Nothing worth drinking, at least not yet. Although we labored endless nights, slept with pirated copies of Radical Brewing under our pillow, and Walter read 19th century French poetry and whispered sweet nothing to the wort through the airlock, the first batch of BSB was a Big Time Steaming Pile of Big...well, you get the picture. Or do you?
Where did we go wrong? Where we really there? Was that us laughing on top of the carousel? What pixie sprinkled majik dookie dust on our fermentables?
A couple of ideas...(1) I can't remember if we filtered the wort before transferring it to the carboy, (2) during fermentation the carboy was exposed to sunlight (though indirect), (3) the bottling process was somewhat half-hazard and too much air may have gotten into the fucking bottling bucket, (4) Walter got his dirty protestant germs on the clean catholic yeast.
And yet...the process was instructional. We are figuring out where we went wrong. We've got a whopping four more batches underway. We get better at sterilizing things. We've developed expensive hobby. Finally, we've oedipalized our brew diary with freudian scatological innuendo. Enjoy shitfuckers!
More soon!
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