I have a new hobby

MEAD. I recently decided that I am going to start home brewing! Small, tasty batches for my own pleasure, that is. Yaaaaaaar! I feel like mead is an apocraphal beverage, everytime I say “mead” I think of the Vikings. Or Harry Potter. Mead is actually a sweet, ambrosial nectar made from honey. Yemen has a surfeit of honey. We also have yeast and fruit, ergo, Mead. Obviously I wish I could brew some tasty beer but a)we don’t have and cannot get the ingredients, and b) I just have no idea how to brew beer.
I cannot believe it has taken me this long to discover home brewing as a hobby. I can’t believe the girls and I didn’t dabble in this in college. We certainly made giant batches of liquor infusions and of course the patented “glow under black light Rave-a-colada!” that received much acclaim in our basement and whose high potency but smooth finish always made it an instant crowd favorite.

I have always done my utmost to support local. I love independent, and micro-breweries-
Best O’ the East- Yuengling, Lions’ Head.
Best O’ the West- Widmer Brothers
Best O’ the Middle- New Glarus Spotted Cow, Lakefront, Leinenkugal’s summer shandie
And obviously there will always be a place in my heart for Sam Adam’s summer lager, Dos XXX’s special lager, Corona’s with lime, PBR tallboys (thinking of you, Vince), Natty light ( Oh college…) Stella Artois, and Smithwick’s Irish Ale. It's been over five months since I've had a frosty cold one. I’m literally drooling right now.
I’m gonna go ahead and say that the LUSB and I were pretty instrumental in Lions Head attaining the acclaim and popularity it holds with Lehigh co-eds today. The little brewery out of Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania is a master of it’s craft perfectly attaining the two most important factors of a beloved college beer- cheap AND delicious. $12.95 for a case of bottles, with hundreds of little puzzles printed on the inside of the caps- puzzles that go from mildly perplexing to deucedly difficult as the night progresses.
Even frequenting the North American independent brewery capital of Portland, Oregon and living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, the thought of home brewing never occurred to me. I just can’t believe it. It hit me a few nights ago, it was an epoch moment in my life. I live in Yemen, alcohol is haram, that’s okay, I don’t need it...OH MY GOD. BUT I COULD TRY MAKING IT THOUGH!

I made a relatively simple concoction flavored with honey, oranges, golden raisins, and some cinnamon sticks for a little spice. I think it is going to be DELICIOUS. There were of course, a few problems-
- It wasn’t quite sterile. I opened my big jug of purified Saudi water (Saudi beverages are the BEST) and the cap just fell to pieces in my hand… bah… okay so maybe not perfectly sterilized
- I obviously don’t have any airlocks so I went old-school with a balloon and a needle for air holes. I guess I never really appreciated the superior quality and craftsmanship of American balloons until 7 in a row popped on me- all the while the precious gasses from the fermentation process were leaking out and cursed oxygen was getting in. Eventually I got one fastened and then left my house for awhile. When I came back I found the balloon lying in a little pool of yeasty-honey water all the way across the room. It had SHOT off of the jug in what had to be a pretty epic explosion. Lots of clean-up on that one.
It did however have the unforeseen benefit of making my whole apartment smell like the beer-soaked party room of frat house for little bit. Ahhh, memories!
Hopefully these things don’t prove too detrimental to the overall taste worthiness of my brew.

Other factors that could prove problematic-
I don’t have a racking implement for the final stages.. I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Also I’m supposed to store it in a dry area with a regulated temperature. Well that’s just not going to happen. My apartment is just boiling lava hot and I keep my bedroom excessively air conditioned- but only when I’m home. So temperature regulation? Not so much.
It will take at least two months to finish fermenting and clear. I’m so dang excited! I put it away in my closet and I’m going to try to forget about it so that one day in a couple months my little event reminder will go off in my phone and remind me that I my SWEET, SWEET AMBROSIA IS READY TO IMBIBE!

