Success, thy name is rum.

I can only assume that many of you have been sleepless for the last several nights. After all, it’s been almost a week since my cliffhanger post. You were all tossing, and turning and calling out for the yeast to “Ferment, damn you!” through consecutive restless nights. Please rest assured that my time this weekend was indeed a success, and it was a success on a variety of levels.

The first success came in the form of me actually <gasp> thinking about it a bit. To frame the scene, it was very much like last weekend. I open the fermenter which, by all accounts, should have been near flammable by now (yes, that’s hyperbole, leave me alone). I gingerly dipped my new, graduated cylinder into the wash. I placed the bobber in the cylinder to be met with…exactly the same results. That’s right. The bobber read 0 proof. The NERVE. I’ll be honest and say that I almost pitched it. We were in the middle of a torrential downpour (yes, in Canada, in January). I thought that I might enjoy doing other things rather than waiting for ethanol to come crawling out of a tube all afternoon. However, I just couldn’t imagine quitting on it.

I resolved to dig deeper. I went, got a jar, and drank. I won’t say I drank a lot of it, but I drank some of it. As Forrest Gump might say, “I’m not a smart man, but I do know what booze tastes like.” There was booze in that jar. There was a lot of booze in that jar …at least compared to the successful whiskey and the trainwreck vodka that were my last 2 runs. I thought more about the measurement and realized that, unlike the whiskey and vodka where you strain out the “mash” the wash would always have the increased density because of the high sugar content (which taste told me had decreased significantly in the past 2 weeks). How could a bobber that functions on density possibly be relied upon in such circumstances? I decided that there was ethanol in the wash, dammit, and that I was going to pull it out. I’m really glad that I did.


There’s a shot of the wash in the bottom of the fermenter (post siphon) you can see that the nearly black color that the wash had been has faded into a murky sort of brown. The smell was certainly yeasty, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as it was the previous weekend.

We’re going to skip ahead through some of the boring parts (e.g. me prepping the still, getting the burner ready, locating jars, etc.). I decided that I was just going to do the first distillation, the stripping run. That the spirit run could wait for a while. I thought that perhaps I’d toss the foreshots/heads out up front rather than distilling them twice, so I got a little jar (for the heads/foreshots) and a big jar for the hearts/tails.


There she is, all ready to go. You’ll note the painting project in the background. Remember that it’s always advisable to distill with a partner (even if that partner is doing something else). You can’t go wrong with getting help when and if you need it. Also, I’ll give a shout out to Mad Mads, my mad scientist buddy. He provided the new and improved cylinder to replace the broken (cheap) ones I’d been using. I also recommend having a mad scientist friend. It makes a lot of things more interesting.

I’ll condense the rest of the run down for the sake of brevity:

  1. I was very careful with the heat this time. I brought the wash up to temperature very, very slowly. I’m talking probably 2.75 hours to hit the methanol evaporation point (around 145 Fahrenheit).
  2. To put it simply, the run was textbook. With the water pump running, and the slow heating of the pot, I had virtually no issues with temperature control. In fact, I think we only crested 185F once in the 6ish hours we were running the still.
  3. The improvement in temperature control speaks to the quantity of ethanol that was produced. Once a certain chemical begins to evaporate, the evaporation will consume a lot of the energy, effectively cooling what’s left behind (i.e. humans sweat for temperature control). There was enough ethanol coming out to help regulate the remaining wash.
  4. The yield was fantastic. We pulled in about 2.4 liters (a little over half a gallon) of shine at 85% ABV, 170 proof.


(proof tested in case you didn’t believe me).

5. I will not, at least as of now, be doing a spirit run. Given the quantity produced, and the quality of that quantity, I see little point in a second distillation. I captured the nasty stuff in a jar up front, and I shut down the still once it was getting difficult to maintain a temperature of under 185. I could have pushed for greater volume, but it was tasting good and sweet…I decided to leave well enough alone.


Remember it’s important to chill your samples out of the still. What are we? Heathens?

So, to make a long story short, recipe 3 was a pretty significant success. It was, hands down, the best run I’ve had. Part of that is experience, but I like to think that part of it was the wash and the recipe. The higher concentration of ethanol made a lot of things easier. I can’t say for certain if the extra week helped, but I think I’ll let most of the washes/mashes I do from now on go for about 2 weeks. The taste was certainly less sweet after two weeks. The yield was also higher than the original recipe that I linked on the Links page.


