and plenty of power.  The table space and cabinetry are all handmade.  The most exciting part of the setup, however, is the all-electric HERMS brewing rig.  The system is built from specs from the Electric Brewery; my dad ordered

the control panel components and built the box himself. The whole deal is based around three twenty-gallon Blichmann SS kettles and two March pumps, along with a hood and fan assembly to draw out the steam generated while brewing.  While it can produce as little as five gallons of wort, it's designed to regularly produce ten to fifteen gallons, I believe; the batches we've done normally average around eleven or twelve gallons of finished beer.  It is an absolute dream to use; there's still plenty of manual labour involved, but many of the normal all-grain processes become easier to navigate, thanks especially to the pumps.  Like any new system, it's taken a while to dial in procedures--along with figuring out how to properly hook up the pumps for each step in the process, fly sparging is a new experience--but it's been an incredible experience brewing on it.

Along with the range of carboys he's collected over the years, TTB also includes two fourteen-gallon Fermenators, which tend to see the lion's share of fermentation.  For temperature control, the brewery

houses a couple refrigerators: one equipped with a Johnson temp control that switches between acting as a fermentation chiller and as cold storage, the other normally used for storing ingredients and bottled beers.

Outside of that, there's the central heating system; while the brewery doesn't run entirely on its own, it's on a grid with just the garage, meaning the rest of the main house is unaffected by settings for fermentation.  For serving, some beers are still bottled, particularly higher-gravity ones; in general, though, my dad's moved to kegging and is not looking back wistfully on bottling.  He currently has a two-tap kegerator and will set up a second two-tap unit in the near future.

The brewing setup is nothing short of amazing, but the best part is having a chance to once again brew beer with my father.  A few short years ago we were making Mr. Beer kits, trying to avoid stovetop boil-overs and cleaning my mother's kitchen like mad after each batch.  A lot has changed in a short amount of time, and very much for the better.  We've brewed a number of batches already, and have at least a couple more planned before Mrs. Absalom and I head back west; the batches I designed will be detailed on my personal blog soon.  We've supplied beer for a couple private parties, including a 4th of July weekend bash at the new house.  If only every brewday could be as fun as the ones at Turned Timber; once we depart, I'll be left feeling impiously envious for now...

- Br. Absalom

Un viaje a Chile

I haven't done a great deal of international travel, but I'm happy to take advantage of opportunities that present themselves.  Just such a one came up this past October: I accompanied two of my music professors (of composition and trombone) to Santiago, Chile, to provide tech support for an electronic music concert and to give a few brass master classes.  It was an enjoyable week, getting to know just a little bit about Chile's history, culture, and people.  The roots of the indigenous people and the descendants of the Spanish

conquistadores are deep, but influxes of German and Middle Eastern immigrants last century have also made their marks on the country.

The "Chicago school" concepts introduced by economists trained at the University of Chicago and adopted as policy by the Pinochet regime raised the country's international economic standing considerably while simultaneously creating widespread unemployment and poverty.  The divide between rich and poor is still quite stark, and it seems that those of the middle class many times struggle to subsist.  In the last few years, Chile has experienced sustained student protests demanding deep reform of the public education system.  Despite the hardships, the students I met and worked with at the Universidad de Chile, all from middle class families, were very friendly, receptive to new musical concepts, and really quite fine players.  I gave two master classes to the tuba studio, the first a solo class and the other on chamber playing, and did a little coaching

of the trombone choir; it was very rewarding to hear the players make progress during our short time together.  I also greatly appreciated their patience with my terrible grasp of Spanish; the composition professor who was on the trip is Chilean and was on hand to translate for all the master classes, and often had to figure out how to re-translate what I had tried (and failed) to tell the students in their own language.

