Leaked Documents: A letter from Patrick to our new GEA Craft-Star™ brewhouse

Hello, new friend!  For us to start off on the right foot, I need to be honest. It’s a little embarrassing for me, so try not to laugh. The first time I saw you, it was the revealing pictures on Instagram. Which revealing pictures, you ask? You were in Munich, being shown off to the world for the first time. Damn, you looked good, shiny and new. I took screen shots so I could zoom in and see your parts up close. Why doesn’t Instagram on iPhone allow me to zoom in? So annoying, but I digress. You’re tight, compact, and I love the German accent. Men from all over the world were taking pictures of you, so I was able to see you from every angle. Boy, I loved what I saw… I wish I could have climbed on your platform and touched your buttons like all of those other guys.  Fast forward several months, and I was given the offer to have you. I couldn’t believe you weren’t already taken. Yes, you’re expensive, but oh so worth it. I had to have you. I guess those other guys, while they appreciate your beauty, want something a little bigger. Vessels with a bit more junk in the trunk, if you know what I mean. I’m of the opinion that it’s not about the size, but what you do with it.  I borrowed money so I could buy you. Not from a loan shark, but from some nice guys. They drew up promissory notes, so it’s on the up and up. When we first met, I tried to play it cool, like I hadn’t seen you before. But inside, my heart was beating hard. You were wearing that really thick insulation, covered in plastic, trying to be chaste, but I had already seen what you look like without it. I knew how beautiful you are underneath that humble cloak.  It took awhile to break up with my old brewhouse, so I hid you in a warehouse in Anaheim for over a year. I’m sorry to have kept you there, in that hot, dusty place, while I lived my life as if you didn’t exist. I had to find her a new home, to put her in a better place than where I found her. The timing had to be right to officially make you part of my life. I visited you, told you that we’d be together soon. I peeked behind the plastic and insulation in anticipation, drooling at your tight instrumentation. I felt a little guilty, to tell you the truth. I was having an emotional affair with you while working my loyal brewhouse hard, 24 hours a day, 5 days a week.  A few months ago, I raised the roof, installed a new sewer line, and put in some beautiful flooring for you. I know how much you love efficient plumbing, and wanted to make you feel at home. My old brewhouse was looking over in suspicion, wondering what she was making room for. We told her not to worry about it, just making some improvements that she’d benefit from. When you made your debut, being craned in through the ceiling, she just about lost her shit. Seeing your rakes, your differential pressure lautering system, your external calandria, she knew there was no way she’d be able to compete with you. The day came a few weeks ago. We came in on a weekend to do the deed the last time. Being there on a Sunday aroused suspicion. We hadn’t brewed on a Sunday, well… in forever.  Now you’re our brewhouse, and we just started filling you up with grist. I know what you’re thinking, our old brewhouse is still there, looking at you with jealousy yet admiring your curves… when is she gonna pack up and leave? She’s moving out shortly. I know it’s a little awkward having you both under the same roof, but be cool. She’s had a long life, done a lot of great work, and deserves to be treated with respect. Let’s not tell her that you’re about 30% more efficient, and crank out 100% more wort. She doesn’t need to know that.  I have to make another admission… this one you may not appreciate. I know Germans are very modern and progressive, or at least that’s what you all claim. I’ve noticed you can be oddly traditional at times, too. We’ve been making you comfortable brewing all malt beers, just like your ancestors are accustomed to. No spices or anything. Next week, we’re going to be pumping yams into you. Yes, yams. I realize it’s not on the Reinheitsgebot list, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell your German friends what we’re doing to you. There’s gonna be other weird things we’re going to want to do later on, but we’ll get to that then. In the meantime, just keep an open mind.  Oh, the wort we’ll make together. We may speak another language, you not understanding a word I’m saying. We communicate by how we look at each other, the awkward smiles, the way I turn your valves when you aren’t turning them by yourself. We’ll soon learn how to communicate on a deeper level, where you learn some English, and I’ll learn some German. I’ll put up some David Hasselhoff posters, and we’ll listen to Bruce Springsteen so we can learn to appreciate each other’s cultures. Have I told you I took German in high school? I got up to AP German IV, but I don’t remember anything, short of a few curse words.  Anyhow, I look forward to all of the good times ahead, sweetheart.  xoxo, Patrick

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