Once, several years ago, I decided I wanted to try brewing beer. I went to my local brewer and asked for help. Excited to pass on his art he portioned out every thing I would need to the proper amounts, and made me repeat back his instructions until he was certain I remembered.
I went home with my little box and got to work. I followed every direction given and soon placed my bucket of baby beer in a small, unused corner to give it time to rest. I then went outside to work.
A short while later I heard a great and sickening CRASH! But there was nothing that could make such a –
I raced back inside to see my beer, not sitting safely in it’s bucket, but clinging to the walls, the roof, to places I didn’t know beer could cling. The bucket was gone, I could find no piece bigger than my thumb.
I gathered up what pieces I could to bring them back to the brewer, so he could figure out where I went wrong. For surely it could not be me.
I set my burden down on his table, and began to explain, when from behind me I heard a soft Pop. I turned to see the stopper had come loose from one of his bottles. I ran to clean it up. But surely, it could not be me?
As I was cleaning I heard a second Pop. I made to clean that before the brewer grabbed my arm and gently steered me out.
“My Lady, perhaps brewing is not for you.”
And that, good gentles, is how I came to be known as Brewbane.
This is the oldest story I’ve written that I still tell occasionally. It is based on my first (and only) attempt at brewing. My then-boyfriend and I had bought a Guinness clone kit from a local home brew store, we did everything right, but the next day the glass carboy exploded. We don’t know if the air lock was cracked before or after it hit the wall. It wasn’t until a housemate made cyster and the bottom of his carboy sheered off when I stepped into the room while he was racking it, closely followed by bottles of home brew in the basement exploding when I went down there, that we determined that I was actually the problem. The name Brewbane was given to me by Toki Redbeard when I stood to tell this story at a circle my second War of the Roses.