How an Irish Red Became an American Amber

[MannyEdwards]

I recently discovered a Very Good Beer.

I don’t know that it was great — I’m not educated enough in brewology to distinguish Great Beer from beer that is merely Very Good — but I know that it tastes very good to me. I used to apply a binary evaluation to beer. Either I liked it, or I didn’t. (In a sense, I like all beer because it’s interesting or new or different, but that’s another matter). But I’m getting better, and I’m telling you, this beer was a very happy accident. I’m calling it Serendipity Amber.

It started out as a 5-gallon Americanized Irish Red Ale kit from Morebeer.com. (BTW, don’t hate me; I’m a staunch supporter of my local home brew store. In fact, my wife and I are going to his house for dinner this week).

10 lbs 2-row
1 lb Crystal 120L
8 oz Abbey
8 oz Caramunich
2 oz Black Roasted
2 oz Special B
1.5 oz Northern Brewer 60 min
2 oz Willamette 1 min

As I said, it started out that way, but then my friend Jon showed up. I showed him the setup on the patio under the deck, and he said he’d go in halves and help brew it if he could have some of the beer. If I had to share, I figured there was no harm making a double batch, so I got him to go in halves on a 10-gallon batch. Just one problem; I only had a 5-gallon kit. Fortunately, I had also ordered a Blonde Ale kit:

9 lb 2-row
.5 lb Crystal 15
1 oz Willamette 60 min

So I simply combined the two. I knew the “Irish Red” would come out a bit pale. Might not be an Irish Red when I got done with it, but it should still be good. We started the mash, and everything was looking good. There was nothing complicated; just combining two recipes. Everything should be just fine.

Then we lautered, and that’s when I discovered that you can’t make a 10-gallon batch in a 10-gallon kettle.

Boiling Problems

I know what you’re thinking; “he’s so dumb he can’t boil water.” Well, wort isn’t water, so there.

You have to understand, this was my first ever all grain batch. In fact, it was my first ever full wort boil, and I had no idea how much the stuff would swell in the pot. I also didn’t know that adding stuff to the boiling wort would make it boil over. Suffice it to say that we had boilovers galore; I’m still not sure how much we lost, but the stench of burnt wort lingered for days.

My notes don’t show how much water we struck (obviously, another thing I didn’t know much about was record-keeping. I knew it was important… I just didn’t know what was important to record). Anyway, I think it was 30 quarts. We struck at 163 F and let it rest around 156 F for an hour, then mashed out 30 minutes at 170 F.

The whole sparging thing was chaotic. It was during sparging that I discovered how hard it is to adjust the ball valves on the kettles. You really can’t finesse the flow rate. Our efficiency was deplorable; 60%, I think.

I think I wound up with about 8.5 gallons, maybe 9, divided between two 6.5 gal carboys. Original gravity was about right, considering the combination of recipes, at 1.048, albeit just a hair lower than style. I pitched two packs of Safale US-05, and left it at 68 F for two weeks, then racked one of the carboys to secondary for another two weeks at 68, but left the other one in the primary container at 62. Don’t ask why; I can’t remember.

After two weeks I cold crashed them (34 F two days), added gelatin (34 F four days), and then bottled one lot and kegged the other. The one that got racked also got bottled, and the one that didn’t got kegged. I set the bottles on the shelf at 68, and put the keg on 20 PSI at 34 F for a couple of days, planning to reduce it ultimately to 8 PSI.

Carbonation Problems

You’d think I was on the home stretch, but my troubles were only beginning. For some reason, the keg wouldn’t carbonate. I cranked up the pressure to 30 PSI, and two days later, still nothing. I checked the beer blogs, the beer forums, and YouTube, but I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Finally I stumbled across a video of some dude sitting with a keg in his lap, shaking it gently back and forth.

I ran downstairs, disconnected the keg, shook it gently, and hooked it back up. Glory be! The beer was finally carbonated. Apparently, the lop layer of the beer carbonates, but it doesn’t diffuse very quickly to the bottom where the tap line outlet is located.

I tapped out some yeast, and when it started running clear, I poured it out, rinsed my glass, and started to pour something I could finally taste.

Nothing came out.

There’s a spot behind my left eye that hurts when I get tense, and it gave me a twinge right then. It seemed like walking away was the best option. I grabbed a Paulaner Premium Lager from the fridge and went outside to watch the chickens. They’re about the stupidest animals on the farm, and quite entertaining.

