Brü It Yourself | Smiling Sky Summer Pale Ale

Author: Marshall Schott

I’ve mentioned my buddy, Chris Padalinski, several times over the years, but I’ve not really said much about the role he played in Brülosophy. The simple truth is that Brülosophy wouldn’t exist today if it weren’t for Chris, and it’s taken me way too long to get this out there. Fair warning – this is going to be both longer and more sentimental than usual.

I started the job I’m still currently at in October 2009, a few weeks after I received my graduate degree. On my first day at work, which was spent doing all administrative shit, I met two other psychologists who were also starting their post-grad careers. One of the dudes looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure why. He introduced himself as Chris, said that he’d seen me at the university we’d both graduated from, but that he was in a different program than me – I was clinical, he was forensic, but we occasionally passed by each other in the hallways. Over the course of that day, it became clear that Chris and I had something unique in common, certainly not in terms of life experiences or even the specific perspectives each of us held, both of those were actually quite different. Rather, it was in the way we approached thinking and talking about what we both felt were the more meaningful aspects of existence. Toward the end of that first day, Chris mentioned that since he shared a car with his girlfriend, she would be making the 45 minute one-way drive to drop him off and pick him up everyday. For whatever reason, I had zero concerns that this guy was a weirdo and offered to carpool with him, which he very graciously accepted. We later talked about how uncharacteristic that decision was for both of us, and how fortunate we felt that it happened the way it did.

I hate carpooling. In addition to having to put up with the music preferences, banal conversation topics, and vehicle scents of other people, I abhor having my ability to come and go being tied to someone else. But that was far from the case with Chris. I’d pick him up around 7:00 AM with a hot cup of coffee for him to sip on the way to work – in one of our earlier conversations, he mentioned how he’d always fancied the thought of morning coffee, but never had a coffee maker. From the get-go, our conversations felt authentic. We’d meander through a wide range of touchy topics with zero concern, which was novel for both of us – politics, religion, philosophy, relationships, music. Nothing was off limits, and it didn’t matter whether we agreed or not. It was the ability to “go there” that was so fucking satisfying. Those drives to and from work often felt like they ended too soon, so it didn’t take long for that relationship to move out of the car.

While approaching his apartment one dark midweek evening in November 2010, I commented that I looked forward to cracking a beer when I got home. I could tell his mental gears were turning, and after a brief pause, he responded, “I think it’s weird that I’ve never said that.” He explained that he had 4 cans of Guinness in his fridge from a 6-pack he bought for St. Paddy’s Day. He asked me a few questions about my experience with beer, which is when I dropped the bomb that would change everything – I told Chris that I actually know how to make my own beer, that I went on a brewing hiatus during grad school, but that I still had all of my old gear and was planning to get back into it. His reaction was hilariously unexpected, he could not believe it was possible to make passable beer at home. And that was all the motivation I needed. The following evening, after dropping him off, I ran to the local homebrew shop and bought the ingredients for an extract with steeping grains batch of IPA, the recipe of which I’d designed 6 years prior.

Within a matter of a few weeks, we went from pouring LME into a small kettle in my backyard to a legit batch sparge setup in my garage. Every month, we’d both toss a little cash into a shared pot that we’d use to buy ingredients and gear, in fact that’s how we paid for our first kegerator. We started brewing together every other weekend, 5-10 gallon/19-38 liter batches of our favorite styles. Chris delved deep into craft beer and would often go on weekend trips with his girlfriend to visit breweries, the photos of which he enjoyed sharing with others. Things were amazing! We discovered new styles, fared well in competitions, and loved sharing our creations with friends. Chris became so enamored with brewing that he suggested naming our collaborative outfit. Happy Head Brewing was the first thing that stuck, but it always felt like a placeholder. Within a few weeks, we landed on a much more meaningful moniker, something that truly encapsulated our shared way of being: Bright Spot Brewing.

I won’t go into detail on the name here, as Chris explained it well on the blog he started as a means of documenting our brewing adventures. Admittedly, while I was cool with the blog, I had little interest in maintaining it, so that was all Chris. Anyway, at one point during the summer of 2011, I challenged Chris to design his first recipe, as everything we’d brewed up to that point had come from my mind. He’d brewed several batches with me, so I was confident it wouldn’t be an issue. We agreed that we’d go with whatever he came up with, no input from me, and that he’d take charge on brew day. He settled on an American Pale Ale that featured some of his favorite hops at the time. That brew day became its own bright spot for me, to the point I’ve talked about it publicly many times – the first hop addition being at 40 minutes and the “mistake” Chris made of adding the dry hops at yeast pitch while I’d briefly left the garage to tend to my kids.