The first 1.6 liters and an empty can of delicious and refreshing Barking Squirrel.

Yeast, don’t fail me now.

As I mentioned in my previous post, the holidays seemed like the perfect time to revisit the ol’ rum recipe. For those of you who have been reading for a while, you might recall that rum was the very first thing that I tried. It is, after all, probably the second simplest project you can do. The first simplest would be to just buy some beer/malt liquor/wine toss it in your still and push play.

How can you go wrong with rum? It’s literally sugar (and molasses…which is sugar) and water. You dissolve the sugar and blamo…you have your rum. Unfortunately, it seems that’s not how it works. At least not this round.

Here’s how the story goes. Like a child on Christmas, I crept down into the basement last weekend where my wash had been fermenting. I paused for a moment to take in the spectacle of my small fermenter huddled under towels next to the furnace to stave off the Canadian cold. As I lifted the tank, I was greeted by the yeasty smell of progress. With no small amount of delight I walked, nay…scampered, into the workshop to open the tank and see what santa had brought me.

I was met with a horror. No, it hadn’t gone moldy. I’m way too careful with my sanitation for that (knock on wood), but the wash I had expected to be about 17% ABV was…2% ABV. I was, to say the least, incensed. I’ve been racking my brain for about a week wondering what could have gone wrong. Sure, the temperature dropped, but the fermenter was still at about 65 F. It’s not ideal, but it’s not low enough that the yeast should have been completely dormant. I had reports from several sources that the airlock was bubbling away throughout the week. I was judicious in making sure that the yeast was room temperature before I pitched it, and that the wash was down to about 98 degrees F. The package instructed 100. I will be honest and say that I didn’t time the mixing of the yeast in the wash, but I gave it a good, long stir. It may not have been a full 2 minutes, but I thought it was sufficient.

So, I thought about it. I decided not to pitch more yeast. I gave it a good, thorough, stir and have been waiting. Yeast, don’t fail me now…I’ll see you on Sunday.

Making the cut, part deux.

Approximately a million years ago, I published (yes, that verb was deliberately chosen) a post titled, Making the cut.. In the post, I discussed a my plan to separate the distillate into jars based on volume to really fine tune the end product. Now, 7 months, or one million years, later I have jarred the aged albeit still very young bourbon and I wanted to circle back to that discussion to let you all know how it went.

As I mentioned in my mashing post, the end product actually turned out very well. I mean, I’d be disappointed if I bought that bourbon in a store, but I consider it a victory for fledgling ‘shiners everywhere. My complaints with the batch have nothing to do with the quality…it just that it lacks the big bourbon flavor that comes with proper aging. We can talk a bit about what I did to age it later. I want to stick with a discussion on the cuts for the time being.

So, none of you will be surprised to note that I prepped the jars before the still began warming. For those of you who have operated a still already, you likely have your setup rituals. I can tell you that prepping jars will be a part of my regular ritual for the foreseeable future.


12 jars all given a number. The labels were kept big so that I could note specific conditions for each jar as they were filled. Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I did deviate from the plan a bit.

  1. I did not write down the time for each jar. I’d have liked to, but I just didn’t get around to it. I also made a game time decision that order, temp and proof were a sufficient first attempt.
  2. I eyeballed the volume. The cylinder I use to proof test is not graduated. That is to say, it’s still in school and doesn’t have any sort of volume scale on it. I just filled the cylinder up about 80% of the way. Once I dumped that into jar number 1, I used that jar as the model for all others.


So here we are distilling away. At jar 7 we were just a little bit past half way. Lest you be concerned for my safety, I assure you that I am neither of the two gentlemen in the background. I was the one watching the still.

<parental soap box lecture> I do recommend caution if you distill into small jars. You can see that I actually ran the hose along the top of the clamp on the welding table. This was to minimize pooling in the tube. As the hose gets heavier it tends to move the smaller, empty jars around a bit. Keep an eye out to make sure you don’t (best case) lose your product or (worst case) blow yourself up when the alcohol vapors hit the heating element. </parental soap box lecture>

With the exception of dividing the run, the process was more or less exactly the same as it was last time. Here’s a close up for those who are interested:


Never mind the nasty rag. There’s nothing to see here.

