Look up your target beer style in the Beer Judge Certification Program (BJCP) style guidelines. The style guide has published ranges for bitterness, color, original gravity, and alcohol by volume, as well as a description of the style, how it tastes, and key ingredients used.
I next do the same with hops. What hop varieties did various brewers choose? How bitter did they make the beer? Did they use hops in the whirlpool or dry hop? Again, by looking at several recipes, I can get a good list of hop candidates to use as well as how those hops are appropriately used in the target style.
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You can do the same with yeasts to get some potential varieties to use. Many yeast manufacturers such as White Labs and Wyeast publish yeast charts that list which strains are appropriate for a given beer style. This can really help you narrow down which one to use.
At this point you should have a good list of ingredients and a pretty good idea of the proportions to use. The next step is to build your recipe using recipe software or an online calculator. While you can estimate recipe parameters by hand, it is far easier to do fine adjustments using software that updates estimated parameters as you work.
Short answer: a simplification of a flip. A flip is a class of cocktail (like a buck or martini) with nautical roots (likely the British navy, specifically). The overall idea, at the time, was frothy rum and they achieved that in a few different ways.
If I would have used one of the dark, seasonal beers or an IPA in the fridge instead of trusty Vitamin R, this could be a very different blog. If I had used more/less sugar, this could be a very different blog. If I had scrambled the egg in the glass rather than adding it scrambled, this could be a very different blog.
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At the second interview I met with the Publications Manager, "Lou." Lou is the kind of easy-going guy who leans back in his chair and tells a lot of stories. I was on the fence about Lou throughout our conversation.
I agree with you that Lou was only stating outright what many other managers practice but don't talk about -- that a part of his hiring decision (perhaps the largest part) rests on his personal, social comfort level with the person he's considering hiring.
Very few managers would ever hire someone they personally can't stand -- and I have been in plenty of interviews where the energy between two people could not have been any worse than it was -- but I do not think the "Have a Beer with Lou" test is appropriate or professional.
Some of the most brilliant and deep people I've ever met are people of few words. Some of them are folks with modest social skills. They do not want to go out for beers. They would not be able to keep up their end of the conversation in a setting like that. So what?
I endured a million years of corporate life as a person who knows nothing about sports and also doesn't care. At times it was painful. I grew up with brothers who played sports so at least I knew the basic concepts and terminology.
As long as he doesn't discriminate on the basis of age, gender, religion or any of the other protected classes, he can hire whomever he wants. You dodged a bullet when Lou decided you weren't beer-worthy.
In my book the more diverse your team can be, the better for everyone involved. It's fairly easy to hire people of different age groups, genders and nationalities to end up with a great-looking Diversity Staffing Report at the end of the year.
I told him that if he longed for a more complex flavor profile or whatever, he should just get the bartender to mix a few draft beers together, like we used to do with fountain sodas when we were kids. He puckered, insulted that I would even suggest such a thing, so I called the bartender over and asked if she'd fix me a pint of all the drinks on tap mixed together.
All those drinks are fine and good and whatever, but I didn't want "fine" or "good." A normal beer is full of subtle notes of this and flowery hints of that. Fuck notes; I wanted a drink that tasted like all 88 piano keys played at once. Fuck hints; I wanted to be steamrolled by flavor. What kind of terrible, twisted tastes awaited me at the bottom of a beer suicide? What new realms of intoxication might I reach? I had to know.
Unfortunately, almost every bartender I asked refused to pour me one, thanks to some weird bartender principle/utter lack of adventure. But I continued to order them everywhere I went. After a few more months of failed attempts, and a few more bar patrons thinking I was either an asshole trying to troll (partly), or an asshole with terrible taste (definitely), I found three spots that would let me taste test their beer suicides. The moment that my mind and body had been waiting so long for had finally arrived.
Megan Hopkins, the bartender at Iona, was a little apprehensive when whipping me up a suicide. Luckily she wasn't completely averse to the idea, since she's used to selling a Snake Bite or a Black and Tan to customers from time to time.
She gave me a couple of these two beer mixes to start. They tasted fine and looked pretty (the dark beer floated on top of the light like a booze ombr), but they only whet my appetite for my one true desire: a thick hoppy stew of all the beers at once.
When Megan finally poured it, she quickly realized that she was going to need a bigger glass, so we pulled out a ladder from the back room, and I climbed to a high shelf behind the bar to grab a giant, dusty novelty glass that you could easily drown a small child inside. It looked glorious when it was finally full.
The taste, unfortunately, wasn't that intense or disgusting or otherwise mind-blowing. The multiple IPAs Iona has on tap dominated the flavor profile, and it seemed like something that my snobby-ass beer friend could sip on while talking about floral hops.
Chilo's is a great bar with an even better taco truck in the back. The guy tending bar is an old pal, so he was ready and willing to whip me up a beer suicide for the sake of science. He even garnished it with a lime, which felt in keeping with the Modelo and Pacifico on draft. I twisted the wedge, dropped it in, and took a swig.
The draft porter mostly dominated the flavor, and the whole thing tasted like thick, citrus sludge. It was grosser than Iona's, but still mostly palatable, aside from the notes of lime. I drank about half of it and moved on.
"The most I've ever blended is three," he said. "Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't. A mixture can bring out strange flavors in one beer you might not have known were there. Sometimes it accentuates interesting flavors or creates a really nice harmony that you wouldn't have expected. Sometimes two great beers can be really terrible together."
Ian poured the beer suicide into the largest container he could find: a big plastic tub. As he went, the liquid grew darker and darker, until the whole thing was pitch black. He swirled the tub around to make sure the mix was even, and then grabbed me a glass.
Ian poured himself a glass, and we drank together like two beer adventurers trekking deep into the unknown. I knew him, then, and he knew me; something close and intimate passed between us, something neither of us could fully articulate.
"It's not bad," he finally said, after a time. "It's just weird. Sometimes it's good to taste weird, though, right? Not everything you drink or eat has to be delicious. Isn't it fun to try things that are compelling strictly because they're weird?"
He poured the remains of the concoction into a growler for me, and we said our goodbyes. I walked home in silent revelry, bottle of beer suicide in hand. Then I walked inside my apartment and immediately dropped the jug on my kitchen floor. As I cleaned the 54-beer mess up, I dreamed of my next beer suicide, of the weird tastes and textures it might hold. I'll never order a normal drink again.
The people had spoken: They wanted beer, and they wanted it now, but not just for drinking. Protestors wanted the jobs that came with breweries, and the country was desperate from the money that could come from alcohol taxes. As quickly as temperance organizations sprang up in the decade before, anti-Prohibition organizations appeared in every city. But, a constitutional amendment had never been repealed before. The anti-Prohibition leagues realized they needed someone bigger than a governor or mayor to repeal this. They went after the Presidency.
Jose Vasquez, left, and Eloy Luevanos fill up a grain hopper with winter barley seeds before planting at Goschie Farms in Mount Angel, Ore., Tuesday, Oct. 31, 2023. Fall is the off-season, but recently, the farming team has been adding winter barley, a relatively newer crop in the world of beer, to their rotation. In the face of climate change, Goschie will need all the new strategies the farm can get to sustain what they produce and provide to local and larger breweries alike. (AP Photo/Amanda Loman) 152ee80cbc
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