Well girls, your “Uncle” Tom did it again. Every time he tries to brew beer at home he calls me with some questions. After answering them, I always tell him to let me know how it went. And every time he reports back that some sort of disaster rendered his 5 gallons of fermented goodness undrinkable – discouraging him for a few months until he again decides to try to create another batch of bathtub beer. And so the cycle repeats.
This time the thermometer cracked while taking the temperature of the brew. Spilled mercury right into the drink. He learned the hard way that not all thermometers are created equal. Turns out Uncle Tom used a thermometer designed for, well, HUMAN BEINGS rather than piping hot oatmeal stout. A thermometer that has no doubt seen its fair share of baby bottoms while being passed on from one generation of the Uncle Tom family to another. Well, heirloom gone, pale ale poisoned.
If it were up to me I would have pressed on. Look at it this way – is mercury any worse than alcohol? When was the last time you heard to someone getting smacked up on mercury and driving in the opposite direction on the Long Island Expressway?
Say Jerry, you heard about ol’ man Tuthill? Yup, at it again – had a couple of mercury tall boys and was shootin’ at Mrs. McGrath’s cat.
The takeaway: they sell beer in convenient bottles and cans. Already brewed, fermented, and in some cases even cold filtered for that genuine Rocky Mountain taste.
So girls, let’s raise a metaphoric beer (or in Daddy’s case an actual beer – in a bottle, from a store – “pre-assembled” if you will) to Uncle Tom – that 1920’s throwback, revenuer-dodging, basement brewing, rum running son-of-a-gun!