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He wasn’t just making the saison for Ruth. The Salty Goat didn’t even have a liquor license. Antero Brewing could use a saison to change things up a little. It was more off the beaten path than Bec’s IPA. Every brewery had an IPA. Not every brewery had a saison.
Maybe he wasn’t the brewmaster, but occasionally he had some ideas of his own. Even if Bec had her doubts.
The building had a small brewing setup at one side that was more like a home brewing system than their big brewing tun and aging tanks. It was, in fact, Liam’s home brewing equipment from days gone by, when he’d been working on his own during his down time. He had a quick pang that might have been nostalgia. Back in the good old days. When I actually had something to do at the brewery.
Knock it off. You’ve got saison to brew. The small system was perfect for his purposes. It functioned well for small test batches, which was what he was going to be putting together today.
He grabbed a polypropylene bucket and filled the brew pot with cool water. The brew pot sat on a metal stand at the side, out of the way. He turned the heat up to medium high, checking the thermometer.
The pilsner malt, the roasted cracked barley that Bec had gotten from Abel Parsons, came in fifty-pound sacks, considerably more than he wanted for a test brew. He grabbed another polypropylene bucket and measured out an amount that looked right, then weighed the bucket to confirm that his guess was on the money. He emptied the grain into the brew kettle, stirring a bit with his long-handled plastic spoon as the liquid came to a boil. He added more water until the grain and water mixture reached the right consistency. As a rule, he was more of an eyeball-brewer than an exact measurer, but he wanted to keep track of what he was doing this time, which meant keeping semi-exact notes.
The brew pot would need to boil for at least an hour before he did anything else. He set the timer and gave the mixture another quick stir. He’d keep stirring the brew regularly over the next hour, making sure that it stayed at a low boil. When it had boiled for the right amount of time, he’d add his spices to make it a true saison.
Bec came in as he was giving the mixture another stir with his brew spoon. She raised an eyebrow. “Are you still trying to do a saison?”
He nodded. “Getting the wort going.”
“Did you add sugar?”
Of course, I added sugar. But she had a right to ask—he hadn’t been brewing on his own for a couple of years. “A little piloncillo. I don’t want to make it too sweet. We’re going for balance here.”
She nodded. “What about hops?”
“I’ve got a mixture. Some of Booker’s special along with some Northern. A little of this, a little of that.”
One eyebrow arched up. “Yeast?”
“Belgian. White Labs.”
“Okay.” She rubbed the back of her neck, frowning as she ran through her mental checklist. “What about spices?”
This was where things got interesting. Or dicey, depending on how Bec felt. “I want to try dried lemon peel and dried basil. Maybe a few peppercorns, too. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. I’m only doing around five gallons here.”
Bec sighed. “Far be it from me to discourage experimentation, but that sounds a little edgy. Keep track of the amounts. If it’s good, we might want to be able to do it again at a larger volume. If it doesn’t work, we can always figure out something different.”
“Yes, ma’am, brewmaster.” He managed not to sound too annoyed. She was in charge, after all. “I’ll give you first taste. After mine.”
Bec picked up a clean apron from the rack at the side, wrapping it around herself. “You got Ruth a new cook?”
He nodded. “Peaches. From the tavern. She’s good.”
“Great. What does Tim Stanton think about this?”
Liam’s smile curdled slightly. “I don’t know yet. I’ll find out when I go to work this afternoon.” He wasn’t looking forward to meeting with Stanton—he wanted to hang on to his job at the tavern for as long as he could to take care of expenses. And he also liked the place, although he definitely had his doubts about the direction Stanton was heading.
