We will follow-up with Rob Austin at NC State mid-season on how the hops are growing. Word is we need some more rain!

In the meantime, be sure to check out this article on the hops project, which was made possible by a Golden LEAF foundation grant. And if you missed the video the first time around, well, here it is!

We’re thrilled for the opportunity to help build a local beer economy. One-quarter acre at a time.

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In this video, Rob explains the goals and expected outcomes of the hop experiment. I apologize for the wind – bear with it; Rob has some great insights about building a local beer economy.

Eagle-eyed readers (and a few doe-eyed ones) may remember a post from a few weeks back discussing a Southern persimmon beer recipe from 1913. We’re thinking about making this recipe, following it to a T — including the rainwater part. But it’s far more important to see if we could take this Southern winter tree fruit and make tasty beer out of it. I’m pretty sure that a non-barley-based beer from 100 years ago would likely taste more like Pruno than, say, Westvleteren.

Alas, I’m getting ahead of myself.

The first step in a persimmon winter ale is to get some persimmons. A few years back, I read a great article in the Carrboro Citizen about finding persimmon trees. Check it out. But come back, because I’d be sad if you didn’t read the rest of my story!

Are you back? Great! Thank you!

I had to find a persimmon tree. To become its “caretaker,” a seemingly Southern euphemism for “if you’re not using the fruit from this tree, I’ll gladly take some.” At the peak of the harvest (particularly good this year, word had it), I was still hunting down a source. I posted on my local bulletin board — not much luck. I asked renowned chef Bill Smith of Crooks Corner for advice — he told me to keep asking around; to find someone just as he has.

Facebook to the rescue. I posted a request and within a few days had my source — a family from church we’ve known for a few years. Here’s the tree.

By the time I got to the tree, some of the fruit had already fallen to the ground. That’s good and bad: persimmons taste best after they’ve fallen to the ground — you only need one bite of an unripe persimmon to learn this lesson. It’s rather like eating felt. The bad part is that animals love persimmons.

But a gentle knock of the branches to “encourage” the fruit to fall seemed reasonable. I started with a gentle shake of the limbs, which produced healthy results:

After several hours of knocking and collecting, I had quite the batch: two huge bagfuls of sweet, ripe wild persimmons. Next time around I’ll collect the persimmons in a large tub of water, as the sheer weight of the harvest tended to crush the already-ripe fruit. For some reason, I didn’t take a picture of the final harvest, so here’s a shot of 1/100th of the end result:

There are already a cuss-ton of pictures in this blog post, so suffice to say I followed this procedure to mash the fruit. We ended up with two large bucketfuls of sweet fruit puree. It tastes like spiced fruit. Perhaps those of you who’ve had persimmon could come up with a better description. I personally think of it as ripe apricot meets fig meets tomato. Sound gross? It’s not.

The harvest will make several rounds of First Frost, our winter persimmon ale. Details on the beer coming next week — right now, it’s fermenting away. I also made some persimmon pudding, following Chef Bill Smith’s recipe…yep, the same Bill Smith who encouraged me to keep asking around and keep hunting.

I found my treasured tree. Thank you to my friends, its true caretakers, who shall remain nameless on this post so no one else bugs them.  I offered them some persimmon pudding but they seemed more interested in the beer. Here’s hoping it turns out…the harvest took some time, and I can think of nothing more rewarding than having 32 craft the harvest into a memorable winter ale.

What is the Southern Foodways Alliance?
The SFA brings together food writers, chefs, historians, and various hangers-on like brewery owners. The mission, straight from their website, is simple:

“the Southern Foodways Alliance documents, studies, and celebrates the diverse food cultures of the changing American South.”

I really like that they emphasize the changing American South. It suggests two things: 1)  the South is dynamic and evolving, and 2) we have a responsibility to capture (and an opportunity to celebrate) what makes the South unique.

Why was Fullsteam at the SFA?
Fullsteam’s mission is to develop a distinctly Southern beer style. We seek to re-establish the connection between beer and agriculture. We celebrate the South’s rich farming history as we look to invent a new Southern beer tradition. In other words, Fullsteam embodies the SFA’s “changing American South.”

Also, we also get to enjoy the company of chefs, foodies, historians, and writers who share a common interest.

