Book 3: Chapter 53: Bocks and Balls

Book 3: Chapter 53: Bocks and Balls

We left the bocks to cook overnight. I could’ve just used [Rapid Aging] right away, but after a full day of brewing we were all too tired to appreciate a new brew. I went to bed with visions of smoking and flaming brews dancing in my head. At this point, who cared if we won or lost? I was making a magical flaming beer, godsdammit!CHeCk for new stories on no/v/el/bin(.)c0m

I popped up in the morning and got dressed up in my lounging armour while belting some Good Morning by the Steve Miller Band. Caroline had always complained that I was too much of a morning person, but I couldn’t help loving the feeling of waking up and revving up at the same time. All I needed was some coffee and then I’d really be going.

The absence of a warm body next to me in the morning still grated at my nerves, but I was getting used to it. I kept a cold stone there instead.

I waltzed into the manor-house dining room to find a bevy of battered and sauced breakfast dishes on the table. The only other two people up already were Richter and Bran. Richter was reading a book and Bran was setting up the massive smorgasbord.

“Uh, Bran?” I asked, taking a seat.

“It’s test food for the contest. Tell me what’s good and what ain’t.”

“But, there’s so much...”

“Aye. There is. You don’t need to be eatin’ all of it, just some of it.”

I stared. There was just so much food. To be fair, there were quite a few of us, and we were all big eaters, but still.

Ah well, the rest could go to the bottomless white hole that was Penelope, her weight loss regime be damned.

I started on a biscuit covered in pulled pork drenched in a brownish cream sauce and topped by an egg. I was always a fan of eggs benedict, and this looked to be a delicious example.

The poached egg was done perfectly, and it burst in my mouth, the tang of the egg the perfect compliment to the spice of the sauce. The faint undertones of beer came through both in the sauce and the pulled pork.

“I like this one!” I nodded at my plate, then wolfed down another mouthful.

“Alright,” Bran said, “but I dunno if I want to make breakfast food fer the contest. Seems a bit too limited.”

“It could also make you stand out?”

“Mebbe.”

I pointed at what appeared to be some battered fish. “Those the usual beer battered fish and fries?”

“Yes an’ no. It’s the usual beer batter, but this time I used some sliced beer-braised chicken breast.”

“Oooh!!” I reached over and grabbed a few, then dipped them into a proffered container of honey mustard.

Honey mustard was the best sauce for chicken fingers, and I would willingly die on that hill.

I took a giant bite and chewed on the beery chicken finger for a while, then pushed the plate forward.

“It’s too strong, Bran. It’s like eating hot. mushed, beer. I’m not a fan.”

Bran’s face fell. “Aye, I thought so too. Maybe without the beer in the honey mustard?

“Hmmm, aye, or with dryer breading?”

“I’ll try it. How about that one?” He pointed at a dish covered with small, round dumpling things. They looked like filo pastries wrapped around brown filling.

I picked one up and the shell crunched between my fingers; definitely filo pastry. It was slightly smaller than an apricot, and I could probably down it in a single bite. The smell made my stomach rumble. “What is it?”

“I got the shell from the bakery down the street. It’s filled with ground-up beer nuts mixed with sauteed goat and mushroom. I call ‘em Bran’s Nutty Balls.”

“Bran... I... “ I was bereft of words. “We have to work on your naming sense. Or are you doing that on purpose?”

Bran gave me a curious look, “What do ya mean?”

Richter looked up, “Pass me one, sounds interestin’.”

“Never mind...” I sighed. “Let’s give it a try.”

I took a tentative bite, the taste of the beer chicken fingers still cloying on my tastebuds.

The filo pastry was thin but flavourful, with a hint of thyme and fried oil. It had the texture of a baklava, though the taste was more savory than sweet. The inside was very much like a dumpling, with a mealy texture from the nuts. The sauteed goat and mushroom was delicious, meaty and juicy and packed with spices.

“I like it!” I murmured around a full mouth of balls.

Aqua rolled her eyes. “How high, Pete? Will it actually knock a dwarf out like you said?”

“That’ll depend. I need to check before Richter runs his little machine on it, just in case it changes the specific gravity of the beer. I’ll give you the numbers in a second.”

Saying that, I uncorked the first of the bocks. It was a deep amber colour, and had the creamy look of a nitro beer. The smell was different from any other beer I’d had on Erd, with the familiar citrusy hint of the hops.

It was glorious, and I couldn’t help but close my eyes as tears sprang up. It smelled like home.

“You okay Pete?” Annie asked with concern.

“Aye. *Sniff*. I’m fine. Just remembering. Speaking of which, [Pete’s Miniature Remembrance]!” With that, I flexed my hand and a small glass cylinder popped into my palm. It contained another glass rod with a bulb on the top that rattled loosely inside. When I’d tested this earlier, I'd found that as long as my intent considered the two pieces as part of the greater ‘whole’, I could summon both of them with a single use of the Ability.

Handy!

Of course, it made sense when I thought about it. It wasn’t as though summoning my old beer journals only brought one page at a time.

I held the item up so everyone could see it. “Ta dah!”

Annie was the first to ask. “What is it?”

“Remember how I said there were two steps to determining alcohol content in beer? Tha first was the refractometer, tha second is this! A hydrometer! It can measure tha specific gravity of beer, and we can use that ta determine the alcohol content! We can also use it ta determine if the fermentation is done, by checkin’ the specific gravity every day. If it doesn’t change from day to day, it’s time to rack. Though of course, when you have an expert brewer like myself, I can just tell.”

I thumped my chest with pride.

“How does it work?” Richter asked with interest. “It looks a lot more basic than your refractometer. Whistlemop could probably make that. Just a tube and a stick with numbers on ‘em?”

“Yea, he could. That’s on the bucket list.” I grabbed a sanitised hose prepared for the occasion and siphoned some beer from the carboy into the hydrometer cylinder. The head that formed was the proper cream colour of a nitro, and I smiled with pleasure as everyone leaned in to look at it.

“It looks so unique!” Aqua sqeaked.

“Smells good.” Richter commented.

“Can I drink some?” Johnsson asked, reaching out with stars in his eyes.

“No! Not yet! I need to check.”

Using a hydrometer was simple. I just took the stick with the bulb and dropped it into the cylinder. The bulb floated on the top of the beer, with a small portion of it sinking below the liquid level. The graduations told me the current specific gravity, and comparing it to the earlier measurements from the refractometer gave me a baseline. Some mental math later, and I had the alcohol content.

“Phew! This one has an abv of 15%! That’s about ten times a regular old Sacred Brew!” I said it with cheer, but everyone looked trepidatious at my words.

“Ten times....? Is it safe?” Annie asked.

“Should be,” I murmured, “Just think of it as drinking ten beers at once! Who wants to try it first?”

Every hand went up, plus one hoof.

So I poured a mug for everyone, and passed them around.

I held my whistlemug up. “Cheers!”

There was a moment of silence as everyone chugged their beers.

Then a moment later a loud *bang* as Johnsson hit the floor.

Followed by Annie.

Followed by Aqua.

Leaving only Kirk, Richter, Penelope and myself still standing.

“It’s nice.” Kirk murmured.

Richter’s eyes rolled up, and he slowly toppled over. Penelope wandered over to munch on his wet beard then lapped up his spilled glass.

“Lightweights,” I muttered.