Richard's Arc

Chapter 3 of 7

Richard walked along Grassmarket, scanning shopfronts and alleys for suppliers who understood quality ingredients. The city held everything he needed if he knew where to look. He stopped at a stone-fronted shop with wooden crates stacked outside. Inside, a merchant sold specialty malts imported from Belgium and Germany. Richard ran his fingers through a bin of pale grain, feeling the texture and weight. These were the malts that would give his sours the right base before the fruit and bacteria took over. He bought two bags and carried them back to the unit, already planning his next batch. Three days later, Richard set up a tasting outside the unit. He arranged five different sour beers in a row, each glass showing a different color from pale gold to deep red. Neighbors stopped to try the samples, and Richard watched their faces as they tasted each one. Some people winced at the sharp tang. Others asked questions about the fruit and the aging process. A woman said the peach sour reminded her of summer desserts. Richard took notes on which flavors people preferred and which made them pull back. This feedback would shape his next recipes. That afternoon, Richard walked to a small park where a metal trophy stood on a stone base. The plaque read "Best Sour IPA" with names of brewers who'd won recognition years ago. He studied the list, recognizing two who now ran famous breweries in Belgium and America. Their success started here, with one award that got people talking. Richard touched the cool metal, feeling the weight of what achievement looked like. He wanted his name on something like this someday. Back at the unit, Richard painted a message on a chalkboard and propped it against the wall outside: "Richard's Peach Cobbler Sour - 5€." He stepped back and checked the lettering. The sign would catch people walking past and pull them in to try his latest batch. His first real product, priced and ready to sell. The beer inside was the best he'd made so far, balanced and bright with fruit. He unlocked the door and waited for his first customer, knowing this was how a brewery began—one glass, one person, one taste at a time.