… Make raspberry beer. Right? With a bumper crop of raspberries threatening to permanently stain Sarah and my (and Jasper’s!) teeth red, I decided to do what I do best: take it to an unneccessary extreme. In this case, I picked a bowl of berries from my backyard, and added to it another half-flat of Farmer’s Market raspberries. Take that, Emeril, you lousy sonofa … whoa. Sorry. It’s just that, when I think of Emeril, all I can see is red … berries. And one hack of a cook. Ouch.
I began by setting out the neccessary supplies:
- 1 22 oz. bottle of Bloody Sunday Cherry Brew
- 1 half-flat Oregon-grown raspberries
- 1 Enormous bowl hand-picked Oregon backyard-grown raspberries
- 1 7 lb. container light malt extract syrup
- 1 lb. 2-row malt
- 1 lb. Munich malt
- 2 oz. Cascade Hops
- Wyeast California Ale Yeast (WLP001)
Commence Drinking … er … Brewing
- While heating 4 gallons water to 150 degrees, of course. More drinking.
- Once I reached temperature, I steeped the crushed grains for 30 minutes, which just about had me finishing the bottle. Bam!
- I removed the grains, sparged them, and kicked it up a notch, bringing the wort to a boil. And opened a bottle of Bridget’s Saison, adding just a little love to my liver.
- Once a good froth was going, I added the malt extract and half the Cascade hops (1 oz), setting the timer for one hour.
- With 15 minutes left, I submerged the wort chiller to sterlize, added 1 tsp. Irish Moss, a tsp. of Yeast Nutrient, and 1/2 oz. Cascade Hops. With 14 minutes left, I drained the rest of my beer. Oh, yeah.
- With 5 minutes to go, another 1/2 oz. dose of Cascade.
- Finally, it was time to catch the last train to Pasteurizationville, and I dosed the wort with all the berries I could muster. I let the berries sit in the pot for 15 minutes, stirring vigorously until the wort was more juiced up than Barry Bonds at a Senate Judiciary Committee Hearing. Hey, some of my best friends are Giants.
- When the juiced-up wort had reached maximum red-ness, I turned on the chiller, bringing the whole mess down to a cool 70 degrees Fahrenheit.
- And then I pitched the yeast, putting an end to this beleagured metaphor, and having calculated an O.G. of 1.068. Hot damn.