Saving Grapes - Madeline Kirby Page 0,26
convince him – he sure wanted to be convinced – and then his heart would have been well and truly broken in the end.
He forced himself back up the stairs and grabbed some rags and bathroom cleaner from under the kitchen sink. If he started getting misty-eyed he could blame it on the cleaner fumes.
Ben parked on the street in front of the homebrew shop in Cable’s Bend, Bent Brewing Supply. He liked the name – it alluded to the town’s name, but also made him think of the shapes of brewing equipment itself, like coiled wort chillers and siphoning tubes. Or being drunk, or being gay, even. He couldn’t wait to get inside and check the place out. He wondered what the owner was like – he was guessing an aging hippy who couldn’t wait to open the shop the day after Jimmy Carter signed the bill making homebrewing legal.
The bell over the door jingled when he opened it and he didn’t see anyone at first. The front part of the store was on the small side, with smaller items in bins on shelves and some refrigerator cases for yeasts and hops. There was even a section spotlighting locally grown hops that he thought might be fun to try. There was an open archway leading to a large back room where he could see rows of grain bins and stacks of bottles and kegs and other brewing paraphernalia. A voice called out from the back room, “Be right there!”
Ben stood in the center of the room and looked around, enjoying the jumbled atmosphere. There was a register near the back wall and stickers and flyers for brewing competitions, gatherings, and local bands covered any available wall space. “No rush,” Ben called back.
A minute or so later a man came through the archway. Ben figured him to be in his late twenties. He was about Ben’s height, but lean, almost skinny, with hair a pale, silvery blond and pale blue eyes behind silver-rimmed spectacles. “Sorry to keep you waiting – I was filling some grain bins and couldn’t stop without spilling it everywhere.” He looked down and picked a few pieces of grain off of his navy blue cardigan.
“No worries, I was looking around. I like the shop.”
The other man looked up, blinking at Ben and then looking around the shop. “Uh, thanks. It’s mostly my dad’s doing. He owns the shop. Oh, I’m Al. Al Sorensen.”
“Hi. Ben Loomis,” Ben shook Al’s hand, surprised by the strength in the thin man’s grip.
“Oh. You must be Chuck’s nephew.”
“That’s what everybody says.”
“Sorry, it’s not a huge town and pretty much everybody knows Chuck around here.”
“It’s cool,” Ben shrugged it off.
“So, what can I help you with today?”
“Well, I wanted to pick up some basic equipment – just a small set-up so I can experiment with some recipes. Oh, and I have an ingredients list.” Ben pulled a folded sheet of notepaper from his back pocket.
“What kind of homebrewing experience do you have?” Al asked, unfolding the list and running his finger down it as he read. “Hey, this looks pretty good.”
“It’s a recipe a friend and I came up with. He was the more experienced brewer, and I helped him out. But he’s back in Texas and I wanted to get my own set-up going here.”
“Single or two-stage fermentation?”
“Two-stage.”
“Okay. Follow me.”
Ben followed Al through the archway into a large warehouse-style room with a bay door on the back wall. Rows of covered grain bins with signs and scoops were lined up in rows. There were scales and grain mills near the bins, and tall shelving units were against all the walls holding pre-measured malt syrup and other ingredients. Al had moved a few feet ahead, and Ben noticed he had a pretty nice ass for such a skinny guy. Lifting and moving all this stock must be pretty good exercise.
Al was looking at the ingredients list again and headed towards a display of stockpots and plastic buckets. “Have you got any equipment at all?”
“Nothing. My friend had all the equipment, so I’m starting from scratch.”
Al grunted and grabbed a box off a shelf. “This is a basic kit. It’ll get you started and you can add to it or replace stuff as you need it. What about a stockpot?”
Ben hadn’t found a suitable one in Thom’s kitchen or basement. “I’d better get one of those, too.”
Al sat a stockpot on top of the box and added a carboy to the