It was all well and good to put the batch into smaller jars, but the real fun came with the mixing. Once the run was over, the alcohol coming out of the still started to acquire that telltale funk, we called it a day and proceeded to the mixing.

To mix, we simply lined up each jar on the bar.


We proof tested each jar now that the temperature had cooled down, and made any final adjustments to the jar labels. Once that was done, we smell tested each jar. If the jar passed the smell test, we’d try a little bit of that jar in a glass. No, we didn’t pour full shots. We just wanted to get a sense of the flavor and the smell. The first and last couple of jars never passed the smell test and were, therefore not tasted.

We settled on ditching jars 1-2 and 9-12. We kept jars 3 through 8.


To be completely honest, I would have trashed Jar 3 as well if I wasn’t being stingy about the volume of booze produced. You can see the results of the spirit run in the large jar on the bar in the picture above. I looked at the contents of 4-8 and it looked so insignificant in the big jar. I thought to myself, how can this be the sum of all my hard work. Jar 3 didn’t smell that bad, after all. It didn’t have the nice, sweeter flavor of the heart, but it wasn’t gutrot either. I’ll reiterate that I’m happy with the product, but I do wonder what it’d have been like if I kept it smaller.

I was also really impressed with the charred oak chips. I haven’t yet filtered it, but the oak did good stuff to the flavor.

And we come to the end of our tale. I consolidated the waste alcohol and kept it around as part of my no distillate left behind policy. I won’t drink it because, well, I choose life…but I will absolutely light it on fire when I get a chance.

Come spend the night inside my sugar wash.

For those of you whose minds are now endlessly looping the 1984 “classic” Sugar Walls, I’m not going to apologize. For those of you who are not familiar with the song, be thankful. I mean, you could youtube it if you want…it is almost 2016, but do so at your peril. There are certain things you can’t unhear; these things include 80s R&B songs written by Prince (under a pseudonym) and performed by white ladies with poofy hair.

But enough about her sugar walls.

We are, after all, gathered here today to discuss my sugar wash. That’s right, after a little over a year, I’ve gone back to make changes to my first attempt at Rum. If you look way, way back in the blog, you’ll see a brief statement on the initial rum. I pulled the recipe offline, and it was my very first attempt at the distillation. It was a success, and a good first experience. However, it wasn’t perfect and there were issues with the flavor, and specifically the aftertaste that needed to be addressed. So, fast forward a year and we’re making another attempt.

I’ve changed a few things, and learned a few techniques that should make a difference. First, if you haven’t yet seen it, you should go look at the recipe on the recipes page. You’ll note a few things:

  1. The new recipe relies much more heavily on dark brown sugar than the other recipe.
  2. The potential ABV of the wash is only a little less than 17%

The brown sugar decision was made in the hopes of giving the rum a little bit more depth. The combination of the molasses and the 5 kilos of brown sugar gave the wash both a rich brown color, and a really nice flavor. The flavor of this wash has significantly more depth than the white sugar wash that was made last year. The final volume of the wash was too much for my 6 gallon fermenter, so I actually kept a little of the wash to help give the distilled product that “rummy” taste. I’m sure you’ll hear more about that in the coming days.

The potential ABV/Sg could have gone up, but I was out of brown sugar, the pot was awfully full (so I didn’t want to add molasses), and I didn’t want to add any more white sugar. The High Spirits Turbo 48 yeast will only take us to 18% ABV. I decided to call it at 16.9% and sacrifice the 1% of potential product.

As we speak, the wash is fermenting away. I’ll certainly take what I’ve learned forward. This includes a stripping and a spirit run. The batch will be split into jars and mixed according to taste, smell, and proof. The high yield should be enough to split the run into traditional rum as well as some other experiments (like Limoncello).

Here we go again.

You probably noticed that the journal went dormant for a while, and it went dormant just as things were getting good. I’m working to consolidate my batch notes from the May Bourbon run, but I’m not going to lie and say that the fragmentation of the info is not going to hurt the accuracy of the report.

