“So… that’s the Chosen Catalyst of Midna?” Annie muttered as she helped me grab Whistlemugs. “She’s… less impressive than I would’ve expected.”
“I mean, after such specimens as Berry, Joseph, and myself, that’s understandable.” I said, striking a pose.
Annie looked me up and down and made a ‘thinking’ face. “Actually, come to think of it, I guess she fits right in.”
“But not with Berry.”
“Definitely not like Berry,” I agreed, sighing.
Unlike me, Berry had taken the Elf King’s offer whole hearted. She and Joseph were pretty much tied at the knee these days, and she claimed the benefits far outweighed any downsides.
I was withholding judgement, but I did have to admit that she had a lot more freedom and access to the inner workings of Awemedinand than I did.
I was relegated to my brewery-cum-farm in Canopy and the Embassy while Berry had an entire stadium in The Boughs.
I had political red tape, while she now had a best selling mixtape. Of a sort.
It wasn’t harassment per-se; I was just another ambassador with some special status, while Berry was a VIP.
Not that it was all bad. I didn’t need to get permission to leave the country, and I wasn’t required to give everything I knew to the elven [Scholars].
Still, every time I passed the various permanent magical art pieces celebrating ‘Raspberry Syrup - Nightingale of Awemedinand’ in the streets, I had to wonder if she’d had the right idea.
“I see you have a type, Pete.” Bran remarked as he passed a plate of food through the serving window.
Bran stuck his chin out at where the apprentices were grumbling and guffawing. “Tha lass out there, Mirelda?”
We all glanced surreptitiously to where the human woman was laughing at something Journeyman Juniper had said.
“Excuse you!” I hissed. “It isn’t as though I’ve been pining after humans like Aqua!”
“I HEARD THAT!” Aqua shouted from the kitchen.
Bran chuckled. “I’m not talkin’ about what she is. I admit I’ve never met someone attracted to names, but there’s a first time fer everythin’.”
I stared at him blankly. “You’ve lost me.”
“Mirelda? EMerelda? Remember tha black haired vixen you were courtin’ back in Minnova? Strike a bell?”
Annie put her hand over her heart. “Ach! Poor Emerelda! Pete was just playin’ with her heart! A scant few years and she’s all but forgotten.”
“That’s just a name! It’s got nothin’ to do with anything!” I sputtered. “I just brought Mirelda in to help cheer her up. Don’t make this weird!”
Annie and Bran just grinned at me with sharp teeth that spoke of vengeance for past wrongs.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed the food and mugs. “Phooey to you two. Begone, darken my table no more.”
Then I spun on my heel and headed to our table, mugs in hand. Mirelda saw me coming and waved, a big smile on her face.
I was glad that my plan was working so well.
But… she really had looked better with the stupid false beard.
Rather than go back to the school, we decided to move the carboys of cider into the Thirsty Goat. In a short while we were set up on some of the tables on the far end of the inn from the regular service.
Each student had a small cask on the floor, a hose with a long hollow glass tube at the end, and a carboy of cider. Penelope was sitting under the table, examining everything with interest, and sniffing at the casks.
“Does everyone have their Whistlemop Glassworks tm auto siphons?” I asked, holding up the tube. Everyone nodded and held up their own. “Good! You don’t need an auto siphon for this part, technically you can do it with a hose and some careful sucking, but I prefer the auto siphon.”
I thought back to when we’d been racking using my modified industrial bottle stick and shuddered. The auto siphon was much better, and a simple enough concept. It worked by creating a vacuum in the big glass tube via a manual pump, which then pulled cider through the hose to where it could be bottled. Air pressure and physics did the rest.
“First, remove your pressure valves. Then push the siphon through the crust at the top, that’s the lees, which is the equivalent to Ancestral Seed in brewing.” Or Krausen, in the original German, but I hadn’t used that term in a very long time. “Be careful that you avoid any guck that’s fallen to the bottom of your cider as well. That’s called trub, and it can have some nasty flavours.” I demonstrated, gently lowering the auto siphon so it was halfway into the carboy, and adjusting the stopper to ensure it had a good seal. I attached the end of the hose to my cask, which was still sitting on the, then pumped a few times. Soon cider was flowing into my cask at a steady rate. I watched carefully, and slowly moved the siphon down as the fluid level dropped to ensure I wasn’t sucking up any lees.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
When the lees approached the trub at the bottom of the carboy, I stopped the siphon. “Don’t be afraid to stop early, it’s better to throw away some of the cider than contaminate your batch with too much trub.”
I watched while everyone worked in serious silence, broken only by the sounds of liquid flowing through tubes, and the shouts of revelry from the regular dining space. Latest content publıshed on 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡•𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢•𝕟𝕖𝕥
“Looking good, Mirelda.” I muttered, coming alongside the giantess.
“Why thank you, Pete,” she said, eyelids fluttering.
“I meant your brewing.” I muttered.
She bit her tongue at me. “So did I.”
“Uh huh. So, were you a cider fan?”
“Absolutely. Strongbow was my favourite, though I was definitely partial to a local seasonal sweet apple pie. There was a delicious one called Grey Heron from Perry’s Cidery that I just loved. Will this be close to those?” She pointed down at her now mostly empty carboy.
“Mmm… probably not. Like I mentioned back at the Brair Rose, there’re some fundamental differences. Tha first, and most obvious, is that we aren’t filtering. We’re goin’ fer a raw cider this batch, and filtering removes some of the natural body and mouthfeel of the drink.”
