I have, many times, failed to fully think out a plan before I set the plan into motion. I would make a perfect super villain.
A couple of years ago I was facing a dilemma. I wanted to brew a fresh hop beer but I wanted my hops to be loose in my kettle so they would roll around and get better utilization. The kettle I was using was smaller, like a 4 gallon, and didn't have a spout so I needed something to provide a filter between the kettle to the carboy.
I had heard somewhere about using pantyhose as a cheap hop bag. This seemed like a reasonable thing to do and I figured it would work as a filter. So, I went down to Walmart and bought thigh-high stockings in the most masculine way possible.
"They are for beer."
"Yeah, sure buddy," the clerk says.
"They make me feel pretty," I whisper.
The brew day went great. It was an extract steam beer and the fresh Cascade hops, picked right off the bine in my backyard smelled awesome. After the wort had been chilled it was time for the filter/transfer so I stuck about four of five inches of the stockings into the carboy, wrapped a rubber band around it, rested a funnel in the carboy spout and began to just pour the wort into the funnel. What could possibly go wrong?
In my defense, I have never worn pantyhose before. Not even recreationally.
I had not anticipated the pantyhose's ability to stretch. As the wort flowed down the funnel into the filter it caught all of the hop cones and trub. This caused it to expand at roughly the same rate as the anger-caused aneurysm growing in my brain.
In about three seconds I had a sack of shit the size of a volleyball inside of my glass carboy. The pantyhose did act as a filter, but was so effective it was clogged with small particles and hop flowers and wouldn't let the liquid flow through at more than a trickle.
About the time I set the kettle down the rubber band started to slip and I was able to grab it before the whole mess dropped into the carboy. But now I was stuck, because I couldn't pack the whole carboy around, so I yell for my wife, who up to this point, has been very supporting of my brewing.
"Hey baby, could you come in here for a second?"
Of course, the first thing she said was, "What in the hell are you doing?"
"I'm having a disaster. Can you help me?"
She held the carboy down while I tried to slowly tried to pull the shit ball out of the top. After a couple of tugs the pantyhose began to bulge obscenely on the bottom, but I was making a small amount of progress on the top end.
"Are you sure this is going to work?" my wife asks in a tone which suggested it was not going to work.
"Just hold it," I growl and give another mighty pull.
At this point, several things happened. The pantyhose finally give way by exploding and sending most of the soggy hop cones into my fermenter. I fell backwards, pulling the broken stockings out of the carboy with such force that my wife received a trub bukkake across her shirt, glasses and hair.
"Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh," she yells.
I wish I could say this is the only time my wife has caught it in the face because of brewing, but I don't think it is true. It may not have helped matters that I was laughing really hard.
I gave up and pitched the yeast. Some of the cones floated and some sank during the ferment. It was a giant pain in the ass to rack off because the hops kept clogging my wracking cane.
The final beer really didn't turn out too bad. Not great, because it was pretty vegetative, but I ended up drinking it all.
So with one screw up I learned several lessons. I have not used pantyhose while brewing since. I now have a brew kettle with a spout. If I am using loose hops I use a hop bag. I don't try to filter inside of a carboy. I also do my best to think ahead, but am only somewhat successful with that one.
My wife also learned a lesson. She may be married to an idiot.
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