That batch was ready to drink 2 weeks later, and we had our first samples after returning from a morning of tubing on the lake. It was so good. We’d gotten into the habit of naming the beers we brewed that we liked, and Chris immediately proposed a name for this one that he felt captured our shared infatuation with happiness and sunny days – Smiling Sky Summer Pale Ale. We ended up brewing this recipe many times, pretty much whenever the keg was running low, and it was a hit among more than just us. Chris was also into digital art and created a pretty classic looking logo.

A few months later, in autumn of 2011, we got word that our place of employment would be making some significant staffing cuts, and since we were both low on the seniority list, we either had to quit or accept a transfer to another institution that had openings. I was in full-on family mode and had purchased my first home barely 2 years prior, so I accepted a spot that doubled my daily drive time, but allowed me to stay put. After a lot of thought, Chris took the opportunity to head north to an area his then-fiancée had dreamed of living. As much as I supported his decision and trusted we’d remain close, his leaving left a vacuum in my world. I knew I wanted to keep brewing, but every time I did, I thought about how much better it was when he was in the garage with me. So, I decided to do something to distract me from those feelings and built out a second identical setup so that I could brew side-by-side experiments.

Enter Brülosophy.

My decision to start documenting my own brewing experiences was largely motivated by Chris, and for the first couple of years, he would often assist in xBmt design, offer variable ideas, and proofread what I wrote. It wasn’t brewing together, but it was better than nothing. When Chris left, he took some of our smaller gear that would allow him to make BIAB batches on his apartment deck. I even gifted him a keezer that he kept in his apartment living room. The year after his move, I was the best man at his wedding and performed a quiet rendition of Brown Eyed Girl for the first dance with his new bride.

Chris’ wife didn’t like to stay in one place for too long, and he was happy to oblige her, which resulted in several moves. Meanwhile, my wife and I continued to raise our family, which led to us making new friends and rooting ourselves in our community. He eventually sold off his brewing gear, as it was too much of a hassle to lug around between each new place he moved to, and we saw each other less frequently. Still, we’d text a few times per year to check-in on each other, nowhere near the depth of what we had in the past, but that had become okay.

In early 2016, I let Chris know I’d be transferring back to the institution we met at, and I recognize now that I secretly hoped that might inspire him to consider a return. It did not. Rather, he replied with a comment about student loan debt. I didn’t hear from, or rather about, Chris for over year, when a mutual friend reached out to say that he was in a rough place. Without sharing too much, some shit had gone down that impacted his marriage and he dealt with it in an unhealthy way. This led to us chatting a bit more often, and I was stoked to hear he entered treatment and was moving in a positive direction, though that was short-lived. In August 2024, Chris shared with me that he’d again checked himself into treatment, this time because he had attempted to take his own life. I couldn’t believe it. I made sure to let him know how proud I was of him for recognizing he needed help, and that I loved him. A few weeks later, he texted to say that he’d checked out of treatment and that the experience was “transformative.” I was optimistic.

It was around this time that my family was moving into the home we’re in now. I sent him a photo of the empty garage with some sentimental bullshit about the memories we created there and he replied in kind.

That was our last communication.

In February 2025, I walked out to the same lot Chris and I parked in while carpooling for 2 years, just feet away from the spot we first met, hopped in my vehicle, and opened my phone to a text from Chris’ sister saying that he had died. The cause had yet to be determined, but given what he’d shared with me just a few months prior, I was sure it wasn’t unintentional. And that realization gutted me.

It’s been 2 years since Chris first shared his struggles with me, struggles that I could never have imagined he’d experience based on what I thought I knew of him, but struggles that were very real. I acknowledge that the main reason I’ve held off on sharing these details is because it doesn’t feel good. What Chris and I had was so unique, I was convinced I knew him deeply, and I genuinely believed he didn’t have it in him to resort to a “permanent solution to a temporary problem.” And yet, here we are. I was wrong. And Chris will forever be a bright spot in my life.

To honor my friend who is, in many ways, responsible for Brülosophy’s existence, I brewed his Smiling Sky Summer Pale Ale recipe, and in keeping with an old agreement we made to “always iterate because you never know what small change might make a huge difference,” I did just that.

| Making Smiling Sky Summer Pale Ale |

For this batch, I went with Chris’ original recipe with one exception – we originally fermented it with Chico yeast, but given contributor Jordan Folks’ promotion of fermenting hoppy ales with lager yeast, I decided to give that a shot.

Smiling Sky Summer Pale Ale

I made a starter of Imperial Yeast L13 Global from a pouch that had been sitting in my fridge for 8 months. This was my first starter in years, and I was convinced 36 hours on a stir plate would bring this old yeast back to life.

The day before brewing, I used my new RO filter to collect the water, which I adjusted to my desired mineral profile.

I then weighed out and milled the grains.

The following morning, joined in the brewery by a group of badass Patrons of Brülosophy, I quickly heated the water and incorporated the grains, checking to ensure it was at my target mash temperature.