“You mentioned that earlier. What’s it mean? I admit that I’ve always been more of a tea person myself; never really got into wine or any of that stuff very seriously.”
“Cor Blimey! It’s true!”
“I’m shocked! As to your question, mouthfeel is a part of the balance of alcohol. Balance is defined as the complex interplay between multiple factors in a drink. Specifically flavour, structure, sweetness, aroma, and mouthfeel. Amateur brewers and vintners can get stuck on trying to get a ‘balanced’ brew or wine, but it’s almost as much about the audience as the brew. You know how a bad lemonade can be too sweet, too sour, or too puckery, but a good lemonade is refreshing? That’s balance.”
She tapped her temple. “Hey! That was a good metaphor. Nice and clear.”
“That’s what a meta-for. In my opinion, tha most important factor ta balance is flavour. Nobody wants a beer that tastes like shit. I mean… okay, some dwarves do, but they want a good balance of that shit flavour. I prefer a mild amount of flavour in me beers, like a subtle pumpkin ale, in juxtaposition to a heavy butter beer.”
Mirelda shuddered. “Please don’t mention Butter Beer. I tried some after reading The Author That Shall Not Be Named, and it was the most horribly sweet thing I’d ever drank. It was practically diabetes in a bottle.”
“And probably not even beer,” I commented. “And that isn’t actually flavour, but sweetness. They often get conflated, since sour, sweet, and salty are all common flavours, but flavour very much means flavour, like apple, pumpkin, lemon, or pear. In commercial ciders, they often add flavour usin’ artificial chemicals, which we’re nae usin’ here.”
Mirelda frowned. “Oh. That’s… disappointing. I thought those were natural.”
I shrugged. “It depends on tha cider. The next most important balancing factor is usually structure, and it’s very much dependent on how carefully you pick yer ingredients. It’s the parts of the taste that don’t relate to flavour or taste, like the minerals and the complex interplay of acids. The more you fine tune everything, the more structured your drink. This cider, fer example, is not very structured, while most expensive wines are structured as hell.”
Mirelda pulled the hose out of her cask and sniffed the opening. “Sounds complicated, but smells good.”
“That would be the aroma. Cider almost always has a fruity aroma, so it’s practically cheating, but simply addin’ a bit o’ cinnamon can change the balance significantly just by ticklin’ yer nose. Wine and beer aromas are usually more complex, and learnin’ the relationship between aromas and yeasts is an important part of craftin’ a good drink.”
“You know, all I asked for was an explanation of mouthfeel, not an hour of drinksplaining.” Mirelda teased, poking me in the side.
I felt a sudden pang in my heart. Caroline had always accused me of beersplaining. I cleared my throat and finished rapidly, “Mouthfeel is one of the easiest for us to control, and one of the most important. It refers quite literally to how it feels in your mouth. You know how some drinks can leave your tongue feeling gritty, or smooth, or especially dry? Or the liquid has so much body that you’re practically chewing it? That’s mouthfeel. In Cider, a majority of the mouthfeel comes from the tannins, which is quite similar to tea, actually. That may be why you like ciders.”
She nodded. “I know tannins. Those are the compounds in plants that make then feel kinda astringent, right?”
“Aye. Tannins affect mouthfeel, structure, and aroma. In beer you mostly try to keep ‘em out, but in Cider they’re one of the main factors you need to balance. Tannins provide acidity and that ‘tart’ feeling that one associates with a good cider. Too few tannins, and too much sweetness, and you end up with a ‘flabby’ cider, like flat rootbeer. Too much tannins and not enough acid, and you get a puckery or overly dry cider. Again, balance is key. Of course, most of the tannins come down to the apples we started with, but we can mess with it by adding additional ingredients at this point, like tea, or some higher tannin cider. If we were back home, I could just add commercial tannins directly.”
Mirelda made a face and stared longingly at her cask. “What if I don’t want to do all that, can we just drink it now?”
There were noises of affirmation from the clustered apprentices, and I nodded. “Aye, you can go ahead and pour some from your casks. Just let it settle a bit first.”
The students excitedly grabbed their Whistlemugs and got to pouring. Soon we were all collected around one table, raising our mugs to the far-off ceiling.
“For Awemdinand!” The elves and a few of the dwarves cheered.
“Fer Crack!” The rest called.
“Fer Crack and Annie!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.
“DAMN YOU!” Annie cried from back at the bar.
*Meeeehhh!!* [Translated from Prima Donna Goat] “Where is my royal tax?”
I idly fended off Penelope as I swirled the cider around in my mug and examined it before drinking. It was cloudy and turbid, but not disgustingly so. I wasn’t afraid to admit that I preferred my ciders filtered, but it didn’t look too bad. The aroma was sweet and appley, with just a hint of wood smell.
I tipped my mug back and tasted my first homebrewed cider from this world.
It went down rough, which I’d expected. It was just a bit too dry, and just a little too sour. It had a fairly solid mouthfeel to it, since we hadn’t filtered it. But the fruity scent combined with the pure unadulterated appleness to make it passable.
The student’s reactions were varied, some nodding appreciatively, some dribbling it down their beards or spitting it back into their mugs. Mirelda was swishing her first sip in her mouth and looking contemplative.
She put her mug down with a sigh. “I’m not going to give you some crazy reaction if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve had better. It’s a bit too tart and not sweet enough. I think the balance is off.”
“I agree. But it is drinkable, which isn’t bad for a first attempt! Good job everyone!”
There was a general cheer and one scream.
“ARGH! Give me back me cask, ya bloody goat!”