After all the teaching and accompanying translating that went on--the trombone teacher at the U. de Chile managed to wring a lot out of our trombone prof, having him give something like six or seven master classes and coachings during our stay--the concert almost came barreling up out of nowhere.  Our trombone professor performed a piece for bass trombone and live electronics by (of course) our composition professor as part of the Ai-Maako Chilean Electroacoustic Festival, which took place at several venues across Chile over the course of a couple weeks in mid-October.  Tired as we all were, the rehearsal and performance--which took place in Santiago--came off without a hitch and the piece was well received.

While we spent quite a bit of our time at the U. de Chile in downtown Santiago, it was great to get out into several other areas of the city as well.  The trombone professor and I stayed in a hostel in the Los Leones neighbourhood, which has apparently moved from being primarily residential to having more of a commercial vibe in the last couple decades.  The architecture in this area varies from a more Old World style of some of the remaining houses to the very modern high rises that are currently under construction.  Out exploring the neigbourhood one afternoon, I discovered a multistory building that exclusively housed

tattoo & piercing parlours, skate shops, anime boutiques, and small punk/hardcore music & clothing stores.  Within a block were several of the city's premier department stores.  A fascinating place.  Other interesting venues visited included the tenth-floor apartment of the composition professor's mother, where I experienced my first earthquake (it was just a little one, but exciting nonetheless); a quiet--and admittedly somewhat touristy--open-air market for handcrafted Chilean items; and a Communist-themed bar for a night of tango music.

Spring was just beginning when we visited, so we enjoyed a few lunches at outdoor cafés near the university or our hostel.  Much of the fare was very meat and bread-centric; fairly massive hot beef and cheese sandwiches with ají--a spicy red chili sauce--were regular staples.  Ordering coffee was an interesting experience; the normal cup of café was actually instant Nescafé, so if you wanted a regular cup of coffee you would order "café café."  The favourite of our trombone professor became a cortado ("cut" with milk).  We also had many wonderful meals at the homes of our Chilean professor's family.  One evening at a birthday

party we had an incredible wok-prepared shrimp curry; another night I was fed so many homemade dolmathes that it pained me to think of eating Greek food at all for several weeks afterward.  Accompanying a number of meals, of course, was alcohol.  Chilean wine was the common fermented beverage on the table, but the most renowned local drink is pisco, a grape brandy most often served with a sour mix.  Along with a few of these pisco sours, I also had a chance to try some top-shelf pisco over ice; I'm far from a connoisseur of liquor, but it was quite good.

As one should always assume with me, though, my eyes (and tongue) were peeled for local beer.  German immigrants several generations ago brought their lager brewing tradition, and lager was the drink of choice at the outdoor cafés.  Being a proud participant in the American craft beer revolution, I've long held a bias against lagers; sure they have a place, like at a cookout on a scorching summer day, but they don't normally end up in my fridge.  The (dare I say) authentic German lagers of Chile really made strides to change my mind, however.  In particular, I had an amber lager--whose name I can't recall, much to my regret--with lunch one day that was just perfectly malty, crisp, and balanced, without any of the unpleasant aftertaste I associate with lager beer.  My other experiences with Chilean lager, while not as revelatory, were far from displeasing; from a bottle of Austral at another café to a can of Baltica at a family dinner, I was happy to partake in this "dark side" of beer culture.

Of course, I didn't go all the way to the Southern Hemisphere without researching the local microbrew culture.  This article from Beer Magazine gave me a little primer for hunting down some cerveza artesanal in Santiago.  The grocery stores carried a wide selection of beer, both local and international (read: European).  From Kross Brewery I tried their ESB, Lupulus, and their fifth anniversary strong ale, Kross5.  The ESB was light and well balanced, the moderate hop bite and aroma very pleasantly contrasting the breadiness and faint yeast character; Kross5 was malty and warming, and went down well back home a few weeks later in the deepening autumn chill.

