Vive La France

As I write this, I’m gently swaying forward and back in a complimentary rocking chair at Logan airport with a bright, clear view of a Boston ‘burb. A cute little marina juts into a marshy mix of blue sea and green grass. When this is published, I will have reached Europe, since I’m writing this in Word because I’m too cheap to buy any internet time. I’m starting to feel the gravity of the situation now: that I’ll be in a strange land, listening to sounds I never thought humans could articulate with their mouths, drinking and eating concoctions my virgin palate couldn’t imagine in its dreams (if palates dream). I’m feeling good, probably because I’m pretty blazed off a giant energy drink I had to guzzle before passing through security. But I’m uncharacteristically relaxed about the trip, and that’s, paradoxically, a little unsettling. Ah well, I’m sure everything will go smoothly.

Most of you already know, but just to reiterate: I’m at the point of no return here on a trip to Europe to both explore a new continent and learn the art and science of brewing beer. I hope to spend some time on a cheese farm or two as well, hence the title of my blog (washed rind cheeses are often bathed in beer). I’ll be starting in France, at La Ferme de Laubicherie, and will possibly find a brewery or cheese farm in Italy or Denmark after that. In January I have a tentative plan to work with De Struise Brouwers in Belgium, a growing brewery with plenty of hype and the tastiest of beers to back it up. After this stay I’m hoping to jig on over to Scotland and Ireland for the spring and summer, where a couple brewery farms accept volunteers. Nearly all of this plan is tentative, and I’m expecting changes of plans. I’ll take what I can get but I’m shooting for the moon.

For my friends, I’m sorry if I didn’t get to see you, but I’ll be back soon enough. Last night I was lucky enough to get a fresh meal from my mom’s garden and some well-wishes from two of the most gorgeous girls around; my sister, Linnet, and my niece, Katya, gave me some Skype time and Katya made my jaw turn to rubber with her cuteness. I’m a lucky uncle. I tucked myself into bed under what seemed to be a full moon, white and glowing with its lunar confidence. Sleep was short but deep.

Sleeping With Skunks

Dear Reader,

Snag yourself a comfy quilt you don't mind getting grassy, swindle a soothing iced coffee or soy latté, find respite under the shade of an aged and august maple or apple tree, huddle around the buzzing screen of your laptop, and prepare yourself for another episode of the blog show. We've got quite a bit to discuss, so I'll probably start with some long-winded updates, then once my patience dwindles I'll probably wrap it up quick. I wish I could tell you to expect a long entry, but it'll probably be normal-length.

So, how 'bout this weather, eh? Southern New Hampshire is finally seeing some stiflingly humid, hot days. So it feels like summer, now that all my shirts are soggy.

My brewing days are over for the summer. I just bottled the second beer for my brother's wedding celebration, the IPA. After fermentation the stuff is essentially beer, just non-carbonated and a little... 'sharp', I guess. When it's put into bottles with a bit of corn sugar it will carbonate and the residual yeast will metabolize some less desirable compounds in the beer, improving the overall flavor. That said, the non-carbonated IPA tasted exceptional. It had a great biscuity backbone but the hops gave it its true character; I could pick out some great fruity blasts of papaya, mango, and pineapple. The IPA was 'dry-hopped', meaning some hops were also added after the boil, tossed directly into the fermenter. The Belgian Dubbel was put into mini kegs a week ago, and that beer tickled the tongue just as much, though with a spicy Belgian tingle and alcoholic kick. E'erbody at the wedding gettin' tipsy. Yes, J-Kwon, off of homebrew.

Racking the IPA into the bottling bucket

On the travel front, things are looking good, and I'm getting very excited and anxious. I've started drinking more caffeine, so that may account for the anxiousness. I have my one-way ticket to Paris and I bought a train ticket from Paris to Limoges. First-class was only 5 Euros more, but I decided to start off on the right foot and choose the more frugal option. I've been struggling a bit with travel logistics (and would welcome any advice). I've been considering but avoiding applying for a credit card. Apparently, I can use my debit card abroad without any charges or fees, but having a back-up credit card could be useful and CapitalOne also doesn't charge for using their card abroad, or so I read. I'm holding off both because of laziness and a slight concern about missing a payment or just being hoodwinked by the credit card company... Just bought a new GSM phone and SIM card for Europe, so I'll let everyone know what my international number is soon, though I think I'll be using Skype for calls to home. Let me know if you'd like to Skype! The next step in my planning is to investigate insurance options. If only I had future-vision I could know not to feed the pigeons in Paris, which would save me both from reconstructive plastic surgery and the need for health insurance...

On the home front, I have to say the summer has been a blast. I've adjusted to the bakery work/gardening rhythm and have spent my free time twiddling with exploits I love. The Irish flute experiment is still in its infancy, but I have a firm grasp on - count 'em - two tunes, The Galtee Ranger (or Callaghan's) and Kitty Gone A-Milkin'. I've also been supplementing the flute tooting with some pennywhistle screeching. The pennywhistle comes in handy when I want to focus on fingering and forget about trying to get a nice tone out of the flute. Additionally, I'm getting a second wind on the drums. I've discovered funk and acid jazz and I'm becoming addicted to the grooves of Medeski, Martin & Wood, John Scofield, The RH Factor, and all that jazz. I'll be bringing some sticks and a drum pad to France and will keep my eye out for any spare sets to jump in on. When I'm not squeaking around on my drum throne I've been soaking in the wonderful community vibes at Pizza Night at the bakery. Every Tuesday night Noah, the baker at Orchard Hill Bakery, hosts heaps of hungry homo sapiens and provides dough for the eager eaters to punch out into crusts and load with an array of pot-lucked toppings. He bakes these personal pizzas in the outdoor clay oven built just for these special nights. They've been wildly successful, successful enough for someone to even start a fanpage on Facebook if they so desired.

Noah shoveling pizza out of the oven

And finally, we had a skunk in our house the other night. I thought we dealt with it with absolute finesse and imagination. It all started when I was bumming around on the 'net late-night and I heard some odd scratching noises coming from the pantry room. It didn't sound like our cat, Duder, and it wasn't because Duder was softly purring on the couch in the living room in all her Sphinx-like grace and indifference. I shined a flashlight on the pantry corner and there was the big, bushy, striped tail I was expecting. "Perhaps Duder could help," I thought, so I brought Duder over to the skunk's vicinity and both reacted in the least possible way imaginable. I don't think either noticed either. I thanked Duder for all her bravery and continued on with just the help of my mom, whom I had roused just when she had fallen asleep in the hopes that she could provide a human shield between me and the skunk. I racked my brain for a way to depose the skunk without setting it off, but it was deep in the bowels of that pantry. Luckily, the pantry room is connected to the outside by a door (which is undoubtedly how it got in), so I decided to let entropy solve the problem. I barricaded the doorway that leads to the rest of the house, left the outside door open a crack, and retired upstairs to a restful night's slumber. In the morning, there was no skunk to be found, only some missing crackers. They were stale, anyway.