It’s official, after two years of my husband’s intense homebrewing, I am married to the hops.
   
Embracing my husband’s love affair with brewing has taken some effort on my part. His interest in Belgian-style beers began when he worked as a chef intern at a Belgian restaurant while enrolled in culinary school. The relationship blossomed with the discovery of local craft brew beers. With a combination of culinary creativity and pure beer love, his homebrew hobby was born. Nine years later it is part of our family. It is the two of us + 3 kids + 1 dog + The Brew. Since I became married to the hops, here is what I’ve learned.
   
I have learned that a homebrew man isn’t born — he is made. It takes a combination of certain factors. First, he can’t just be a beer man. We all know there are many levels of beer, so the homebrew man has to be a refined beer man. As Ritchie “the Monk” (as I call him) puts it, an enthusiast of “good” beers. While “good” beers is subjective, apparently it equates to four of these magically good beers costing the same as a case or two of the “other” beers, they have about twice as much alcohol as their less expensive cousins — oh, and they must have wonderful complex flavors.
   
Next, a homebrew man has to be competent in the kitchen or a man on a mission. Your average PB&J, or one-dish specialty kind of man will need some work. Even this chef (who incidentally does not cook all the time as many fantasize, he walks in the door asking “what’s for dinner?”), had to read up on homebrewing to teach himself the methods. The homebrew man also has to love the brew so much that he can dedicate the time to craft it.
   
Finally, (not required, but it sure is nice), the homebrew man should be capable of cleaning up after his brewing mess. Disposing of all evidence ensures trouble won’t follow. I recommend a careful calculated clean up - this is one area Ritchie “the Monk” is improving on. To clarify, that doesn’t mean only clean and return all brewing equipment and ingredients to their proper storage places. All evidence means CSI wouldn’t be able to identify what happened in there. The sticky splashes and spray of brewing that tends to hit every surface of the kitchen — counters, the sink, floors should all be clean. Closest to my heart is the stovetop. It amazes me how every brew day leaves a boiled-over sticky mess on the range (as I write this our stovetop has a “CLEAN ME” sign waiting for attention). Would-be homebrew men take note: keeping the stove clean goes a long way toward continued household enthusiasm for the hobby.
   
While married to the hops, the brew at times feels like the other woman in the relationship . . . always lingering in the background. I happily taste amazing and experimental brews, agree date night dinners need to include a “decent” beer menu, listen to copious talk about beer history, new brewing ideas and resist utter panic at the huge messes made in my kitchen (at least for a few hours).
At every opportunity, the homebrew is also invited. Holidays, birthdays, cookouts, even made-up social gatherings are an excuse to taste the latest matured batch.
   
I’m no dummy though; homebrewing makes a great negotiating tool for everyone’s happiness (most importantly, mine). A brew afternoon on his day off equals an uninterrupted, lock-myself-in-the-bathroom tub time for me. Choosing restaurants based on the beer menu can be negotiated for a movie of my choosing (plus we both get an awesome meal out of the deal). I have yet to work in a brew negotiation for a massage or house cleaning — though, I dream of it.