Production software
for people who brew.

Six in the morning, one person, every tank. Gravity, temperature, pressure, a look at the krausen. The numbers that tell you what every beer in the building is doing — and they end up in a notebook in somebody's back pocket.

Readings go in from a phone at the tank — gravity, temperature, pH if you want it — and each one carries the name of whoever took it, from their login.

Someone enters 1.012 where they meant 1.021. Both believable, which is why nobody catches it, and why the beer nearly gets crashed three days early. You fix it, and the first number stays on the record beside the correction. Nothing you write down quietly goes away.

No signal back between the tanks? The reading waits on the phone and arrives when it reconnects.

A lot of bad beer starts here. Not with a disaster — with a tank nobody opened the log on, a temperature that drifted over a weekend, a ferment that stalled three days ago.

BrewOS opens on what needs you. A tank with no reading for two days in primary. A temperature more than 2 °C off what the recipe asks for that stage. A ferment that's dropped less than 0.2 °P over two days and three readings while it's still well short of its final gravity — and it says for how many days.

It tells you which tank. It doesn't tell you what to do about it — you know things it doesn't. And where your recipe states no target, it raises nothing rather than inventing one.

Or it does, and you can't prove it.

Most breweries don't run a panel. They run the brewmaster, who tastes it and decides — which works until the morning somebody disagrees and the room settles it by who spoke first.

Run a triangle test and let the numbers answer. Tasters join from their own phones with a code and no login, and every sample is blind-coded. Seven methods, from a straight difference test to the DLG scheme, each worked out from the answers.

What goes in front of the panel is up to you — this batch against the last, a trial against the house version, your beer against the one everybody keeps comparing it to.

And if you've never run one properly, the guide is right there — method by method, with worked examples, reference tables and coaching notes. In five languages.

Type the lot number off the label, exactly as it's printed. You're looking at the tank it came from, the day it was packaged, and where the rest of that lot went.

Stock in the cold room isn't a number somebody keeps overwriting — every keg on the shelf traces back to the run that filled it and everything that's happened to it since, with its packaging date and its age in days.

And nobody has a number to settle it with, so it gets decided in November, under pressure, on a feeling.

Put in the orders and the dates you promised them. BrewOS works backwards through each recipe's stages — against your brewhouse hours, every tank the beer passes through on its way, your packaging line, and the stage times measured on your own batches — and tells you where you run out.

Not capacity exceeded. You are not short of brewhouse. You are short of tank time.

By the time an order feels urgent, the beer needed to be in a tank weeks ago — three or four weeks for a straightforward ale, two to three months for a lager given its time. This is that conversation, a year before you're forced to have it.

Read the long version in the journal

It was right on Monday.

The plan publishes onto a schedule your crew actually reads — week, month, quarter, filtered by person; on a phone it opens on just their own tasks. Move a brew on the floor and the plan knows it moved, who moved it, and when.

There's a wall board too, for the screen by the door — and in the morning meeting your crew moves a task to Now, Next or Done with a PIN. It's what the whiteboard has been trying to be.