Death of a kombucha
You know when you suddenly remember you have a blog? I mean, it’s not like you forgot, what with that random little nagging thought in the back of your mind, “Yeah, maybe I should post that recipe I’ve been promising to people…” And then you see it’s been at least a month that’s gone by with nary a peep?
I hope I’m not the only one who has the odd experience of being aware that time is flying by but not so aware that the length of time that has actually passed ends up startling me.
I suppose turning my life upside down would make a few things escape my mind.
As my much-loved friend Rebecca has said, I never do anything by halves, and it’s only recently that I’ve realized just how true that is.
After I got back from my trip to Let Live in Portland in late June, within a week I had decided upon a number of things that now have me moving, adopting and welcoming a new feathered friend into my life, pursuing dreams I’ve long neglected and completely changing my career path.
Amidst all of this change, there has been a casualty. Two, actually.
This past Tuesday, after reading about just what vinegar flies could do to my kombucha brew, I promptly marched home and dumped down the kitchen drain 2 large jars of kombucha, scobies and all, that was ready to bottle that very day.
Some time after the start of my 3rd batch of kombucha, vinegar flies (which so many of us mistakenly call fruit flies) started showing up en masse in my kitchen. I’m still not quite sure where they came from since there was no fresh fruit sitting on the kitchen table. I suspect word got out in the vinegar fly world that there was a kombucha buffet at my place, and thus they came.
Recently I’d relocated my 5th batch of kombucha to the top of my refrigerator, which is warmer than my counter, to free up some badly needed counter space. But I’d completely forgotten to cover the tops of my brewing jars with material fine enough to keep vinegar flies off and their eggs from falling through and ending up *on* my scobies.
Having little flies come to investigate my dinner as I eat has been wearing my patience thin, and I decided to find out about ways to discourage them from loving me and my kitchen. My little fly trap bowls full of vinegar and sugar haven’t worked well (nevermind that this isn’t so vegan) and I needed another solution.
I’m both glad and disgusted about what I found.
One detailed wiki picture and the mention of maggots was all I needed to find out about. No matter whether my newest batch of kombucha was contaminated with fly larve or not, I was going to toss all of it.
If you think that’s gross, the idea of possibly drinking tiny little maggots that grew on top of a scoby, you’ll lose your lunch over this: there are some people far less squeamish than me who think it’s perfectly fine to get a magnifying glass and tweezers and pick the maggots right out of their scoby. Others will simply “wash” their scoby, assume all the larvae’s been flushed away, and start over again with the *same* scoby. In the words of one brave brewer, “What’s a little extra protein gonna hurt?”
So not for me. I don’t care if my brew was fine or not. I was determined to throw my kombucha babies out with the brew water, and so I did. I’ll grow my own new scoby from a bottle of store-bought kombucha I found with a baby scoby in it. So what if I’m kombucha-less for a week or two?
Lesson to be learned here: no matter if it’s a fine mesh material (which I used) or cheesecloth (a popular and wayward covering option for kombucha jars), just stick with a finely woven material, like a piece of fabric from pillowcase or bedsheet, a jersey t-shirt, a linen teatowel, or something similar. Really, don’t even be tempted to use anything else.
When I first got interested in kombucha, my friend Gabrielle mentioned a book written by Sandor Ellix Katx, who she called the guru of fermentation. You might already be familiar with his book Wild Fermentation: The Flavor, Nutrition, and Craft of Live-Culture Foods (2003), but he’s also written a zine distributed by Microcosm Publishing called Wild Fermentation: A do-it-yourself guide to cultural fermentation (2002).
I was lucky enough to come across a copy of the zine at the Herbivore Clothing Company in Portland where I recently attended the 2010 Let Live Conference. At just $2.50 for a 33-page booklet filled with 16 recipes for common and popular ferments (like sauerkraut, tempeh, miso, and kimchi), it was a sweet deal.
