When You Least Expect It

Just when you thought you'd heard it all, somethings sneaks up behind you and catches you by surprise. Jack Keller, a south Texas treasure of fermentation experimentation has for many years promoted the expansion of our palates' pallet of gustatory appreciation. In particular, he strives to show us the wide spectrum of possible ingredients, beyond the traditional foundation of grapes, to ferment and produce successful, enjoyable wines. Recently, however, I stumbled upon something that I suspect even Jack has not yet attempted, or even imagined.

This past Saturday morning, I and a few friends traveled to the fine art destination of Wimberley, Texas, nestled in the middle of nowhere in the Hill Country west of Austin. Although Wimberley is worthy of the trip on its own merit, we specifically traveled that morning to celebrate a new gallery being opened by our friends, Linda and David Jacobson. Linda creates marvelous and joyously expressive interpretations of wildflowers, in paint on canvas (an example appears above). Her art has progressed over the years, with her followers and collectors keeping pace, even expanding beyond the borders of this country.

In Linda's online invitation to the opening, she tells the story of how they came to decide on the particular space their gallery now occupies. As she describes the unfolding events Linda mentions a coffee roasting shop very near the little building her gallery now calls home. As we arrived at the gallery's opening we took note of the "Fisticuffs Coffee Roasters" shop next door. After greeting the Jacobsons and enjoying their new art space and Linda's most recent work, we followed our noses next door, carried along by the aroma of fresh roast.

The sign out front declared "FREE COFFEE," but we wondered what that really meant. Surely, this would be some tiny, thimble-sized communion-cup serving. As we stepped inside, the owner, James Perkins, invited us in and said yes, indeed, the fresh-brewed coffee was free, and we could pour ourselves standard-sized foam cups that were stacked by the warm carafe. The coffee was enjoyable, and clearly, it was freshly roasted.

As we spoke with James, an engaging young man, one in our group mentioned that I make wine. James replied that he, too, makes wine, among many other pursuits. The conversation continued to reveal other interesting coincidences as well. It turned out that, though we had driven fifty or sixty miles from home to reach Wimberley, James actually lives just a mile or two from our own home.

I studied the various coffees James had available on a rack– somewhere between a half-dozen and a dozen varieties. As I looked them over I said to James: "French roast, Italian roast, and Espresso I understand, but what in the world is 'Drunken Bean Roast?'" He chuckled a little as he responded. "Well, since I make wine, and roast coffee, I thought 'Why not take some green, unroasted beans and ferment them just like making wine?' So I did, and then I rescued the beans from the must when the fermentation was complete. Finally, I roasted the raw beans, and here they are!"

James further surprised me by pulling out a white, five-gallon primary fermentation bucket, with its fermentation lock still in place on the lid. He removed the lid, exposing the nearly black liquid within, and said "Check this out!" I drew near the bucket, stuck my face within its confines, and took a slow, deep breath. The smell was clearly wine-like. It was not wine-like in the sense of grapey-ness, but wine-like because of the obvious use and strong activity of wine yeast, mixed with a quite intense aroma of ethanol. And there also lingered some other conspicuous, but unknown fragrances in the mix– I suspect these derived from the raw coffee beans.

The whole process astonished and intrigued me. It is refreshingly unusual to find someone with James's culinary spirit of adventure, so I had to buy a pound to try it out.

For a few hours we investigated several of the other fine art establishments in the heart of Wimberley, and then found our way back to our vehicle. Merely opening the door reminded us all that, inside, a bag of fresh-roasted beans was waiting to go home with us. The return drive through the Hill Country was savored again and arriving home we observed that the completed day had been richly enjoyed by each of us.

Eager to sample the unique coffee in my possession, I opened the bag. The whole beans were very deep brown, near black, in color. The aroma, while clearly coffee-like,  carries something different in its makeup, floating just above the roasted coffee base. While my wife believes she detects strong notes of fermentation (she describes it as "beer-like"), for some reason I don't get that at all. To me, the notes of fermentation, while clearly present in the fermentation bucket, seemed to vanish for me in the roasted product. I distinguish more of a forward, brighter aroma than that of fermentation. It remains something difficult for me to describe.

After grinding the beans to an almost black heap of grounds, I started brewing my first pot. Unlike the strong aroma of coffee that greeted us as we returned to our car in Wimberley, the brewing pot emanated a quite different aura into our kitchen. To be sure, this was the smell of coffee brewing, but there was another, and quite undefinable fragrance riding atop it. Pouring the coffee into my white-interior cup, I was startled by the lightness of the color in comparison to the darkness of the beans and grounds.

I poured the remainder of the pot into a quart Pyrex measuring vessel to better observe the visual aspects of the coffee. I was surprised yet again that in the large glass cup the coffee appeared fairly dark. A very deep reddish brown was evident, but more striking was the high clarity of the brew. The coffee nearly sparkled in the light of the halogen bulbs above it. It almost reminded me of the optical characteristics of a well-clarified wine.

