When a customer opens a bottle of Sam Adams, Fat Tire, or Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, he or she trusts that the beer will taste as expected. Deviation from the benchmark can even turn away otherwise loyal customers (Remember New Coke?).
But what about homebrewers? Those with advanced RIMS or HERMS setups can achieve very high levels of repeatability because these all but demand an automated control system. But those of us who brew on less sophisticated hardware have to accept a certain level of inconsistency as part of the game.
My mash tun is an insulated cooler. My hot liquor tank and brew kettle are aluminum stockpots from a restaurant surplus store. And I transfer wort from kettle to fermenter via the lift-and-pour method. Each step of my process offers plenty of room for variation from one batch to another.
I also brew outside, and Mother Nature usually contributes her own particular quirks. A robust winter wind reduces the vigor with which wort boils. Warm summertime tap water prolongs the chilling process. And from September to November, I simply accept that my batches will feature at least a couple of autumn leaves.
But I don’t think that’s a bad thing. In fact, such variance forces me to pay attention to my homebrew more than I might otherwise. When every beer is a little different, you have to relish each glass as its own inimitable experience. Try your best to repeat your favorite brews, but accept them for what they are if they turn out different.
Even within a single glass, the nature of the beer is ever-changing. From the full, cold pint to the final warm drops, every sip of every glass is different from the one before and the one to follow.
Brewing can be as simple or as complex as you make it. And if my history in the hobby is a trusted indicator, then I will almost certainly move to a state-of-the-art setup eventually. But until such automation improves my consistency, I’ll be content to savor the unique experience of each and every sip.