hop harvest

This morning, M and I spent a few slow hours sitting on a blanket in the driveway plucking hop cones off razor-sharp vines. We wound up with equal parts Cascade and Willamette, both of which will flavor this fall's stout and IPA nicely. The full, fruity scented resin clung to our fingertips after hours of picking, making us both crave the taste of a frothy brew. Unfortunately, such pleasure is forbidden me (the internet arguments on this point are a fantastic late-night read:), but the smell was a pleasant substitute. I cannot wait until the kitchen is filled with the smell of the malt, hops and grains as they bubble on the stove.