The "Bones of Oak" Stout from Cerveceria Rothhammer didn't make as good an impression when I cracked it open in SLC; despite the name, it came across as a fairly insipid stout without any noticeable wood character.  The "oak" may have just made for a good beer name in the brewery's eyes, but it set up certain expectations for this gringo, at least.  The most unfortunate Chilean craft beer experience I had, though, came at the aforementioned Communist-themed bar in the form of a bottle of stout from La Casa En El Aire.  I'm not sure if it was an off-flavour or if the brewery perhaps intentionally tried to add a touch of
"Guinness-ness" to their stout, but even very cold the beer had a pronounced tang that made it very difficult to return to the glass for another drink.  I'm not sure if I ended up with a bad bottle, but it's true that not every new, ambitious brewery--here in the US or anywhere else--puts out high quality product.

Fortunately, my overall impression of the cerveza artesanal Chileno scene is actually very positive.  Let me contrast my toughest experience in Santiago with my best: a visit to the Cervezeria Nacional brewpub.  I ended up making the trip on my own one evening to a neighbourhood that was probably not the safest for a fairly obvious tourist.  However, I arrived none the worse for wear, and eager to try some local beer.  The pub was small but had a great, warm atmosphere; I ended up sitting at the small bar, chatting with an off-duty waitress, exchanging my broken Spanish for her broken English.  My first pint, a

"blonde" that was really a red, redeems my later-diminished impression of Rothhammer; a little sweet, nicely malty, with a good balancing bitterness.  My second pint was the house IPA (which they pronounced "eepa"); while not a West Coast-style face melter, it was plenty hoppy, harmonizing with the malt base.  My take on the beer may have been coloured by the cozy environment, but I couldn't have asked for a more inviting setting to get a taste of the local brewing scene.  They even made sure I got out the door in time to make the last metro, saving me from trying to navigate the city by cab.  Definitely worth a repeat visit.

I don't know when I'll have a chance to return to Chile, but I look forward to some day revisiting the wonderful people, places, and flavours I discovered a few months ago, as well as exploring new ones.  I'm particularly keen to get up into the mountains, which loomed imposingly behind Santiago during our stay.  I always marvel at the places I've been fortunate enough to visit because of my vocation; here's to future adventures in music, travel, food, and beer.

- Br. Absalom

Hazy Recollections of Summer

Hello again, weary travelers.  It's been quite some time since the Blogastery has seen any activity; it's a sign of industry from the members of the Order.  There are tales to tell on all sides, no doubt, and I'll begin the telling by revisiting the road trip undertaken by Mrs. Absalom and myself more than a half-year hence now.  Over two months we spent traveling through three time zones and fifteen states of this Union.  The best way to get a good overview of all it for this venue seems to me to 1)stick to the best beer experiences we had; and 2)include a lot of pictures.  Bearing that in mind, here we go.

Our first destination was Chicago.  Here we reconnected with Br. & Mrs. Thelonious, spending some good quality time with them.  For Br. Thelonious and myself, that meant brewing.  My fellow brother in fermentation was still refining his brewing processes, and elected a tried and true recipe from Jamil's tome Brewing Classic Styles, Janet's Brown Ale, to continue his journey.  A fine brewday ensued, punctuated by lunch at City Provisions and dinner at Hopleaf.  Definitely a great start for our return to the Midwest.

 
Next we spent a couple days in lovely (also hot) St. Louis.  Beery highlights included visiting the wonderment of the Wine and Cheese Place, a liquor store recommended by Br. Abelard for its excellent range of beers I couldn't find everywhere else, including Chicago--it's the only place I've come across Pannepot.  Our other beverage destination was Square One Brewery & Distillery, which served up a really fine pale ale and a gluten free mixed drink for Mrs. Absalom.  A fine first impression, STL.

