Doings of Dudley Doolittle: Ben's Beer Bomb, 12th in series December 2022
Doings of Dudley Doolittle: This is the name I use in the sometimes hilarious, outrageous, or cynical short stories posted monthly.
A fictitious name will be used in most of the stories. It is there to protect the identity of the guilty.
These true stories are over half a century old or more.
Jane and I became winemakers when a friend got us “kicking” plum, persimmon, elderberry, and sassafras wines, made from things available in the Daufuskie Island woods.
Interest grew with our successes and making beer became appealing.
We received a beer recipe from friends. This “home-brew” was made using Blue Ribbon Malt Extract. The extract resembled molasses, was tasty on its own and intended for making bread. It came in a variety of flavors. Other ingredients needed were water, sugar and yeast. The amount of ingredients determined the body and alcohol content. Timing was another factor; if the beer was bottled too soon it would taste yeasty.
The quantity of ingredients gives beer its taste and determines how heavy it is.
You should be able to drink quality beer at room temperature and still have it taste good. We joked; there were only two kinds of beer in Georgia, hot and cold.
After a year of production aboard our sailboat Dursmirg, we refined the process and got raves.
This is where Ben Smith enters the story: Ben remembered back in Prohibition days his family was making home-brew with malt extract. He thought he would like to try his own because it was a long way to town and it would be a savings.
Jane gave Ben a recipe and helpful hints to make brewing a good experience.
Ben thought he could improve on everything. He added extra sugar and doubled the yeast. It kicked in record time in the South Carolina heat.
Ben rounded up old Coca-Cola bottles that dated from World War II and were so tough you could back a truck over them. He borrowed our caper and caps. He bottled his beer and put it to rest in his cabin under his bunk.
The big surprise! After a couple of days the extra sugar built pressure, making the bottles into hand grenades.
The first explosion came in the night, almost giving Ben and his wife Shorty cardiac arrest. The explosion sent shrapnel of glass and spray of beer throughout their shack. Containment was imperative so Ben covered his prized “brew” with a heavy canvas.
The explosions continued. Ben got a large tub, again covering it with canvas. The explosions continued and tore the canvas cover to shreds.
Ben came to Jane for advice. He related his alterations. The problem was apparent. Ben used enough sugar to make 25 gallons in a five-gallon batch.
I told Ben I would pry up the caps and relieve the pressure, recap. and then the beer would be okay.
A crowd gathered to witness the happenings.
Carefully I picked one of the little bombs up, handling it like it was nitroglycerin and stepped outside. All eyes were on me. I confidently took my opener and eased off the cap holding my mouth ready to catch any beer that might escape. I had the situation totally under control.
Wow! Pow! Whoosh! An uncontrolled eruption in what seemed like a nanosecond, and I only got misted by the explosive ingredients. The contents totally left the little hand grenade. I didn’t get a drop. The crowd went wild with laughter. I too had to laugh. In my years with all of the beers I had opened, I never witnessed anything so totally beyond my control.
Ben did the ultimate in home-brewing. His brewery was short lived, but luckily we all gleaned a hilarious story—thanks Ben.
Copyright © 2011 John M. Grimsrud
Link to index of Dudley Doolittle Stories
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