I won’t bore any of you with the details, but suffice it to say that there have been some large life changes on this front. All good, but hey…changes are changes. It took me a while to carve out some time for the ol’ shine. Unfortunately for all parties my newly discovered free time falls at the end of December, so we’ll again be dormant for the winter season. That being said, I did prepare a nice sugar wash that will be in the pot next weekend. I look forward to telling you all about it.

M*A*S*Hing the grain.

There was a fair bit of ramp up to the bourbon batch, but not a whole lot has been said subsequently. I’ve been asked by a few people how it went, so I’m going to come right out and say it. It went very well. In fact, the whole run went very well, so it’ll be tough to stay on topic. However, stay we must.

I think that I mentioned that I was going to head out to Berwick Organics, an organic feed store between Ottawa and Montreal. I was very pleased with the cracked corn, and the people were absolutely fantastic. It was a great product at a great price. The only problem I have is that I currently own a dizzying amount of cracked corn with only one way to get through it all.

I procured the malt from the usual place (beergrains). They were excellent as always.

Here’s a sweet snapshot of the goods:



I made a few other changes since the infamous vodka run earlier this year. First, since it wasn’t miserably cold, I mashed outside using a turkey frying rig. I also bit the bullet and turned in my silly plastic spoon for a mash paddle. I’m not exaggerating when I say that the mash paddle was one of the best 35 bucks I ever spent. The long handle allowed me the leverage needed to stir the thick mash comfortably.

Here’s a shot of the turkey fryer:


I know it’s not terribly impressive, but it works. The mash came together gloriously. I followed the recipe almost exactly as documented on this website. I did, out of fear, add a tiny bit of amylase because the memory of the vodka was just too fresh. I honestly don’t think that it was strictly necessary, but I think I’d do it again. It didn’t hurt anything, and (as I finish this post some 7 months after I started it) the bottling went very well. The whiskey, having sat on charred oak for about 7 months turned out well.

Things that I learned from Grain Mashing:

  • Patience is key – it’s going to take a while to get the corn softened up.
  • Taste it – yeah, I know that we’re not talking about food grade corn, but if you don’t taste it, you won’t fully experience the process.
  • Use your senses – as the starch converts into fermentable sugars, the mash will start to thin. It’ll feel like stirring porridge up front, but as the enzymes set in, it’ll start to thin out, like soup.
  • I think I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: don’t kill the enzymes (from malt or amylase…though I think the amylase is more robust) with heat. You need those little fellas.




What have we learned?

Like any good children’s programming host, I feel it’s important to summarize what I’ve learned between my last run and the upcoming bourbon run. I’m inclined to summarize for two reasons. First, I hear tell that many people define insanity as doing the same thing multiple times and expecting different results. After all, as my momma would say, “you get what you give”. If you’re giving the same thing, and expecting something different, then you’ve obviously got a screw loose…rattlin’ around inside yo’ head. Ok, so my momma’s not a black woman from the deep south, but I think you’re probably pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down. Secondly, it’s important to note what I’ve learned because that’s the entire point of this blog. I want to make sure that you all know what I know and that you all are able to safely and comfortably make your own ‘shine.

That all being said, here’s the list:

1. Starch is not fermentable. It’s something that home brewers know. However, it seems absent in home distiller webpages. It’s nice to talk about making that, “Good Corn Liquor” as Buck Owens says. It’s another thing to understand how that, “Good Corn Liquor” comes to be. We talked before about, “high adjunct mashes”. Well, corn certainly falls into that category. You wanna make a bourbon? That’s super. I do too…but you need to know that a 50% corn mash is going to take a little TLC. Please note that TLC and THC are not the same thing. If you’re interested in THC, I’m sure there’s another blog for that.

2. It’s all about the enzymes, baby. I know that you probably thought that it’s, “all about the benjamins,” but it’s not. You need enzymes to break those adjuncts down into fermentable sugars. Does DME have the requisite enzymes? No. DME is wonderful, and sugary, and will be food for yeast. However, once the DME is over and done with…there’s nothing more for the yeast to eat. That means that the yeast will stop doing what you need it to do. You add malts to make sure that you have the enzymes required to support the conversion into alcohol.

