Dream Life Chapter 20.1: “Rathmore Village Reform Plan (Part 3): Distilled Spirits Production”

　It is now September, and the harvesting of summer barley has begun.

　In the golden barley fields, villagers’ families are working hard together to harvest the barley.

　When I heard the word “barley,” there was something I wanted to do.

　Yes, I wanted to make whiskey.

　Most of the summer barley in this village is barley, and they only make the necessary amount of oats for livestock.

　And barring special circumstances, such as a poor wheat harvest, a fair amount of barley would be converted into ale.

　The brewery is located on the west side of “West Hill” along the Finn River, where they brew wine and ale.

　As a lover of alcohol, I had far-reaching plans.

　There is no distilled liquor in this world. At least not around here.

　I asked Bertram, the dwarf, and he said he didn’t know of any distilled spirits. If the dwarves, who have a keen eye for alcohol, don’t know about it, then it must not exist anywhere.

　If so, he wanted to make whiskey or brandy as a specialty of this village. To be precise, Scotch-type malt whisky and malt-type distilled spirits made from wine pomace are the candidates.

　However, I don’t have much hope for Marc because I don’t know how much of the wine pomace will be used. [T/N: Marc is a distilled spirit from wine pomace. Wine pomace is the pulp by-product of wine production. This is according to Wiki-sensei.]

　I used to drink a lot of scotch and Marc in my previous life.

　For more than 15 years, I frequented a bar in a port town in the Kansai region called “MM,” which specialized in scotch, and I also bought some marle from a pretty good distillery. Personally, I prefer distilled wine fines, Cognac and Armagnac are typical examples, but because of the price, I drank Marc.

　And, importantly, spirits do better when they are laid down. Not everything gets better, but still, it would take too long to make it when I was old enough to drink.

If I succeeded when I turned five, by the time I turned seventeen, I would have a twelve-year-old product. And before I turn 30, I will have made a twenty-two- or three-year-old one, the one that I personally like the best.

　The barrels at Craig’s place, a woodworker, were made of oak, or oak barrels. And the important construction of the barrels, as far as I could tell, was sufficient to withstand long-term aging.

　To make it a specialty product, they would have to serve it young, about three years old, but as long as I had enough to drink, there would be no problem.

　The problem was the distiller, but the logic was simple and the blacksmith Bertram’s skills were reliable enough. Above all, he should be the best to come on board. If I asked him to make a tool that would make the strongest and most delicious liquor in the world, he would do it without a second thought.

　As long as we can make the tools, the rest can be done by us, and it won’t affect our other work.

　Even if we increase the number of pumps in the future, two small ones will be enough for the first few years.

　Fortunately, we are on track to install the pumps, and the only thing left to do now is to take care of the farm equipment during the off-season and the village patrol’s weapons.

　I’m hoping to build a distiller this winter and get some distilled spirits into the ground.

　To tell the truth, other than the pump, the toilet and soap are not doing so well that I am tempted to do something else.

　The toilet has managed to turn into something that looks like humus by mixing it with livestock products, but I won’t know if it will be useful until next year or not. If this fails, there is also the option of liquid fertilizer, but I am not confident that this will also succeed.

　As for the installation plan, my father said that it would depend on the results in the area where Gordon is, so we won’t be able to move on to the next step until next summer.

　As for the soap, I don’t think it will be done at all at this point. The first batch I made in June did not harden even after three months, so I decided it was a failure and burned it.

　The second batch, made in July, is still in Nicholas’ house as a dubious, sludgy object.

　The third batch made in August turned slightly white, and although it has potential, I honestly don’t hold out much hope for it.

　The raw materials are cheap, I hear that tallow itself is not much favored and is cheap, so I can manage to keep going, but if it becomes a burden on Nicholas, I am willing to give up manufacturing it.

　On the other hand, Nicholas and Kate are exceptionally eager to fight, and it’s true that I can’t tell them to stop. They have already written more than a hundred memos and have accumulated a lot of data, such as the proportions of every ingredient.

　I’m more concerned these days about whether my memory is wrong and I’m making them do unnecessary things.

　I have given them various instructions, such as adding other ingredients, changing the ingredients of the lye, and adding another process, but if this does not succeed, I think it is inevitable that they will have to give up.