Ages ago I decided that my old-lady-with-money hobbies are going to be golf and sailing. I think sailing around a harbor at sunset with friends and a nice bottle of wine will be just the thing to move me gracefully into my golden years. And golf? It first garnered my attention in High School in a class with six other people called “Life-time Sports” which we cleverly referred to as “L-Time Speezy”. Yeah, we were pretty cool. We never actually played golf (we spent 60% of the time playing one of the 5 versions of dodge ball that I made up, 30% going bowling, and 10% lifting weights) but we at least acknowledged that it was a life-time sport and would be good to try some day. Growing-Up-Hanley was all about lifetime sports and we had epic family battles of such little gems as croquet (the uneven terrain and sloping lawn invariably leading to many balls lost on the beach), shuffle board- the retirement home variety, not the bar kind, Kallyn Ball(volley-ball like game with a giant inflatable, and remarkably morphed ball so it would never actually go where you hit it, thus the high level of concentration and skill required), and our particular favorite, badminton. Badminton was THE BEST. Every year we would have to buy a new set because at the end of summer the year before would just cavalierly fling it into the boat shed or leave it out in the rain. We lost dozens of shuttlecocks every year in the wildly overgrown, extremely thorny hedge bordering our lawn with the neighbors (we like our privacy!).
Gaming strategy was contingent upon which side of the net you were on- one side was up against a consistently fierce wind so you had to crush the birdie with all your might to barely pass the net, the other side had the breeze in its favor so anything more than the lightest of taps sent the birdie sailing out of bounds into the hedge or neighbor’s lawn. Each family member had their own patented strategy- Poppa would nail the ball 100 miles up in the air where it would hang, seemingly forever, in the breeze and you would just wait for it moving back and forth and all around trying to set yourself up for when the birdie finally, finally came back into range (much like the bow-and-arrow scene in the movie Garden State) and at the last possible second it would change direction again forcing you to make a spastic lunge for it.
Mother liked to hit the birdie to the opposite side of the court from where you were. She would just nail the birdie back and forth, back and forth tacking you along, wearing you down. You would spend the whole time racing across the court, barely reaching the birdie, and then have to turn and sprint to the other side barely reaching it in time again. Over and over again until exhausted, you would prematurely start running to the opposite side of the court in anticipation and she would delicately spike the birdie directly where you had just been. Demoralizing.
And Kallyn’s strategy was to force you to make the mistake. No matter where you hit it, she wouldn’t try to force it by you, or spike it in your face. She played defensive badminton. Exceedingly patient she would just lightly hit the birdie back at you, over and over again, no tricks. Eventually (and invariably) you would grown overconfident and try and slam one by her, or put it in a far corner- but instead nailing it into the net or out of bounds.
No matter how many new and/or expensive racquets we bought, it always seemed that at least 98% had shoddy and uneven strings. So right in the middle of battle during a hotly contested volley someone would whack the birdie with all their might and then.... not seeing anything look around in a panicked frenzy eventually discovering the birdie stuck in the middle of their racquet. Patience was expended, nerves where stretched to breaking, rage was thinly veiled.

One summer in college a couple of the girls and I got into golf a bit and frequented the driving range- it was a thrilling three days. Palms and I LOVED it because we were instantly good and could crush the ball and then sit back and admire our handiwork/prowess, high-fiving, fist pumping and gloating over our instant skill. Mendy was…. Not quite as naturally gifted shall we say. She spent most of the time whiffing, spiking the ball about three feet in front of her, hitting the ever impressive “golf grounder”, swearing, and working up a powerful rage that only McGrady’s happy hour could assuage. Palms and I even invested in matching golf gloves- golf gloves on the range but at night known as “T and P’s Drinkin’ Gloves!” because, ya know, golf is sweaty work, and we developed a pretty powerful thirst.
And I feel like sailing is a natural progression- I come from a sea farin’ family and as a child masterfully commanded my little six foot row boat, only capsizing and requiring a passing yacht to rescue me one singular time. As children, on family vacays Kallyn and I were routinely drilled on the maritime alphabet and I’m proud to say we can BOTH still dutifully recite the whole thing on command- A skill that comes up in conversation FAR more frequently than one would ever imagine.
What do I want to do with my life? Where do I want to live? How will I make a living? What does the future have in store for me? I just have no idea. I sure do have my hobbies figured out though!