3. Enzymes Die. That’s right, those beloved little chemicals will die and cease to function if you’re not careful. Seriously, check out recipe 2. It’s written by a man who understands the fragility of life. Do you notice how the instructions tell you to let the mash cool before you toss in your malt? It’s to prevent the enzymes from dying. Perhaps “dying” is the wrong word, but it amounts to the same thing. You need your enzymes to work for you or your yield will be terrible. Remember that fermentation is a large process that’s carried out by tiny little molecules (enzymes) or tiny little one celled organisms (yeast). respect the fragility of those structures and you’ll go far, kid.

4. Those little “L” Scores on Malt Mean Something. Here’s the deal. When you’re buying your grains (malts) you’ll see a range of say, 10L-120+L. You may wonder what that means. It’s the “Lovibond Scale”. Essentially, some dude named Joseph Lovibond was brewing in the 19th century, and he had one of those cheesy watershed moments. He was like, “woah, the longer i toast these malts, the darker they become. Additionally, the longer I toast these malts, their flavor profile keeps changing.”. I’m sure he said something almost exactly like that. Anyhow, the moral of the story is two fold:

  1. The Lovibond Scale will help you reach the desired flavor profile. When you go to buy your malts, you’ll see an (x)L number next to the name of the malt. This is the Lovibond scale. These malts are commonly referred to as “specialty malts”, and for good reason. They don’t provide a lot of fermentable sugars, but they can add a toasty quality to the mash. This toasty quality ranges from more or less neutral (0-30L) to malty (30-60L) to bitter (60+L). Please be aware that the flavor profile is my own and not necessarily indicative of your own preferences. Experiment, dammit…that’s what it’s all about.
  2. Remember that time I told you that enzymes will die? Well. I wasn’t kidding. Anything that you see with an “L” attachment means that it’s been toasted. Toasting Kills the enzymes. Don’t get me wrong, it leaves a little fermentable sugar crystal in its place, but the toasted, specialty malts will  NOT help you ferment corn or other high adjunct mashes. Respect your enzymes, and they’ll work for you. Take a look at your website. You should all know that I use I use this site because it makes grains easily available in my area. They have a great product, and great service. Use this as a resource. If it says that a specific grain is a good, “base malt” that means something. Base malts help turn adjuncts into booze which is, after all, exactly what we want.

5. Remember What Game You’re Playing. What are you doing? You’re turning grains into booze. Let’s not even worry about technique beyond that at this point. I’m serious. You can look up recipes, you can look up testimonials. Hell, I’ll even say that you found me…so you must be digging deep. Anything you can do to further your objective is a good thing. I’m not going to lie. I have a Bourbon recipe (recipe 2). That does not mean that I don’t have my ace in the hole. I have a bag of Amylase and a refractometer (not just a hydrometer). If my mash doesn’t come out with sufficient Brix/SG, I will totally and unashamedly add amylase to the mash. I need sugar, dammit, and I will have sugar. It may not be beautiful, it may not be ideal, but it will be successful. There’s always room for improvement, but you need a product to improve upon. Be bold. It’s your still, it’s your time. Go get ’em.

Thanks for listening. I’ll be mashing soon. To all of those mashing, I say, “Good luck”. Please add a comment if you want my advice.


Making the cut.

Most folks who have done any research into running a still have probably heard of cutting, and there’s certainly a lot of info on the web about how and when and why to make your cuts. For example, anyone who has survived their first batch knows that you need to make a cut at the beginning to make sure that the methanol that heralds the coming of the “good stuff” or you’ll go blind, turn yellow, and probably die. Yes, that’s an exaggeration, but you get the point. What many people don’t necessarily understand is that there are more cuts to be made. Knowing when and how to make the cuts will provide you and your comrades with a superior product. Remember that while ethanol may be considered the “active ingredient” in an alcoholic beverage, it’s certainly not the only thing that’s in there. Whiskey for example relies on flavors from what are called key congeners. These include esthers, other alcohols and “fusel oils”. In a nutshell, making the cuts properly will give you the flavor you want without the chemicals (including water) that you don’t.