　This is a digression, but in this village, the price of ale made in large quantities is low. In fact, most houses have a keg of ale in the house, as it is distributed according to the number of raw materials delivered.

　When I first saw it, I wondered if there were only drunkards in this village, but I was told that in this plague-stricken village, people drink ale as drinking water from the age of ten or so.

　September 20th. I went to Bertram’s.

　He was sharpening a patrol member’s sword, so I sat down beside him and we started talking about distillers.

　By that time, our relationship had become more like that of colleagues or comrades, and the way we spoke had changed from honorific to casual.

“I want to make a tool to make delicious alcohol…” (Zack)

　When I had said that much, his hands stopped sharpening his sword. He then pressed me, “Tell me more.”

　I chuckled at his predictable reaction but went on to explain about the distiller.

“You know that liquor has a strength that we usually can’t control. There’s a way to make that alcohol stronger…” (Zack)

　His response seemed to be a clear understanding of alcohol, and he immediately urged me to talk more about it.

“Water and alcohol boil at different temperatures. We use that difference to extract only the alcohol. Here’s the tool…” (Zack)

　I took out the drawing I had brought with me and spread it out in front of him.

　He says, “What is it? It looks like a kettle that’s defective,” he said, staring at the drawing with a stench.

“You put the liquor in this part. Then, when the kettle is heated from below, it will gradually boil over, so the temperature must be adjusted so that only the spirit evaporates. Since only the alcohol will evaporate from this elongated mouth. Only the alcohol will be taken.” (Zack)

“I don’t know what it is, but what does the alcohol taste like when it has been made stronger? I feel that boiled ale is not tasty.” (Bertram)

　That question turned my ” drinker’s switch” on.

“How should I put it? If it’s just a strong spirit, it will burn your tongue with its sharp taste. After that… the original flavors don’t linger on your tongue and a unique aroma passes through your nose. Then there’s a burning sensation in the throat and a burn in your stomach.” (Zack)

　Bertram listened to my explanation with a serious look on his face.

“Your description doesn’t sound very tasty at all.” (Bertram)

　I grin there, “Of course not.”

“This alcohol is only as good as the barrel it’s kept in. The best I’ve ever had was thirty-five years old. Fruits, nuts, herbs… and a variety of other aromas and flavors are intertwined intricately… but all of them are mellow and not overpowering. One sip and the aroma lasts forever. It’s not an exaggeration, but the aroma lingered with me until the next day. It’s not so much a drink but a work of art.” (Zack)

　He muttered, “Thirty-five years,” and left it at that. I didn’t care.

“For casual drinking, it should be at least three years. My preference is twelve years or more, by the way.” (Zack)

　I then add a more detailed description of the aroma.

“The first thing that comes from letting it rest is the woody aroma of the barrels. But that alone is not enough to balance it out. As it ages further, it develops a sweet fruit aroma, a fresh herbaceous aroma, a floral aroma, and a pungent spice aroma. It is a mystery why such aromas are coming from a wooden cask. But the aroma is not that strong. As it ages the flavor mellows out…” (Zack)

　He gulps occasionally as he listens intently to my explanation.

“A young liquor only burns the tongue, but a mature spirit changes its taste in at least three phases. The first is the moment you drink, then when it lingers on your tongue, and the final moment is when it goes down your throat. It tells a different story at each of these moments… If you drink it on its own, you don’t need anything else. If you drink it with water, it pairs well with food, but I preferred to just enjoy the drink on its own…” (ZAck)

　I think I had a faraway look in my eyes then. And in my mouth, the unique, peachy, mellow fruitiness and vanilla flavors of BenRiach, a single cask distilled in 1976 …and the sweet, mellow aroma of the now-defunct Roland’s Ladyburn Twenty-Three Year Old.

　From the other end of the room, it must have been a surreal sight. A four-year-old in a trance, remembering the aroma of scotch.

　But Bertram was different.

“I’m going to build that ‘distiller’ now! Come see me every day! I’ll finish it in ten days!”

　His eyes were aflame.

　It seems that my words made him want to have a drink.

(As expected, he’s really a dwarf. He’s a true drinker like their stereotype. I feel a little scared of this passion, and if the distiller fails… maybe I might have ignited his passion a little too much…) (Zack)