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'Cool Fuel': Brew It Yourself


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Although many see biodiesel as a cheap, environmentally friendly source of fuel, Goodman cautioned that making it can be time consuming and tricky. He said it's critical for home brewers to do their homework and take safety precautions.
Gabe, who said it costs him between 50 cents and $1 to make a gallon of biodiesel, has been meticulous about his brewing efforts. He spent several months poring over "From the Fryer to the Fuel Tank," a book some call the brewer's bible, before attempting his first batch. The rising senior at Walter Johnson High School has always been eco-minded. This fall, he will be president of Montgomery County Student Environmental Activists.
Finding used fryer oil, however, was trickier than he expected.
Local restaurant owners weren't quite sure what to make of the lanky, long-haired teen when he showed up and offered to cart away their used fryer oil for free.
"I got a lot of weird looks," Gabe said.
Eventually he struck a deal with Red Ginger, a Kensington restaurant that specializes in Chinese but, Gabe said, also makes a mean plate of pad Thai. Every couple of weeks, Gabe carts away as many as a half-dozen five-gallon containers of used oil.
Gabe, clad in a rubber apron, baggy jeans and a T-shirt, recently greeted visitors and led them down to his basement "laboratory." He apologized for the sticky floor, explaining that while biodiesel is a clean burning product, the process of making it is quite messy. Of the three main ingredients Gabe uses, lye burns the skin on contact, and methanol can cause nerve damage if absorbed through the skin or blindness if it gets into the eyes. Gabe always wears goggles and keeps a fire extinguisher close by.
He slipped on some orange rubber gloves and offered a few cautions to his visitors: Don't inhale too deeply; no open flames.
"It comes with all the glop -- whether it's peanut sauce or chicken," Gabe said as he used what looked like a giant turkey baster and a pair of pantyhose to separate out chicken pieces and stray cashews. The next step was to make a test mixture. Because each batch of oil is different, depending on what it was used to fry and how long it was in service, the amounts of lye and methanol must be calculated each time.
Once that was done, it was time to brew. Gabe added a mixture of lye and methanol to the used oil. Then he attached a super-sized version of a hand blender, flicked it on and stood back. At the beginning, it looked like brown gravy. After about 15 minutes, it darkened to resemble chocolate sauce; after a few more minutes, it took on a reddish tint and smelled of chemicals.
Once the biodiesel was mixed, Gabe poured it into a holding container, where it sat for several hours. Eventually, the biodiesel rises to the top, and glycerol sinks to the bottom. The glycerol is drained, and the biodiesel is rinsed with water. When ready, what was once gloppy brown oil is a clear, amber-colored liquid.
The real test comes each time Gabe fills his tank. As one batch steeped in the basement, he toted a red plastic container holding the last batch of biodiesel he brewed. Even though he has completed several batches, he still admits being a little nervous when filling his gas tank.
"The first time I tried it, I messed up terribly and ended up with a giant vat of soap," Gabe confessed, noting that glycerin, the main ingredient in soap, is a byproduct of the brewing process. "Really, really greasy soap."
He pried open the tank cover and poured the home brew into the car.
He climbed into the driver's seat and turned the key. The car slowly rumbled to a start and promptly spit out a sizable cloud of exhaust. He hit the clutch, shifted into first, and his green Volvo chugged away, leaving the unmistakable scent of fried egg rolls in its wake.








