CLOSET ALCOHOLISM, PT. 1: Because Given Enough Time, Pretty Much Anything Will Ferment
Sometimes when people become attached to alcohol, they forget
that Elvis was a pretty serious racist that the stuff is actually pretty challenging to make. Sweet nectar as it may seem, turns out booze doesn’t just flow down the Mississippi.
I realized this last week, when I embarked for the first time on a culinary adventure where inebriation was the GOAL rather than an integral part of the process. Neat!
Ed, my friend/bandmate, is a tentative pre-med and an all-around smart fellow. What makes him a smart fellow? He understands the specific biological and chemical processes required for yeast fermentation. What makes him my friend? He uses this knowledge to make booze. Specifically, mead.
Mead is wine made from honey instead of grapes. Awkward? Awesome. Ed and I bought some fruit (for added flavor) and yeast (for the science) at the pricey grocery store, and then headed to CVS for massive quantities of (CHEAP ASS) honey. Right after we had checked out, Ed remembered we would need balloons to put over the bottles to let out the carbon dioxide so that science science science blah blah blah whogivesafuck.
But it turns out CVS only carries balloons seasonally.
And so Ed and I, two straight young males, nonchalantly purchased a 3-pack of cheap condoms at the same CVS from which we had just bought two enormous bottles of honey. It is my sincere hope that someone, somewhere, perhaps sitting in a secret room at the NSA where they listen to wiretaps, waterboard Communists, and perpetually wear sunglasses, saw Ed’s sequence of receipts and drew the most awkward conclusions. Oh, how I hope this.
Time to work our magic. We mixed the honey with water (Picture 1) in two big bottles, deciding that one batch would be ‘normal’ and one would be for Sober Drunk experimentation. We shoved raspberries, bananas, and a dash of cinnamon in the orthodox bottle; in the more interesting one, we also threw in Dr. Pepper, peanut butter, and a healthy dose of Chocolate Fudge Pop Tart (Picture 2!) for the lulz. We shook the bottles up for a few minutes, Shakeweight style.
Normal mead was marked with a Jesus-y cross; awkward mead got a Star of David (Picture 3). Ed and I have different opinions on religion. It’s fine. Maybe.
I then had the lovely task of unraveling the condoms and wiping off lubrication. We poked holes in them for the carbon dioxide sciencegasmagic, put one on each bottle, and secured them with duct tape. At last, Ed lovingly placed the white trash concoctions in his dorm room closet.
Where they will sit for several months, until the fermentation is complete. Good thing liquor stores exist.
To be continued, circa January 2012….
Nomz quality: To be determined.
Sober Drunk bullshit level: I mean, this is like the Tweety Bird ChiaPet of home brewing…
Actual inebriation of chefs: Present: zero. Anticipated: crunknasty.