In (my belly) with the old, in (the bottle) with the new

I drank the last bottle of my first ever batch of homebrew last Friday. It was delicious. Scroll down to see a picture of its swansong. I'm still mourning it a bit. It was some very good beer. *sniff.*

The next morning, I stiffened my upper lip, sanitized various plastic bits, and bottled the next batch. This is a funky one, my intention being to brew a Smoked Rye Porter. I have to admit that the sidelong eyerolling from the guy at the brewstore and my brother's skeptical comments had double-teamed me to create feelings of immense trepidation about how this will come out, but after tasting my test sample (gravity was at 1012), I now feel confident that it will kick much ass. It has a very toasty, aggressive malt flavor to it. It's dignified and austere. I believe it has a walrus moustache and perhaps a monocle. It wears a waistcoat and carries a cane with a raven's head for a handle. You do not screw with this beer.

Bottling went well, but I need to end up with less waste. I was short nearly a gallon due to siphon leavings, short-filling the carboy, and being only 3/4 full on the last bottle.

Next weekend, I will be making Land of Milk & Honey Cream Ale. I already have a plan. It may even come out the way I intend, who knows?