Oh, and it’s a boatload of fun. Though truth be told, my focus was pouring beer for Friday evening’s event and spending time with family on the weekend. I missed a lot of the seminars and sessions. From what I heard from attendees and what I followed on Twitter, the conversations were as good as the food.

Chef RJ Cooper sports a Hogwash! tee

Beyond the Mason-Dixon line
As I wrote over two years ago, Oxford is “the South’s South,” and the perfect background for this annual exploration and celebration of Southern food. But this isn’t a club restricted to residents below the Mason-Dixon line. On the contrary, it was interesting to note the presence of highly-talented chefs outside of the South, particularly New York City: David Chang of Momofuku. Kenny Callaghan of Blue Smoke. Elizabeth Karmel of Hill Country. RJ Cooper of DC’s Vidalia.

North Carolina represent!
That said, the South was well-represented — particularly North Carolina. I got to hang out with my old bosses, Ben and Karen Barker of Magnolia Grill. Phoebe Lawless of Scratch! Ashley Christensen of Poole’s in Raleigh! Bill Smith of Crooks Corner! Sara Foster! I even met Amanda Kingsbury (spouse of Seth Kingsbury, chef/owner of Pazzo! in Chapel Hill) — Amanda and I worked together back in the day at Magnolia Grill.

I don’t mean for this to come across as name-dropping; I just really enjoy these people. This wasn’t a snobby foodie conference. Quite the opposite. Plenty of dancing, singing, good eating, good drinkin’, and laughter.

FRIDAY: (our) main event
My focus and attention was on the Friday outing to the lauded catfish emporium of Taylor Grocery in Taylor, Mississippi – about ten minutes from Oxford. I’ve been to Taylor and bunch, and I’ve seen the place evolve from dingy and dank (but full of character) to cleaner, brighter, and more efficient (yet retaining its charm). The restaurant is now notorious for long waits and strict seating policies, though this time the establishment was closed to the public. Yep, on a Friday night.

I had just enough time to get set up. The rain slowed us down, and I had to make two trips into Taylor to get all the beer and equipment out there. With an expected attendance of 300+, I knew we didn’t have enough of our beer. Thankfully LoneRider Brewery of Raleigh provided two kegs (Shotgun Betty and a new Peacemaker Pale, both superb) to help compensate for the fact that 32 is still brewing five gallons at a time.

Best set-up ever!

Unfortunately, 32 couldn’t be there due to family obligations. Filling in superbly is the multi-talented Dean McCord of Varmint Bites. I was so thankful to have Dean’s help — not only in setting up and breaking down, but for talking smartly about our beer to the hundreds of attendees. There’s something about service-oriented people and how they know how to break down the talking points  of a beer, food, or wine. Maybe it’s the lawyer in him. Either way, it was a huge asset to have someone knowledgeable about our offerings.

Needless to say, the evening was incredible. We ran out of our beer very quickly, with the last holdout being the 12 gallons of Scuppernong Sparkling Ale. I don’t know who’s still reading this, but here are five lessons learned from the Friday event:

1. People love saying “Rocket Science.”
2. A surprising number of people wanted one thing and one thing only: a full pint of IPA. For beer drinkers, there’s just something about IPAs that gets under your skin. I don’t think anyone chose IPA out of default. We ran out of Rocket Science in about 15 minutes…the first beer to go.
3. Even foodies think Sweet Potato ale is going to be “sweet.” I don’t yet know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing — I so love defying preconceived notions, but I’d hate to sell this beer short.
4. Fullsteam (the Carolina Common) is somewhat difficult to explain in a soundbite setting. Consider we intend for this to be our flagship beer, I’m thinking a lot about this right now.
5. We should have brought Hogwash.

SATURDAY: Meat and three (pounds heavier)
I overdid it the next day. Phoebe Lawless of Durham’s Scratch Artisan Bakery started the day off with her famous donut muffins, liverwurst sammiches, and honey crisp apples. (Support her at the Durham Farmer’s Market!)

The lauded, egalitarian NYC chef David Chang (Momofuku) presented an amazing lunch, complete with Crack Pie. Look it up, then FIND ME SOME FOR THE LOVE OF CHRISTMAS I NEED MORE

New Orleans-based Cochon concluded the meat-and-three feast with a dinner of roasted goat (complete with goat liver, which I tried), with sides from Jim ‘N Nicks.