I normally don’t like to do food zine or cookbook reviews without having first tried at least several recipes. But having read through Katz’s zine a few times, I’m super excited about all the delicious possibilities I could have brewing away in my kitchen. Katz makes things like creating a sourdough starter ridiculously easy, especially after my previous experience of trying to make and use my starter went nowhere. He provides simple directions in creating sourdough starter and using it in bread. Previously, this seemed quite daunting to me after my searches for a simple sourdough recipe turned up all kinds of complicated information about hydration ratios and days long rising times, and way too much snootiness about “artisan” breads. All I wanted was a cheap, organic, no fuss loaf of bread I could make at home. And, thankfully, this is what Katz’s zine provides.
Although it’s not a vegan zine, Katz does make suggestions for vegan substitutions, such as in his yogurt recipe, which doesn’t require an expensive electric yogurt maker. You need only a very few simple items you probably already have at home. And you know what making your own yogurt means? If you’re soy intolerant or just like limit your soy consumption, you can always try making your own rice, oat, or even coconut yogurts using those milks instead of soy milk.
Katz also gives directions at trying your hand at amazake, a Japanese fermented rice drink. Early on in the process of fermenting amazake, the breakdown of starches from the rice creates sugar that naturally sweetens the resulting beverage that is much like a mellow, thickish smoothie. It can also be eaten, as Katz says, “…as a pudding, strained into a drink, or used as a bubbly base for pancake batter or bread.” It’s a great alternative to cow’s milk and is a great source of energy-sustaining carbohydrates. And because you can use brown rice to make your amazake, all the nutritional benefits of brown rice, like fiber, B-vitamins, iron, and calcium, are readily available alongside live enzymes that will help to improve digestion.
While you might not be enthusiastic about the smell of or process involved in making your own sauerkraut, there are plenty of options offered in this zine that are sure to tempt your creative culinary hands. After all, it’s rewarding to be able to easily make enjoyable foods from scratch while saving a few dollars in the process. So go ahead and buy or borrow a copy of this zine, and the even more extensive book, and create some delicious food that’ll have both your mouth and your digestive system singing a happy tune.
At Liberation BC‘s first A Powerful Voice dialogue event in Vancouver on April 10th, 2010, one of the issues that resonated the most amongst attendees was the lack of a cohesive vegan community in Vancouver. Many people felt they wanted to connect more with others and get together through fun events. Some also wanted these events to be used as an outreach tool and to include everyone, vegan or not, as a way of showing vegans do indeed know how to have a good time while advocating for animal rights. But nobody was quite sure how to do this or where to go to find out about get-togethers already taking place around the city.
Glenn Gaetz, co-founder and a director of Liberation BC, says of the A Powerful Voice series, “These are not specifically Liberation BC events or projects. The idea of these community dialogues is to bring the community together to create together – beyond any single group or coalition. We hope that these events serve to create a stronger, more vibrant, and more effective animal rights community in Vancouver.”
Now is your chance to be a part of community-building by attending A Powerful Voice #2: Planning fun and entertaining outreach events. On Sunday, July 11th, join Liberation BC at Radha Yoga and Eatery and get involved in creating an exciting and dynamic animal advocacy community in Vancouver.
Click on this link to register for the event: http://apowerfulvoice.eventrbite.com
Want to help promote this important event? Send me an e-mail at epicurvegan [at] gmail [dot] com and I’ll hook you up with flyers to print out and distribute.
Join the party and come together with friends old and new. Hope to see you there!
Sincerely, Kombucha – Part 5
Over the nine days that the scoby happily sat in its bath of tea and sugar, it doubled in size every 24 hours. And to my amazement, the dark amber liquid had turned into a lovely honey-coloured tea that looks a lot like a honey pale ale.
And when no moldy bits appeared, I felt a nerdy sense of accomplishment in being able to brew it all by myself.
Everyday I peered at it (several times a day, actually), and many times with Stephen hanging over my shoulder, still making a sour fish-faced look and scrunching his shoulders. Funny that he kept on leaning in for a closer look.
“I saw it move!” he once exclaimed with a fascinated fear rippling across his face.
I told him it was merely gases from the ferment. Every now and then a few edges of the scoby to lift slightly and make it look as if it were having a teeny belch. He looked very dubious, glancing at the jar on the counter as if he expected it to leap forth and whisper “Boo!”
