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.