So, let’s get some terminology straight. The fluid flowing from the still is divided into 4 categories:

  1. Foreshots – This stuff is the absolute garbage that comes out at the beginning of the run.
  2. Heads – This is where the ethanol starts to come out. It’s early on in the process, and the heads will still contain the aforementioned congeners.
  3. Hearts – The hearts is where you’ll find the majority of the ethanol.
  4. Tails – The ethanol tapers off into water and a few other chemicals

But how do you know where and when to make your cuts? That’s a very good question, and one that I can’t answer for you. Cutting is not simply a favorite past time for emotionally repressed teens, it’s also what turns the science of distillation into an art. That politically incorrect sentence is the perfect segue into the experiment I mentioned a couple posts back. Here’s how it will work.

1. I’m going to perform a stripping run. That’s right. I’m going to operate the still (fully clothed, get your minds out of the gutter…pervs) and just separate the alcohol(s) from the wash. I’m not going to toss the methanol, or try to make it good initially. I’m just going to strip the signal from the noise. Allegedly, the guideline here is to strip it until the liquid coming from the hose at the end of the still is the same ABV as the ABV of the wash going into the still. I’ll have to have my tester ready.

2. I’m going to cool everything down, toss the remaining wash from the still, give it a good rinse and get it ready to go for, as my wife would say, “realsies.”

3. I’m going to put about a gallon of water in the still so I don’t boil it dry, and then start over again.

Now, this is where it’s going to get interesting. I’m going to take 16 jars and label each of them. I will leave extra space so I can note the time, temperature at the top of the column, and proof for each jar. In order to make this happen I will, of course, have to proof test the product before dropping it in the jar. I should be able to fill about 16 jars with 150mL each.

Why the change in protocol you ask? Simple, I want to be able to easily split up the foreshots, heads, hearts and tails. I want to be able to experience each of them uniquely (proof, smell, etc.). Once I understand how everything seems, I will mix jars into a final product. The log of times, temps and proofs can start a large table that will track my batches. I can capture the information I use against the recipe and begin building my very own moonshining database. I know, it’s exciting.

The moral of the story here is that you should stay tuned. The next one will be more structured than previous runs and should give us some interesting things. On a very related note, this methodology was taken from a book called The Kings County Distillery’s Guide to Urban Moonshining. It’s a great read if you’re interested.

History lesson.

I know what you’re thinking, and you’re correct. I am in no way, shape or form qualified to give anyone a history lesson. Literally, I learned that the 80s cartoon, “Dino Riders”, wasn’t a documentary just last week. To say that I’m a little slow is an understatement, or perhaps it’s just self evident.

Anyway, as many of you no doubt know, I do a fair bit of reading to learn more about distilling, home brewing, wooing women, etc. The other day I stumbled on a story that’s relatively interesting, and I thought I’d pass it along.

It turns out that on the fifteenth of January in the year of our lord 1919 21 people died and 150 people were injured in Boston, MA. Was it by a crazed killer, or a horse and buggy pile up, perhaps? Nope. the casualties were caused by a…wait for it…a tidal wave of molasses from a ruptured vat at the Purity Distilling Company. It turns out that when a tank containing over 2 million gallons of molasses pops, it pops big. It’s estimated that the tidal wave was approximately 30 feet high. Those of you out there who have worked with the sticky substance (either for distillation or for a less nefarious purpose) have to share my shock and awe. Molasses is heavy. Correction. Molasses is heavy as hell. Can you imagine the devastation caused by a 30 foot wave of molasses?

Now you’re thinking, “hey, I don’t have an imagination. Don’t you have any pictures or something?”. I don’t…but, as always, the internet provides.


In true 1919 style, the distillery was quick to blame anarchists for the destruction. Apparently they didn’t understand the deep and abiding love most anarchists have for liquor, and after years of testimony and investigation it turns out that the tank was poorly built and poorly maintained. As many or all of you understand, fermentation will increase pressure on the container (hooray for airlocks). The temperature increase that comes with spring and the natural expansion of fermentation were just too much for the tank.

What’s your take away? Well, funny you should ask. No post of mine would be complete without a list:

  1. Watch your fermenters. You should check all of your equipment before you use it. Also, full means full. While I doubt anything or anyone will drown if you have a rupture, I don’t envy envy the mess you’ll be cleaning.
  2. Should you ever see a 30 foot wave of molasses, you’ll probably die.
  3. No, you can’t surf it.

You can watch this video if you’re interested. If you’re not interested then you’re making bad life decisions.