Bubbles was the name of the imaginary girlfriend with whom Steve would run away and spend all his retirement account money on in the very far, nebulous future. Was, that is, until she manifested as his fermenter. It seemed an appropriate name: she bubbles and he spends a lot of time and money on her. Then one day I found her happily gurgling in the northeastern corner of our bedroom, which just happens to be the coldest room in the house. It's also on my side of the bed. So great- she gets to sleep with us too. Sometimes. When she's not in the garage.
I mentioned to him a week ago that if he had another fermenter and more bottles, he could brew enough pilsner this winter and he could brew all our beer. We could quit buying commercial brew. He quickly did the math in his head, and figured that after amortizing the new fermenter for awhile, he could get his batches down to fifteen dollars each. So that's roughly fifteen dollars for two cases of beer. Quality beer. Delicious beer. For fifteen bucks.
I wonder how Bubbles is going to feel about this.