All that remained was to drink a cup and attempt to describe it. I mention "attempt," as I yet find it difficult to pin down the experience of drinking the "Drunken Bean." Overall, I find it fairly light on the palate. Tasting a cup of coffee made from beans this dark usually involves most of the back of the oral cavity, extending even into the upper regions of the throat. The taste of this brew stands much farther forward in the mouth, and seems far brighter, fresher, than my expectations.

Further tastings over the remainder of the pound should reveal more of the subtleties of this distinctly unique and adventurous roast, but to sum it up– "Drunken Bean" is a delightful way to say "Good morning!" to the sun as it breaks the eastern horizon.

A Busload of Fermentation

Tara Whitsitt, formerly of Oregon and now a nomadic educational entrepreneur, has put wheels on her dream. Ms Whitsitt is all about things fermentable (dear to our own hearts here at "On Ferm Ground!") and speaks the languages of fermentation well beyond the conventional speech of mere beer and wine. She is fluent in kraut, kimchi, kombucha, and keifer, not to mention sourdough, vinegar, pickles, and even more esoteric fermentations like tibicos and tempeh.

Tara's dream was to literally build a "Fermentation On Wheels"– what would become a traveling educational exhibit of living fermentation cultures. A 27 year old school bus was obtained and converted into a mobile fermentation lab and center for workshops that would be open to the public. Now in its second year of operation the educational and knowledge-exchange center travels the length and breadth of the country, spreading the good news of fermentation along the way.

Tara's idea dredges up memories from my childhood. Growing up in a small midwest community in the 1950s, our neighborhood stood at quite a distance from the nearest metropolitan area. Cultural opportunities were uncommon then and there– no internet existed, no plethora of special-interest television channels, no amazon.com for easy access to the world's literature, art and music. But weekly, a ray of stimulating sunlight would roll into our neighborhood in the form of a big navy-blue bus, with the words "BOOKMOBILE" emblazoned on the side in large gold letters.

After parking, the mobile-librarian would take off her bus-driver "hat" and put on her librarian one. She would then usher us into the inner sanctum of the rolling library. Its book shelves, which entirely lined both walls of the bus, were dimly lit by the sunlight entering only through the large windshield in the front of the bus. The dimness of the scene, the earthy aroma of the old books, and the literary excitement that awaited us automatically thrust us into the appropriate hush of a "real" library. The librarian helped us select books, and made suggestions after quizzing us about our interests. After books we had obtained from the previous week's visit were returned, we piled out of the bus and started on the several block walk back home, our reading-treasures clutched in our arms.

At each stop, Tara holds workshops to introduce people to the wide spectrum of fermentation possibilities. Like our old book-mobile-librarian, Tara ushers local fermentation newbies (and veterans, on occasion) into the wonders of microbe-farming and foodstuff modification. She also exchanges starter cultures with the locals to expand her own palette of microbes as well as theirs. And her website is a treasure of interesting fermentation recipes, complete with detailed, proven processes.

It's great to know that someone has such a passion for things seething with microbiological life. Take your own passion and dreams and add to them "wheels" like Tara has!

Springtime in January

While the calendar declares that it is still the middle of January, the South Texas day here is shouting "Springtime!"  The clearest of blue skies, the brightest of sunlight, the balmiest of temperatures, and even some of the local flora seem to be expecting an earlier than usual vernal equinox. On the table before me is a small copy of Antonio Canova's sculpture of the "Three Graces." Their attire seems to indicate the nearness of spring, not the depths of winter.

This turned out to be the perfect occasion to taste the first edition of yet another offering of MG Ragtop. This current incarnation was promoted to me as "an experiment" that has not yet had the dust settle on its recipe. One of the group's founders, Sam Antonio, explained to me that they were attempting to capture within a single brew the spirit and "flavor" (in the deepest sense) of a Mexican "mechelada."

The mechelada has its origins in the home garden. As Wikipedia explains, the concoction is "...a Mexican cerveza preparada made with beer, lime juice, and assorted sauces, spices, and peppers..."  Basically, you take a bottled beer, go out to your garden, pick whatever you can find, and then raid your refrigerator and pantry, combining it all to produce something that is beer-like, yet filled with a smorgasbord (what's the Mexican equivalent of a smorgasbord?) of gardeny-goodness. This was the inspiration for MG's efforts. 

Upon opening and pouring the product, I was surprised to see the richness of its color. I had thought that this would be a fairly light-colored liquid. Instead, I was greeted with an amber that is much deeper in color than what is usually referred to as amber. This amber was not the color of the middle "caution" light of a traffic signal, but the deeper, almost orange, of geological amber– the petrified sap or resin of trees dead and gone, long ago. I half expected to see the petrified remains of a million-year-old ant or wasp captured in its interior.

The head made its generous appearance as I poured. It displayed a color almost identical to that of fresh cream. The head had good persistence but did not remain longer than desirable.

Then came the first taste. I was quite surprised that a brew this visually dark had such a non-dark flavor. Immediately, came the sensation of gardens in general. It was light, bright, fresh, appealing, and reminiscent of warm, bright days spent spent tending the garden and getting dirt under my fingernails. I reach over, pluck a perfect snow-pea from its vine, snap it in half and enjoy the green nectar and crunch within.