As we swung through the South, we picked up the best damned peaches we'd ever tasted in north Alabama; these went on to be half the base of our first mead, Pennsylbama Peach Melomel.  We also discovered the burgeoning craft beer scene in Lexington, KY; searching for a homebrew shop to provide us with yeast for the melomel, we stumbled upon Lexington Beerworks, a pretty new homebrew shop/bottle shop/beer bar.  While they didn't have much to offer in the way of appropriate yeasts for our purposes, they did have some exceptional beers on tap--I reunited with Goose's Imperial IPA and finally sampled Dogfish's Burton Baton--and plenty of great local beer shoptalk with the bartender.  He sent us down the road to West Sixth Brewing Company, which had only been open for a matter of months at that point.  There we enjoyed their beautiful bar and patio, really incredible food from the Fork in the Road food cart, a Local First Lexington event in full swing, and a couple fine drinks as well.  We'll look forward to the next time we pass through Lexington, to be sure.

Our next stop was Pennsylvania, land of my birth.  We picked up some local honey and brewed the melomel, but more importantly I reconnected (and Mrs. Absalom connected for the first time) with old, dear friends whom I hadn't seen in years over drinks at the very decent Appalachian Brewing Company in Harrisburg.  Another Keystone State stop was the newly-relocated Troeg's Brewery in Hershey; the new brewing premises and taproom are spacious and well thought out, not to mention that they're pouring some damn fine beer.  We spent most of our time in the central part of the state, in a log cabin off the main road with a WHOLE lot of homebrewing equipment in various states of disarray and disuse in the basement.  The owner's brother came in from out of town every so often to brew, and it seemed that he wasn't worried about letting things gather a patina, if you will.  Finally, no trip involving Pennsylvania, especially in the summer, would be complete without copious green bottles of Yuengling Lager; I'll fully admit to being downright snobbish about beer most of the time, but the call of Lager is like a siren song for me.

Our last eastern stop was south central Ohio for a couple weeks at the end of July for the Lancaster Festival, an annual summer arts event.  We took a day trip up to Columbus and discovered the might and majesty of Brothers Drake Meadery.  We'd planned to stop in for a quick tasting and instead had our entire understanding of mead redefined.  This was certainly the best mead either of us had ever tasted, and we really enjoyed chatting with the owners for quite a while on our own; we showed up just as they opened the tasting room, so had the run of the place for quite a while.  They source all their ingredients locally, and only sell their libations in the greater Columbus area.  Their range of semi-sweet to dry meads, melomels, and metheglins are just amazing, and we'd recommend anyone interested in mead--including those who don't think they're interested at all because of poor past experiences--check them out.  That visit has continually inspired us over the intervening months to continue our mead making adventures; we love what we've done so far, and will take them a sample next time we go that way.  Possibly equally exciting was discovering a new brewery in Lancaster itself, Rockmill Brewery.  Specializing in Belgian and farmhouse (read saison) styles and built on a working farm, everything we saw of this micro (verging on nano) operation was exquisite, from the tasting room to the full grounds.  Thankfully, the quality of the beer matches that of the setting; I still have a bottle of their Oak-Aged Tripel just waiting for an appropriately special occasion to open.

On our return west, we were able to stop again in Chicago for a last hurrah with Br. & Mrs. Thelonious.  I'd read on some forums that bottles of Pliny the Elder could sometimes be found in Philadelphia; while my search for that beer on a trip to the City of Brotherly Love during our time in Pennsylvania proved fruitless, I did manage to come across one of Russian River's sours, Consecration.  Br. Thelonious and I indulged in this excellent beer to mark our final parting of the ways for the summer.

We returned to Utah road weary and happy to be home again.  It was a long trip, but full of great times that have afforded a superb store of memories.  We came across a staggering array of breweries (and a meadery), nearly all of which are dedicated to keeping as much of their operations and ingredients locally sourced and as much of their business in their respective communities as possible, which was a heartening sign.  We haven't made another big drive since, which is out of character for us, but it will undoubtedly occur again sooner rather than later.  I do have one more excursion from the past few months to detail on this hallowed blog soon; until then, stay warm and drink good beer.

-Br. Absalom