Novel Bin Chapter 4: A glass half full
Chapter 4: A glass half full
Two Minutes Earlier
Whistlemop of the South Crackian Mops rummaged through his cart. The young dwarf named Pete had been very helpful, and it was only right that he receive recompense. Perhaps seeing his hard work rewarded would help put him back on the straight and narrow! Whistlemop picked up and tossed aside a small figurine of a badger. Nope, nobody liked badgers, they were vicious annoying beasts and he always regretted purchasing that case of them.
Whistlemop paused as he activated one of his Milestones, [Relative Value]. While he was unable to see the true price of items, he could determine when an object would be more meaningful or valuable to a customer. He always had a knack for connecting customers with just the right product, and it was nice to see the Gods agreed. He paused as his eyes alighted upon a vase in a pile of glassware off to the side. The lack of sunlight down here meant that outside of the dungeon, flowers did not exactly thrive. The main source of plants in Minnova, other than the dungeon, were various mosses and lichens and fungi, along with Erdroot. The starchy root vegetable was used to make everything from bread to beer, and while it had a musty flavour it was healthy and filling. He personally preferred a fine imported tea to the beer the dwarves made out of it, but to each their own.
What was confusing him was that [Relative Value] was pinging, indicating that the vase held incredible value for Pete. That was when his [Sense Deals] started going off as well, meaning the vase could hold incredible value to him too.
What on Erd was going on? Whistlemop leaned out of his cart and pointed at Pete.
“You there! What is the meaning of this!”
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Whistlemop stalked towards me, carrying something under his arm.
“What-what do you mean?” I stammered, backing up. Had I done something wrong? Don’t touch my charisma score Whistle-mope, I have none to spare!
“Are you a Cultivator?” Whistlemop demanded.
“What, like Kung-Fu?” Were martial artists a thing here too?
“What in the Firmament’s name is a Kungphu? No, a titled Cultivator for plants and gardens!”
“No… I don’t even have my first Blessing!”
“Well then,” Whistlemop held up a glass object, confused. “Why on Erd is this vase so valuable? I can’t for the life of me figure it out!” I took a moment and looked at it. It was round and made of clear glass, with a narrow base that tapered up to a slightly wider opening at the top. It was a pretty standard flower vase. There was nothing truly remarkable about it other than the excellent quality of the glasswork. It was about 20 centimeters tall, and 6 centimeters wide.
“I don’t know, it’s just.. a... vase….” I paused, looking at it more closely. It vaguely resembled something important. What was it? Then I realized and grabbed it from Whistlemop’s hands. “IT’S A PILSNER GLASS!” I shouted, staring at it in wonder.
“A what?” Whistlemop asked, standing on tip toes to peer up at it.
“You were sent to me by the Firmament.” I whispered, closing my eyes and rubbing my cheek on the smooth glass of the vase. It was a perfect pilsner glass. It would certainly hold more than a pint, but that was fine; the beer was so low in alcohol content that it didn’t matter. What did matter? I finally had something proper for the beer in the mess hall. Any kind of lager made in the Plzeň style is a Pilsner, and a Pilsen glass is excellent for any kind of lager.
“I need to try this right away.” I muttered, staring into the crystal of the glass. “What time is it?”
“Um, almost noon,” Whistlemop pulled out a small pocket watch and peered into it. There was a small painting of another gnome with pink hair on the inside of the lid. He poked me in the side as I turned to the mess hall. “What is it? Isn’t it just a vase?”
“Come with me, I’m going to change the world of dwarven beer forever.” I grabbed Whistlemop and dragged him towards the mess hall. We met up with a few other dwarves as the rest of the mine began to wind down for lunch. Lunch was a very important meal for dwarves, because it had beer in it. A few dwarves gave me the side eye, but I noticed Annie staring at me rather intently as I pulled Whistlemop into the mess hall. I’ve gained a bit of a reputation as a weirdo the last few days. Thankfully everyone has been very kind about it; they’ve been giving me some grace after my ‘near-death’ experience. A line began to form behind me as I went up to Bran to receive lunch. They were indeed serving lager today! As he started to pour my ration of beer into the allotted tankard, I stopped him.
“Not that Bran, I brought my own tankard today! Pour it into THIS!” I triumphantly held up the vase. Bran paused and looked at it, and the customary chatter of the mess hall stopped for a moment.
Dwarves have a really nice laugh. It’s very full-hearted and comes from the gut. Their noses get all red and their moustaches crinkle up (unless they have a Fu-Man-Chu). Which didn’t help the sting as the entire mess hall burst into guffaws. My face began to redden but I resolutely held the vase, no the PILSNER GLASS, up to Bran.