With much fanfare, in my mind anyway, the day came that I finally got to bottle my first batch of home-brewed kombucha.
I felt a kind of excitement that most vegans reserve for a really gooey icing-slathered cinnamon bun.
I proudly surveyed my 10 bottles – yes, 10! – and reminded myself not to snarf them all down and find myself between batches and bereft of kombucha.
As my friend Michelle would say, I am such an addict. But Michelle is also in line for the first of the scoby babies. My subversive plan has worked, heh heh!
The morning after I’d bottled my treasure, I proudly waved a bit of it in front of Stephen, who was a lot less excited than I was about it.
“Look hon, I have kombucha!”
Que another dubious look.
“Come on, have a tiny sip,” I crooned, slinking ever closer with the bottle.
“Not right now, hon,” he replied as he glanced sideways between me and the bottle. His look of revulsion was priceless.
“Just a little one? Please?” I laughed.
His voice rose and he squeaked “No, hon! Not this morning!”
He leaned away out of his desk chair with an expression that I imagined would be akin to the one I’d get if I’d told him I dropped his toothbrush in the toilet.
This morning, I tried again. I waved another bottle in front of Stephen and asked him to try just the tiniest sip.
“No.”
“Just one sip. It’s really not that bad.”
He turned to me, examined the bottle, took it from my hand and said, “Can you get a glass of water ready?”
I returned with the water.
He sniffed at the kombucha.
“It smells like rotting food.”
It’s pungent, yes, but like apple cider, not like something truly gone bad.
Careful to put his lips only on the edge of the bottle’s opening, he raised it and took a sip. I watched with a grin plastered across my face.
The sip was so small he could have filled thimble with it.
As I knew he would, he scrunched up his face, and leaped for the water. He needed two glasses of water to wash it down.
“I’m done,” he gasped, “You can’t bug me about this ever again.” The sour fishy-face was back.
Smacking his lips slightly, he admitted, “That stuff’s nasty, but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. I’m still not drinking it though.”
“You know what would be funny?” I mused, “If you wanted to play a trick on someone when they’re asleep, you could put a scoby on their face.”
“That would be awful! That person would wake up thinking they were in one of the Alien movies,” he replied.
I have seven more bottles left in my fridge. The taste is a fruity, tangy sweet-sour with a slight effervescence, and it’s a much nicer taste than any of the store-bought kombucha I’ve had. There’s even a wee beer-like scent and flavour. There’s another jar of it on my counter, the scoby happily fermenting and bubbling away.
If for no other reason, brew some of your own kombucha just for the silly conversations that will ensue. I promise it will make for some very entertaining morning banter.
Challenging all animal advocates!
I’ve always loved Peaceful Prairie’s blog posts for their moving, beautiful, and often tear-jerking renditions of the lives of the sanctuary’s animals through the animals’ eyes.
When an e-mail from Peaceful Prairie popped into my inbox this afternoon, I knew I had to share with you the campaign the Sanctuary’s embarked upon to promote greater awareness amongst Vancouverites and in the Greater Vancouver Regional District of the suffering of dairy cows and caged and free-range hens.
Here’s an excerpt from their e-mail:
Thanks to generous donors who have pledged $5,000 to this campaign, we now challenge all animal advocates to help us expand the reach of these ads to city buses and online ads which have the potential to reach millions of people.
Please help us secure these ad placements with a generous contribution today.
Imagine the power of teaching the person sitting at the breakfast table with the morning paper, while reading the Milk comes from a Grieving Mother ad, and having that person suddenly realize that they will no longer be the cause of so much suffering.
Commuters will be told the truth about egg production and stop being duped into being complicit in the mass murder of baby roosters and spent hens. They’ll realize that switching to eggs labeled “cage-free” or “free-range” are NOT a “humane alternative” despite what the producers would have them believe.
These ads are groundbreaking in their honesty and powerful in their advocacy for the billions of farmed animals who are trapped in the line of production.
And here’s a picture of what one of the commuter ads looks like in action:
Like these ads in the New York Times, they’re hoping to place ads in the local news dailies, and such ads can be very expensive.