Following the 60 minute mash rest, I removed the grains and proceeded to boil the wort for 60 minutes before chilling it with my JaDeD Brewing Hydra IC.

A hydrometer measurement confirmed it was at my expected OG.

I then transferred the chilled wort to a sanitized fermenter.

The filled fermenter was connected to my glycol unit, at which point I went to grab the yeast starter, only to discover there was zero activity and it still smelled like yeasty wort. I immediately reached out to the other contributors asking for advice – do I pitch it and cross my fingers, go with 3 pouches of equally as old A07 Flagship, or… something else? Jordan suggested I reach out to Brad, the head brewer at Crow & Wolf Brewing, to see if he might have anything he can share. I shot Brad a text and decided against using the lifeless starter.

Within minutes, Brad responded saying that he had some Berkeley Yeast FRESH Andechs in the brink and would be happy to give me some. When I told the crew this, Jordan responded that I’d “struck gold.” I made the 2 minute drive to Crow & Wolf where I had a beer with Brad and left with way more yeast than I needed. As soon as I got home, I pitched right around 200 mL of this super active FRESH Andechs into the 60˚F/16˚C wort.

Fermentation was popping off just 2 hours later, at which point I connected the fermenter to a keg filled with sanitizer such that it would be purged of oxygen with naturally produced CO2.

The following evening, about 36 hours after yeast pitch, I bumped the temperature up to 68˚F/20˚C then added the dry hops to the actively fermenting beer. While Chris did accidentally add the dry hops at yeast pitch the first time we brewed Smiling Sky, we moved it to later in all subsequent batches.

With signs of activity completely absent 3 days later, I took a hydrometer measurement confirming FG had been reached.

After cold crashing the beer to 34°F/1°C overnight, I added gelatin fining in hopes of the beer being as clear as both Chris and I always aimed for.

I let the gelatin mingle with the cold beer for 2 days before pressure transferring it to the naturally CO2 purged keg.

The filled keg was placed in my keezer and burst carbonated overnight before I reduced the gas to serving pressure. After 3 days of conditioning, it was ready to serve.

| IMPRESSIONS |

One of my favorite things about brewing with Chris was our mutual obsession with questioning convention and making changes to enhance our experience, which in those days mostly meant doing things to reduce the overall grain-to-glass time. I’m absolutely certain he would have been thrilled by the fact this beer was kegged, carbonated, and even somewhat clear exactly 1 week to the day it was brewed. While the first batch was made with Chico yeast, this was the main thing we played around with in subsequent iterations, fermenting with various ale strains like Fuller’s (delicious), Whitbread Dry (pretty good), and McEwan’s (meh), but we never considered a lager strain. I can hear his exaggerated guffaw, something he mockingly did in response to anyone suggesting something outside the norm, to hearing that I opted for a lager yeast in this version of Smiling Sky. So, was it a good call?

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” Another Chris-ism. But seriously, the yeast produced a beer with an insanely clean fermentation character and zero perceptible flaws. The refreshing crispness of a lager paired with a light toasty malt flavor and the classic citrus notes from the hops were precisely what Chris loved in a good American Pale Ale, and this version of Smiling Sky hit every mark. I discovered after the fact that Berkeley Yeast’s line of “FRESH” yeasts, which their Andechs is, “are engineered to produce the ALDC enzyme inside the cell,” meaning less risk of diacetyl. I’m convinced this contributed to my ability to turn this beer around in just a week, and I am beyond excited to use this strain more in the future.

Overall, I was very pleased with the way this batch of Smiling Sky Summer Pale Ale turned out and didn’t expect drinking it to be as nostalgic as it was. I was reminded of so many good times Chris and I had over the years, like our first time trying Pliny The Elder at Russian River Brewing Co. in 2011, the trip we took to Seattle back in 2014, or finally convincing him to hold my kiddos when they were babies – he was legit terrified that he’d somehow hurt them, but after I forced them on him, he couldn’t put them down! I’m grateful that we happened to randomly start work at the same place on the same day, and while he’d almost certainly deny it, Chris left me with several bright spots including his Smiling Sky recipe.

My main way of dealing with this thing we call life is through music. I don’t claim to be good at it, but it has been so incredibly good for me. Earlier this year, I sat down with my guitar and, without conscious intention, wrote this song in memory of Chris that shares the same name as the first beer recipe he designed himself. I spent a couple hours recording a rough version of Smiling Sky recently and thought I’d share it with those who have benefitted from Chris’ influence. Raise a pint with me to a truly good dude, and please be well ❤️

If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, help is available. You are not alone. You can call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (in the US and Canada), available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Services are free and confidential.

If you have thoughts about this recipe or experience making something similar, please feel free to share in the comments section below!

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