Drinking your own beer, beer that you made using your hands, some grain, and SCIENCE, is a near sublime feeling.
The beer making process takes time and precision. You have to follow the recipe, wait four to six eternities (weeks), and keep everything sterile. Failure in any of those categories is beyond normal failure: it's a waste of beer. If you think having gallons of homemade booze on hand would drive you to drink, than you are not close to prepared for pouring out your own tainted beer. In such an instance, you assume the role of both the sixteen year-old and the police officer; you feel scorned and guilty, mad at that fucker who took away your fun juice you so cleverly stole from your parents. You also know it's the best thing for that kid, which is enough to make you do it but not enough to make you feel good about it. This conflicting perspective, of being both actor and observer, will unleash storm of emotions that gnaws at you and your inner drinker will quickly present a plan to compensate for the gallons of beer lost with gallons of beer bought. It's not good enough. It can't be. Darkness descends and you find yourself cursing the process of fermentation to frightened passersby. If you're lucky, no one will call the (real) cops.
However, to the victor, the spoils. You can't make ok beer your first time around, you just can't. You're not calibrated to filter out the strongest flavor in homemade beer: achievement. No one has the wherewithal to look past how cool it is that you just made delicious, delicious beer. You did. You made it. As if by magic. When you put the bottle to your lips, it stimulates parts of your brain which, I'm told, are otherwise reserved for fatherhood and winning the Nobel Prize. Immense, overwhelming pride and bouts of rapturous joy. It tastes like drinking your diploma or how Olympic Medals would taste if they were made of chocolate. Sure, as time goes on the feeling fades, which SUCKS, but that first time there is only the crushing angony of defeat or the best goddamned beer you've ever had. Your kitchen will be wrecked, you will pay dearly in utilities, and if you're anything like me you'll probably hurt yourself, but it is so worth it.
I've talked to numerous brewers and everyone I've talked to has agreed with this assesment (generally without the hyperbole). It occurs to me that there may be people out there who don't like beer as much as I do, but chances are they don't brew. While it's sad that we can never really be friends, the feeling of creation extends far past any one hobby. Everyone should be able to relate in that regard. You make something, it's exactly what you wanted it to be, you freak out and get all giddy. We invite people over to brew with us on sundays and very few have taken us up on it. It strikes me as odd that people wouldn't want to share in that glee, but most must not recognize it as that.