What wouldn’t I give to walk into work one morning and open up the Vancouver Sun to one of these ads!
For a moment, try to imagine the amazing impact this campaign could have in the lives of hundreds, if not thousands of factory farmed animals. The ads could help achieve so much in our common goal of ending the suffering of animals.
Please, if you can contribute to the campaign fund, even if you have a few dollars to spare, click on this link right now to donate whatever you can to help this very effective cause. Every dollar counts, and Peaceful Prairie is one of the most deserving recipients I know of.
“We are all resisting the same system.”
These were the words spoken by animal rights activist former US political prisoner Jeff Luers as he addressed a room full of animal rights activists at the 2010 Let Live Conference this past weekend in Portland, Oregon.
No matter we’re fighting for, whether it be human rights, animal rights, farm workers rights, gay rights, women’s rights, we’re all resisting the same system of oppression. And we all need to support each other and create mutual solidarity between movements to build a coalition to defeat the system.
I was very lucky to be able to travel t0 the conference with several wonderful friends and animal rights activists last Friday and spend the weekend milling about with a few hundred other animal rights activists at the student union building at the Portland State University.
I rubbed shoulders with fellow vegans and activists I’ve been admiring for years, and I know I wasn’t the only one who felt star-struck at seeing so many faces I’d only ever seen via blogs and social media: Kittee Berns of Cake Maker to the Stars, Isa Moskowitz of mega Post-Punk Kitchen and cookbook fame, Josh Hooten and Michelle Wegmann (the masterminds behind the Herbivore Clothing Company), and Jasmin Singer of Our Hen House. And I was so humbled to have met the amazing lauren Ornelas, creator and director of the San Jose, CA-based Food Empowerment Project.
And I was moved beyond words to finally see and listen to Andy Stepanian, one of the six activists known as the Shac 7, all of whom were convicted of terrorism in 2006 for the innocent act of operating a website that was aimed at informing the public about and shutting down one of the most notorious animal testing labs in the world, the Huntingdon Life Sciences lab. Andy and his fellow activists were convicted under AETA – the US Federal Animal Enterprise Terrorism Act, which makes illegal any act that physically interferes with an animal enterprise. Currently, there are still two activists in prison – Lauren Gazzola and Kevin Kjonaas – serving six-year sentences in federal prisons.
Visit Shac.com for more information on the horrific cruelties being committed against hundreds of animals every day by the HLS.
Seeing Andy’s bright spirit, boundless positivity, and fearlessness after being incarcerated in federal prison for three years was so inspiring. I can’t even find the words to express how positive and proud he helped me to feel about being vegan, and how much his passion for his beliefs fueled my own passions for my beliefs.
And besides these folks famous in the veganverse, there were so many fantastic people who showed up to give a damn about animal rights and human rights. It was truly a magical and inspiring place to be with so many people interested in supporting each other in our common goal of ending animal suffering, as well as the suffering of people involved in the animal production and farming industries. The trust, openness, and willingness to connect with each other was so uplifting.
There is so much to say about what I learned, what I saw, and what I took away with me. I’m still at a loss for words to express the joy I felt at being surrounded by so many amazing vegans and animal rights activists.
Video of the sessions from this year’s conference should be posted soon, so keep an eye on the Let Live Foundation’s website. I promise you any time you spend watching the footage will leave you feeling as inspired, motivated, and hopeful as those of us at the conference did.
Now, I’m going to use the fire that’s been lit under me to accomplish great things. As Christoper Greenslate of the One Dollar Diet Project said, “When everyone starts working on the same page, we’re devastating.” And devastating we shall be.
Sincerely, Kombucha – Part 4
And here she be. Not very appealing, eh? As I joked to a friend, it’s a scoby only a mother could love.
Thank goodness I’m not the mother.
I awoke Saturday morning with one thing on my mind: I had to get the scoby into the tea.
After washing my brewing jar and pouring in the tea, I turned to open the fridge. Rather, I paused and then faced the fridge thinking, “Is there any way I can get it into the jar without touching it?”
Normally, I’m not squeamish. When I get blood drawn, I’m actually a bit fascinated when I see it. Dead things have never bothered me. (Except for zombies, but that’s another discussion altogether.) And I like spiders, just as long as they’re not too big.
I opened the fridge, picked up the jar containing massacred jellyfish-like scoby, and looked at it.
I almost felt bad for thinking it was ugly. Almost.
For a moment, I felt like I was back at Radha again, looking at the jar Andrea had handed me and wondering if I could just change my mind.
I’d gone through the bother of finding a brewing jar. I’d decided the sugar and tea I was using had to be organic and fair-trade. I bought a filter for my water jug after deciding forego the Brita and to stick with straight tap water. And I’d spent far too much money buying bottles of the Fairy’s Tonic, though I have plenty enough bottles to re-use when I did finally have kombucha to drink. I had to go ahead with it.
I opened the jar and got a whiff of the kombucha that came with the scoby. It wasn’t an altogether objectionable smell. And I got to thinking it’s interesting that the smell of some fermented things that are good for us isn’t nearly as nasty as forgotten dirty lunch containers or old food in a dark corner of the fridge way, way past it’s due date. Fermented things, like sourdough, miso, sauerkraut, and kombucha all seem to have odours that tempt my taste buds, not make me want to don hazard gear. The odour of fermenting beer, on the other hand, always makes me gag.
Without dropping the scoby or splashing tea and kombucha everywhere, I could see simply sliding the scoby out of its jar into the large brewing jar wasn’t the best idea. So I poured the kombucha into the jar and let the scoby slide into the palm of my cupped hand.
The soft, cool texture of the scoby wasn’t nearly as creepy as I thought. And I could see that the apple-sized lump that had been in the jar really was a thin pancake. A warty, ragged, multi-hued pancake, but it wasn’t as big or slimy as my overactive imagination had feared.
Feeling a little better about it all, I gently placed the scoby into the jar, covered the opening, and placed the jar in a corner of my kitchen counter.
Now comes the patient waiting. I kinda feel like a mother hen. Well, a mother hen that actually gets to brood on her eggs and be a mum the way she should be.
I reminded myself to tell the mister, once he got out of bed, not to look too closely at it lest he be in for a really unexpected surprise.
So I reminded him. And he lookielooed at the jar like someone passing by a bad car accident. I tried to block his view. I warned him again. But still he looked.
The look of horror on his face was really entertaining.
He gawked, looked closer, and made several awkward facial expressions.
“You’re going to drink that?” he asked incredulously.
“Well, not the scoby,” I replied. “I’m going to drink the tea. Some say you can eat the scoby and that it’s good for you. I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”
“I’m glad it’s your science experiment and not mine,” he said, grimacing as he scrunched his shoulders and drew away from the jar.
“So I can’t get you to drink some?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“More for me,” I said as I smiled and considered devious plans.
Since Saturday, several times a day I stop to gaze at the wonderful jar o’ stinky to see what the scoby’s up to, especially since passing by the kitchen means catching a wee brewery-like smell. (Note that I said ‘wee’. It’s really not that smelly.)
I see small bubbles clinging here and there to the edges of the pancake. I guess that means something’s happening. Perhaps it looks slightly bigger? Maybe I’m just being hopeful. At one point I saw the scoby burp. Right as a leant over to have a look, out from under it escaped a rather large bubble. Hmmm. That thing better not sprout an eye.
Six more days to go. I am oddly excited and anxious about my science experiment working out.
Sincerely, Kombucha – Part 3
Enter Andrea Potter and Radha.
This past Wednesday, decked out in cycling gear, I trudged my way up the stairs to Radha’s dining and yoga space and asked to buy a scoby.
Several minutes later, a small jar in hand, Andrea came out to greet me.
After a few words she asked, “Have you brewed before?” noting the slightly scared look on my face as I peered at the ugly lump of white and brown in the jar she’d handed me.
“Nope,” I replied, considering that perhaps I’d gotten myself into more than I could stomach. Could I just slink away and leave it there? Could I change my mind?
“Well, good luck!” she said as she turned back to the kitchen.
I handed over my $3.15, I marched down the stairs, stowed my scoby in my pannier, and biked home.
Before the mister saw what I pulled out of my bag, I quickly palmed the jar and stuffed it into the fridge and out of sight.
I hoped he would stick to his usual routine and not poke around the fridge too much.
Then, I made my plan. I found my jar, bought my sugar, picked out my tea, and tonight I got down to brewing.
Atop my stove sits four liters of black tea. I suspect it will take until after midnight to cool.
I peer down into the amber depths of the pot and note to myself not to buy bulk sugar again. I reach for a spoon to scoop out a wayward sunflower seed that somehow made it into my bag of sugar at the store. Looking again, I frown at the pair of sesame seeds that dance around in the eddies of hot water at the bottom of the pot.
Worried thoughts of a moldy scoby and ruined batch of tea float through my mind.
Then I see tiny bits of black tea have escaped the teabags and settled as sediment in the bottom of the pot. I frown more.
Already I have questions.
Sincerely, Kombucha – Part 2
Weeks later, while vacationing in Portland, I’d spied bottled kombucha in cafes and we’d pass each other by, me gazing at the bubbly tea like a bashful schoolgirl with a crush.
Finally, we met.
It was an awkward first encounter.
My first sips were tinged with the essence of beer. I loathe beer.
After a quarter of the bottle, the tangy, effervescent tonic began to taste like apple cider vinegar. Mmmm. Stinky socks.
After a whole bottle, I was still undecided. I loved the light fizz it left on my tongue. I didn’t so much like the little brown floaty things in my tea.
Perhaps I ought not to have started out drinking such a big bottle. Bubbly tummy, a slightly heady sensation. And a very faint feeling of being tipsy.
The next day my tongue announced to my mouth it wanted more. No one was more surprised than me. But I didn’t give in.
The day after that, I wanted another bottle of kombucha even more than I wanted a hot, sweet Earl Grey tea. Yowza.
I found another bottle. Again I was undecided. I liked it. I didn’t like it. But I wanted it.
And so, much like my odd cravings for broccoli and beans – you know, stuff that’s good for you – I wanted more kombucha.
By now, I’ve made my way through 16 bottles of it.
I’ve mulled, I’ve dithered, and I’ve gushed about the Fairy’s Tonic. Should I brew it myself? How is the mister gonna feel about it? Stinky, weird foodie stuff is not his thing.
Last Sunday, while attending a sewing class at the lovely Spool of Thread in East Vancouver, I pulled a bottle of kombucha out of my bag.
A small voice whispered behind me, “I see you drinking that kombucha, you addict!”
Yes, I have a problem. And I did something about it.
Sincerely, Kombucha – Part 1
A while back, before my beloved cast iron frying pan bit the rust, I wrote a couple of posts called The Frying Pan Diaries. Someday, when I am brave enough to march into battle with sandpaper in hand, I’ll write a little bit more about my frying pan adventures. For now, I thought this style of writing would be a rather funny way of telling about my tales brewing kombucha.
Not so long ago, I’d noticed a friend exclaim on Twitter, “Does anyone in Vancouver want a kombucha mother? Mine just had a baby!”
Like many things trendy, “kombucha” was a term that drifted across my radar occasionally that I paid little attention to. Even my mum had sent me a link about it after she and a coworker had chatted about it. I clicked, I saw, and I said no.
But it took my friend’s head-turning tweet to tweak my attention.
I thought, “Huh? What the heck had a baby?”
Several blogs and photos later, I decided that just the look of a kombucha scoby was enough to give me the heebee-jeebees. A rubbery beige pancake with floaties? Tasty? Healthy? Nuh-uh. That stuff’s so not for me.
Another friend, whose husband sells his home-brewed kombucha at local farmers markets in Vancouver, described the scoby as having a mouth feel like boba pearls.
This was not at all sounding like anything tasty.
By then, though, it was too late. I’d read too much. The word was already steeping in my mind. My curiosity had gotten a nip of something new and wanted a little bit more.