“Finally decided yer’ a delicate flower Pete?” Bran grunted between peals of laughter. Tears poured down his brushed and braided beard. He put a lot of effort into his grooming compared to the other convicts for some reason. “Have ya spent too much time in tha’ fertilizer this week?” The room erupted into fresh howls of laughter.
“Just give me the keg.” I growled, elbowing Bran aside and pouring myself a drink. I did so carefully, ensuring that extra air wasn’t poured into the drink to interfere with the bubbles. The beer slowly filled the glass, creating a perfectly crisp head that rose as I poured. I’ve been pouring beer for decades and I’m pretty good at it, but getting perfect head is a science unto itself.
When you make beer, it involves a few central steps. The first and most important is the selection of your malt. Modern beers often use a combination of barleys and other cereals, but you can really use any starchy plant. Rice beer is quite popular in some parts of the world, including the United States where it is a main ingredient in their ‘world famous’ Budweiser. Your malt is heated in water, and the starches are converted into sugars.
At this point you have wort, and it needs to be boiled for sterilization, and also to add hops for flavour. I doubt the dwarves have hops, and it’s more likely that they add a combination of herbs. A collection of herbs used to flavour beer is called Gruit, and it was used for thousands of years. You then cool the wort and pour it into a vessel with some yeast in order to cause fermentation.
Fermentation is just a yuppie term for “yeast eats sugar and makes alcohol” which is where the actual beer comes from. The fermentation process creates carbon dioxide as a by-product, and the carbon dioxide is trapped as tiny bubbles within the beer. When you pour the beer, those bubbles rise to the surface. Proteins within the beer grab onto the bubbles and rise up with them. Those proteins act kind of like soap in a soap bubble, preventing the bubble from popping. Those bubbles gather at the top of the beer as a foamy ‘collar’ and voila! You have head!
I stopped just as a half-inch of head reached the top of the glass. That was a small head for a lager. A low alcohol content or a bad batch can cause that, and I would accuse dwarven beer of both of those crimes. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding in and stepped back to appreciate my pour. The bubbles at the bottom of the glass rose slowly to the top, and the head remained perfectly steady. A pilsner glass is specially designed to ensure that the bubbles rise from the narrow bottom, and the broad rim keeps the head in place. The tankards the dwarves used were wide and flat. Bran did a pretty rough pour and any head was lost by the time we sat down to eat and drink.
I leaned down and took a deep sniff of the glass. One of the benefits of a good head is that it captures the flavours of the beer, and you can appreciate the ingredients that went into it. This lager smells roughly of… mushrooms? Something earthy anyway. A rare choice but understandable given the environment. I paused as I realized the room had gone silent.
“What’s that?” The dwarf behind me asked, leaning in. His brown moustache stood out in a bristle, and he had mutton chops. It was a weird choice for facial hair, but… dwarves. I think his name was Tim.
“It’s a head” I replied, guarding the glass.
“Ahead of what?” Tim pushed closer, watching the bubbles rise. “Were you sniffin’ the beer?”
“Um…. Yes…” I stepped back as a bevy of dwarves starting to gather around and stare in rapt fascination at my oversized glass. Is it a bevy? What would you call a group of dwarves? A beard? “The foam on top captures the smell of the beer, and the bubbles subtly change the flavour when you drink.”New novel chapt𝒆rs are published on novel(b)in(.)com
“Can I try?” Tim asked reverently, reaching for the glass. His hand was slapped down by Balin, who had appeared next to me.
“None a’ that!” he shouted as I smiled appreciatively at him. “He’s obviously gonna let his best bud Balin have tha’ first taste!” My smile flopped.
“Nobody is drinking it but me!” I shouted. “But you can all try it after I get a chance!” There was a clamour as the dwarves began to fight over who would be first. As the fists began to fly, I took another sniff of the glass and then slowly sipped it back. The bubbles exploded on my pallet, and brought with them the nutty…
Rancid..
Awful taste of the beer. Yep. It perfectly brought out the flavour of the lager alright, in all its terrible glory. I sighed and finished the glass off, no sense in wasting bad beer. It was going to take more than some simple glassology to fix this piss. As I washed my glass out, a line quickly formed up with Balin at the front. A few black eyes and bloody lips were visible, and I think I saw a couple bodies being stuffed under benches. Eh, not my problem.
My fellow dwarves took turns drinking from the vase as I poured, each copying my motions in turn. Sniff. Pause. Small sip, small sip, and chug. Their expressions were rapt, and the mood was nearly religious. It was kind of freaking me out, honestly. I love my wine and beer, but I don't LOVE my wine and beer. I reserve that for my wife's flowing beard.
Dammit.
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Meanwhile, underneath a table in the mess hall, a pair of eyes glittered. A magnificent moustache twitched up in a smile at the unmistakable scent of gold.