A couple of days later I went to tackle the problem again. On the way, I passed the bottled stuff (remember those?). On a whim, I stuck one in the fridge and left. I really didn’t want to deal with that stupid keg until I had a beer. It was about 10 days after I bottled them, so it should be ready.

It wasn’t. It was flat as a pancake. There was *no* carbonation. I still don’t know what the deal is, and I still have about half those bottles sitting there, waiting for me to figure out what to do with them.

Anyway, you might be wondering what happened to the other half. Well, I had finally figured out that the ball lock was probably clogged with hops and cold break, so I racked carefully into a clean keg, then added about 20 bottles of crystal clear beer from the other batch to fill it. I stuck it back in the keezer, hooked up the gas, and put it out of my mind for a week, except for giving it a couple of shakes.

My troubles still were not done. After a week, I really wanted to try this beer. I checked the pressure relief valve on the keg — good pressure. I got a glass, put it under the faucet, and poised my hand behind the handle. Finally I pulled it.

It was all foam. Well, all but a thin sliver of brown liquid in the bottom of the glass, but the next three inches were foam.

Now, it was a beautiful head, and it smelled fantastic, but this was torture. I think I cussed.

I’ll skip ahead. Somehow, I had miscalculated the tap line length. I have no idea how it happened; I put what I thought was exactly the same numbers in the calculator, but this time it was telling me I needed a line twice as long as I had. I fixed it, and finally poured a glass.
Tasting the Serendipity Amber

It made a creamy, persistent, off-white, 3/4 inch head. So far so good. The aroma wafting out of this stunning spume was malty, toasty, and rich.

I paused. What have we here?

The color was indeed too light for a Red, but looked pretty good for an Amber. It was remarkably clear, with very little chill haze.

Serendipity Amber with a creamy, off-white, and persistent head that wicks a rich, volatile aroma into the room.

Now the first taste — a big gulp. The first impression was malty sweet, with a little sparkle on the tongue from the carbonation, but this gave way quickly to a burst of caramel, toast, and a hint of chocolatey raisin or something. Then came a surge of bitterness in support before it dissipated in balance with the malty sweet finish. To my admittedly uneducated palate, I’d say it had moderate body. The mouthfeel was creamy-smooth and viscous like whipped cream, and the balanced, mildly sweet finish begged for another mouthful.

After working it down about two inches in the glass, I noticed some superb lacing. I know there’s a lot of debate about whether lacing is an indicator of quality beer, and I’ll discuss that another time. If nothing else, a persistent head adds a creamy feeling in the mouth which helps integrate the whole taste/aroma/mouthfeel experience. Even besides this, to me it has a lot of aesthetic appeal — it just looks good, and makes me want a glass.
Excellent lacing indicates a viscous head that provides a creamy, diffusive mouthfeel.

Excellent lacing indicates a viscous head that provides a creamy, diffusive mouthfeel.

At 40.6 IBU, it certainly is too bitter for an Irish Red. In fact, it falls out of Amber style by 0.6. I have gone back and forth about it. On the one hand, the bitterness is assertive and borderline off-style; on the other, it is just delicious.

In the final analysis, I’m back to binary thinking; after all is considered, do I like it, or not?

Oh, I like it. I’m actually impressed just on its merits, disregarding the fact that it was my first all grain. So what’s the problem? Well, honestly, I’d like it better if it were a little less bitter. It’s subjective; my wife firmly disagrees, and wouldn’t change it. I will say this — it pairs perfectly with aged sharp cheddar, gruyere, and manchego. Butter up a slice of my wife’s homemade bread, put a couple of thin slices of these strong cheeses on top, and chase every bite with a swallow of this beer, and brother, you can get fat.

The Serendipity Amber just barely spills off the bitter end of the Amber style guidelines, which makes it overlap an Extra Special Bitter. Whatever you call it, it pairs perfectly with strong cheeses and fats like butter or olive oil. It is robust enough to stand up against olives and other pickles.


So here’s what I suggest. Try this recipe yourself. If you like the bitterness, call it an Extra Special Bitter and be happy. If you’d prefer it a little less bitter, target about 32 IBU and call it an Amber, then let’s get together and see if it is now a Great Beer, instead of one that is merely Very Good.

Now, what to do with the stuff I bottled? Maybe I’ll just let it sit there until the keg is empty, and hope the yeast will do its thing.

~Manny

You can read the original article and more from my home brewing blog here.