I opened my brew closet the other day to see how my Meadsummer Night’s Dream was coming along. The bifold door creaked in its track and shadows scattered from to Florida sun as I peered in at my brew.
The mead has developed a deep color, hard to describe and hard to quantify with any accuracy as it is hiding in a dark closet. It seems to be resting, a graveyard of yeast at the bottom of the vessel, an absence of CO2 emissions bubbling up the side, very still and tranquil as the flavors negotiate their place in the order of things.
Tomorrow, I will get a better feel for the batch, as I expect delivery of my 3-gallon glass carboy. Once it’s been sanitized I’ll be re-racking the Meadsummer Night to it’s new home in the carboy and leaving it alone until at least July.
Mead is a rewarding thing to brew, but it requires tremendous patience. I suppose I could say the hell with it and simply chug the batch now, or bottle it as is and hope for the best, but most of what I’ve read suggests that patience is rewarded by the Bryggjemann. Flavors melt together and textures gradually change as the mead comes of age, and with a relatively small batch like this I’d hate to consume it prematurely and kill its potential.
Tomorrow marks another special day in that it’s the day I’ll be trying my MooseFins Random Berry Red Ale. Originally a blackberry red kit from the Brooklyn Brew Shop, it took on a new direction after I ran out of raspberries and just hurled in a bunch of random fruit. I don’t remember what my inspiration was at the time but I’ll be curious to see how the beer turned out. If I’m lucky it’s amazing, and if it was a bad idea to alter the recipe then I will have learned a valuable lesson. Failure is the key to success in home brewing as in life.
Until next time, may the Bryggjemann bless you and Bacchus guide you.