Jeff over at Green Olive Media has some killer pictures of the lunch and the dinner.

SUNDAY: time to head home
I missed the final brunch and the benediction by Roy Blount, Junior on Sunday. I needed to head back to North Carolina — after all, this week we should get our building permit and begin to put in to place this vision of ours. Still reading? Thank you. I appreciate it! There’s more to read if you want — Monica Chen of the Herald-Sun wrote a nice piece on our little brewery-in-planning.

MEGA POST COMPLETE!

except for one final thing…I spotted this on the way home:

For some reason, I can’t make it through Monday Night Football. I wake up hearing the highlights…then I’m up for another three hours. Does that happen to any of you?

So I’m up. Researching, thinking, and preparing for persimmon.

Fullsteam’s mission isn’t all that different from any other craft brewer. We’re all trying to get you, the potential consumer, to realize that beer goes well beyond “fizzy yellow.”

What makes us different? For us, the vehicle for conversation is Southern agriculture. We ferment the providence of the Southern sun, expanding beyond fizzy yellow to the rich hues of the harvest: verdant green basil. Mahogany fig. Burnt hickory. Banana-hued paw paw. Rhubarb red, green, and white.

Are we trying something new? Yes and no.

Yes, in that we’re carving a niche that few others have attempted. (Side story: a friend of mine from Pennsylvania was explaining our concept to a fellow Northerner, who said to him, “They’re trying to make Southern beer? And their flagship is a steam beer, not a Pale or IPA? How many ways are they trying to go out of business?”)

No, in that all this has been done before. All what again? Southerners making beer with what’s local. As in, their backyard.

(Full disclosure: I’ve lived in North Carolina 17 years…longer than any other place I’ve lived. Not yet half my life. So I’m not a Southerner or a Tar Heel. But I ain’t movin’.)

Witness the 1913 antebellum anthem “Dishes and Beverages of the Old South” and its recipe for Persimmon beer:

PERSIMMON BEER (1913):

The poor relation of champagne–with the advantage that nobody is ever the worse for drinking it.

To make it, take full-ripe persimmons, the juicier the better, free them of stalks and calyxes, then mash thoroughly, and add enough wheat bran or middlings to make a stiffish dough.

Form the dough into thin, flat cakes, which bake crisp in a slow oven.

When cold break them up in a clean barrel, and fill it with filtered rainwater.

A bushel of persimmons before mashing will make a barrel of beer.

Set the barrel upright, covered with a thin cloth, in a warm, dry place, free of taints. Let stand until the beer works–the persimmon cakes will rise and stand in a foamy mass on top.

After three to four weeks, either move the barrel to a cold place, or rack off the beer into bottles or demijohns, tieing down the corks, and keeping the bottled stuff very cool. The more meaty and flavorous the persimmons, the richer will be the beer.

Beware of putting in fruit that has not felt the touch of frost, so retains a rough tang. A very little of it will spoil a whole brewing of beer. If the beer is left standing in the barrel a wooden cover should be laid over the cloth, after it is done working.

Fermentation can be hastened by putting in with the persimmon cakes a slice of toast dipped in quick yeast. But if the temperature is right, the beer will ferment itself.

Now I’m not sure what a “warm, dry place free of taints” is, but I do know this: making “Southern Ag” beer like Persimmon ale is nothing new under the sun. It’s as old as Souse and Hog’s Foot Oil, Barbecued Rabbit, Squirrel Smothered, Possum Roasted, Molasses Pie, and Blackberry Mush (recipes also found in the free-to-download Dishes and Beverages).

But we’re also wise to another historical fact — one that I’m sure “contrarian historian” Maureen Ogle will appreciate.  (Maureen, if you’re reading this, that’s both tongue-in-cheek and a tribute to your disinterested research.)  Persimmon beer didn’t taste that great. Especially when the lagers of Germany and Eastern Europe found their way down South. Maybe it’s better to say that persimmon beer “fell out of favor,” as Americans en masse turned away from the local, homemade, and inconsistent to the more fail-proof and inoffensive.

Perhaps North Carolina playwright and activist Paul Green penned it best.

“Man never could drink enough to get drunk on it, and now that legitimate beer has come in, making of persimmon beer has just about passed out.” (source)

Perhaps we live in a different era.

That is the great experiment; the vehicle for conversation.