The gardeny freshness of the brew was a general impression, but the specific flavors coming to mind were, believe it or not, a clear initial burst of cucumber! and then a somewhat more subtle finish that included fresh chiles. A veritable green garden in a bottle! Well done, MG.  And when you think about tinkering with this formula in the future, please don't tinker with it too much!

A Seething Agriculture

Ferment,

   from the Latin fermentare, "to leaven" 

       which is from the root fervere, "to seethe, boil, or bubble"

Fermentation, encompassing the processes resulting in wine, beer, kamboucha, yoghurt, and many cheeses, is really a method of "farming in a bottle." Fermentation can be considered a form of "micro-agriculture." Historically, farming has required a considerable portion of land (either "owned," rented, or share-cropped). And also, historically, it has required a considerable application of sweat to the process (although the more recent innovation of "digital farming" has removed much of the sweat by utilizing robotic tractors and the GPS network).  Sweat and soil have, for millennia, characterized farming.

Fermentation, however, substitutes carbohydrates and other simple food chemistries for soil. And it further substitutes knowledge and patience for sweat. Even if you live in the smallest apartment you can enter into the rich universe of micro-farming. Farming-In-A-Bottle requires no more real-estate than the small footprint of a bucket and a bottle. And instead of surveying your agricultural domain by flying over it in your private aircraft, you can simply lift the cloth cover on your bucket, or shine a flashlight into the bottle and keep watch over your holdings.

Rows of crops in the Macro Agricultural World can be seen while driving down almost any rural lane in America (or the world, for that matter): cotton, maize, peaches, grape vines.  Instead, in the micro-farming world, if you could look close enough, or have fine enough microscopic vision, you would see row upon row of unimaginably small yeast "plants" (or whatever particular microbe defines your "crop").  The "rows" of these crops are pretty random and jumbled, and very organic in design. And instead of being confined to the two-dimensional surface of the earth, the interface of soil and atmosphere, these "rows" can typically fill the three-dimensional volume of bucket or bottle.

As the tiny "plants" metabolize the "soil" and "atmosphere" they veritably seethe with life, bubbling and boiling up within the "farm" (the container). A common product of their living is the breathing out of carbon dioxide gas, producing a galaxy of tiny bubbles rising to the surface. Often, the tiny yeast (or other microbial cells) hitch a ride on the bubbles and can actually be seen as miniscule rafts, or colonies, bouyed to the very top of their universe.

Finally, when harvest-time comes you needn't hire the specialized (and high-priced!) services of a mechanical combine or picker.  You simply siphon or decant the product into a clean bottle, insert a cork (or "Zork") and slap on a label (so you don't forget the identity of the contents!).  

Chipotle Chocolate Porter

MG Ragtop Productions

As I write, I am enjoying a singularly magnificent artwork produced by a local niche brewery (MG Ragtop). It is bold, rich, creamy, dark...as black as the ace of spades, in flavor as well as hue. It claims to be "Chipotle/Chocolate Porter," and the Chi-Cho, while evident, is incredibly subtle and perfectly integrated into the overall experience. This is a beverage that is more than a beverage...it is truly an experience. And a wonderful experience it is!

The creamy and persistent head stands head-and-shoulders above what usually passes for a head. It is nearly like a chocolate pudding, that comes tumbling, almost explosively, from the confines of its bottle. I wondered whether it would ever subside enough for me to taste the dark liquid that gave it birth.

The forward flavor was, for me, the smoke. Chipotle has a singular way of bringing to mind the smoke of memories: campfires, wood-fired barbecues, even witnessing the local lumberyard burning to a pile of ashes (what an experience that was!). And the pique of the pepper itself is noticeable as a tiny tingling presence on the tongue. Not hot, not even spicy...simply the light staccato percussion in the background. And although the flavor is up-front, it is not over-powering, over-bearing, or even over-dominant. Just THERE!

The chocolate, even more subtle than the chipotle, is not so much tasted as it is felt. It contributes a round darkness that takes the swarthy elixir to even deeper depths in the shadows.

Let the Yeast Be Pitched!

Stuffed full with potential and anticipation in their DNA, tiny microbes are released from suspended animation. Tumbling free from their enforced captivity, at long last they meet the objects of their desire-- warmth, moisture, vitamins, lipids, oxygen, nitrogen, and above all, carbohydrates. Breathing and drinking in these intoxicating elixirs they grow, mate, and produce prodigious progeny. And all the while, they are breathing out carbon dioxide and they are pumping out ethanol. 

This is the initial offering of On Ferm Ground, a running commentary on all things zymous,  zymurgical, and zymological. We hope to explore the width, the depth, and the height of the fermentation arts and sciences. Please join us in this adventure, and offer up your own musings and mumblings. Your response will be fertilizer to our continued activity. 

Finally, their work will be done. Slowing down, and their potency draining away, these natural miracles of the microscopic biome have met their match. Their food is now depleted, their once invigorating atmosphere now a soporific. Drifting, falling, settling to the lower regions, they become the dregs of their universe. But what they have left behind, the posterity of their lives, is carefully drawn off to be lovingly deposited in glass vaults-- waiting for the final experience, the consummation.