Like our study session for Categories 6 & 8, session #15 was double-booked with a club meeting. Only this club meeting was not a supplement to the study group, but rather the study group format was tweaked to accommodate the meeting. And so it goes.
Our modified format? Score an Old Rasputin at home and bring in the scoresheet for discussion.
After making two batches of mead in front (“for”) strangers, and both times as sort of an accident, I decided to make some on my own. Being big fans of Havoc’s Root of All Evil around here, we decided to make our own version of it. Since Groennfell and Havoc have their recipes all online, “cloning” this one was easy: just crib from the source!
Now, I give you Evil Clone:
Study session #14 was originally going to be dedicated solely to Category 14 (Scottish Ale), but a couple of factors came into play that allowed us to double up. First, other than a couple examples of 14C. Scottish Export, our coordinator for the night was having a real bear of a time finding any beers to demonstrate the other styles. In a bit of a windfall though, we discovered that we had enough examples of Category 3 (Czech Lager) that we could mix in that one to make the best use of the evening’s session.
You’re standing in the kitchen of the home you once owned in Barre. It’s a stunningly banal scene: you and A. unpacking bags of groceries, chatting about meal plans and minor home improvement projects with your parents who have just arrived after a five hour drive. One of these improvements would be to the kitchen, which you’d already done some work to but never quite felt satisfied with. You go on to remark something about the appliances, reaching toward the counter to set down some staple item. That’s when you notice it. Across from the counter, the kitchen goes on and on. There must be dozens (a hundred? more?) of additional square footage that you’d just never — not after so many years — noticed before. While the cabinets aren’t new, they’re certainly in good condition. But beyond that. There’s a toaster oven. (Actually, three of them.) A toaster. A refrigerator. A dishwasher (full of clean dishes, no less). And the four of you come around the counter to investigate the space.
Honestatis. My house extra amber ale. I’d been out of it since mid-May. An awfully long time to be out of the beer you were born to drink. The time had come to brew up the next batch. But there was a plot twist. A friend of mine had brewed a batch or two of his own take on it, and we were both gearing up to brew this at the same time. Why not combine forces? Honestatis (Mk. VII), the redux:
Our study group’s thirteenth session, and a night over-loaded with two categories and a small club meeting. And perhaps it was that pre-game of an informal club meeting that helped, but we had pretty good attendance, and all but one of the styles represented.
Category 22. Strong American Ale. That was study group #12.
“Looks like a light crew tonight.”
“Well, more for us.”
“I don’t think this is a category where that statement equates to a good idea.”
Remember that time I did the mead making demo? Well, when I tweeted about it, it kicked off a series of escalating dares until I’d gotten myself roped into doing a similar demonstration at Vermont Code Camp.
Turned out pretty good.
Our BJCP study group’s eleventh session convened to cover Category 13, the Brown British Beers. 1 Attendance was a little light, and we were short one style, but we made the most with what we had.
It was late September, and we were waiting for fall to finally (finally) make its presence known. At the first hint that the leaves might finally change color and drop, that the Vermont thermostat might finally turn down to “chilly”… I took an inventory of what I had in my brewing backlog. I was staring down a New Zealand Pilsner, another batch of Honestatis, and a honey porter which, while seasonally appropriate, was also calling for some wood-aging. My kegs were empty, and while I’d soon have plenty of that Motueka, things were otherwise looking… like slim pickings. The NZ Pilsner would take a while, as would the honey porter. And while Honestatis could get turned around reasonably quickly, there were… complications and/or collaborations to be considered. Then it dawned on me that an oatmeal stout would be perfect. A typo or two later and Otaku Supper took shape:
