I've recently developed an obsession with the diverse and time-tested food tradition of fermentation.
Jars of kimchi and sauerkraut, kefir and kombucha, are regulars on my
kitchen shelf, quietly teeming with life and effervescence.
Little did I know, when I first chopped and salted cabbage, pounded
it until my knuckles were pink, and left it to it's own mysterious
processes, that this simple act would take me on a journey through time
and space, from the emergence of cellular life on earth 3.5 billion
years ago, to the complex nature of human identity, to the inner
workings of my own gut.
Kefir - the 'Champagne of the Caucasus'
Allow me to introduce fermentation properly, personally, through one
of my newer acquaintances: kefir. A fermented dairy drink known as
"the champagne of the Caucasus Mountains"
(Margulis and Sagan, 70), kefir is thought to have originated amongst
nomadic shepherds, who inoculated cow, goat or sheep milk with kefir
grains.
Over time they selecting for the best starters, thereby propagating certain microbial individuals and eliminating others.
Kefir grains form from a symbiotic community of bacteria and yeast
(SCOBY) which share nutrients and coordinate reproduction. While some of
the microbial members of this community have been identified, the
synergistic effect of their relationships has so far defied replication
in the laboratory.
In the words of biologist Lynn Margulis,
"Kefir can no more be made by the 'right mix' of chemicals or microbes than can oak trees or elephants." (Margulis and Sagan, 74)
The grains look a bit like troll boogers. They form white, rubbery,
pea- to walnut-size clusters which grow and reproduce quickly if fed and
kept at the right temperature.
And the boogers are lively ...
I've learned that the fermentation happens more rapidly if the milk
is stirred at least once a day, exposing more liquid to kefir grain
surfaces, where metabolic activity is highest.
The pace of the fermentation process has worked its way into the
rhythm of my days - how long it ferments strongly influences its
consistency, effervescence, and sourness, down to the hour.
It's inevitable to begin regarding these strange little blobs as
animate organisms. I admit to developing an affection for them. When I
went away for Christmas, I left them in the fridge without milk to slow
down their metabolism, and asked a friend to feed them every few days to
keep them alive.
She forgot, and I returned to find a sad, yellowing lump of grains. I
assumed they were "dead", their microbial composition irreversibly
changed, no longer the coherent system that I had come to know and care
for.
But, just in case, I picked out a few whiter, plumper clusters
beneath the exposed surface and transferred them to a jar of fresh milk.
Within a few days, they had doubled in size, and the milk had soured
and fizzed promisingly.
I sipped it with caution, trusting my nose and tongue to know the
difference between kefir and milk-gone-off. Joyously, the kefir grains
had persisted, resilient little buggers. We're back in business.
