The Age of Ferment

“Just because you can play an accordion doesn’t mean you should.”

Here in Texas we all grew up listening to the accordion, brought over by German and Central European settlers in the mid-19th century and enthusiastically adopted by their Mexican counterparts into a still-adored form of music called “Conjunto” ( meaning “together," as in mixed up into a wonderful musical stew of sorts).

Perhaps because accordion music was the music of our fathers, or maybe because the instrument was just an odd looking thing ( a small piano strapped to your chest?), we ridiculed it, hence the aphorism above.

Same went for that bit of culinary heritage: kraut. Sour sauerkraut—ick! Kraut was something you were forced to eat by your parents, who may have had nothing but kraut to eat when they were your age.

“If it was good enough for my grandfather, its good enough for you, son" mothers would say with that steely-eyed stare, which was at once both bad for one's digestion and bad for one's bottom if you talked back.

None of us gave any thought to how kraut was made, or why it became part of any human's diet. To us kids, it tasted like it was scraped from the bottom of some barrel. Little did we know, we were correct! The best kraut did come from fine old barrels, and if you were lucky, maybe even the bottom of that barrel. 

Could it be sauerkraut is an apt metaphor for our current times?

What gives kraut that flavorful funkiness?  Well, for one, kraut is a fermented food. As folks have known for many generations, and in virtually all cultures around the world, fermenting is at once flavor-enhancing, food-preserving, and as my old German friends in Fredericksburg, TX say, "Gut für die Magen" (good for the gut). So why has it gotten such a bad rap up to now? Marketing , my friend, marketing. The good news for all you fermenting fans out there is that it's making a comeback. People are rediscovering the joys and benefits of good, fermented foods and beverages. Things are changing all around us these days. One could appropriately proclaim we live in a "world of ferment".

A tip of my virtual hat to Meredith Thomas, whose urban farm the “The Vegetable House” prepares and sells a witch’s brew of all sorts of fermented veggies.  She told me things I did not realize I needed to know about fermenting—why and how you do it, and what comes from it.

You see, like most modern people, I naturally believe in cause & effect, predictable methods in which every step of the way can be planned, known, watched, and predicted.  You should, of course, conduct your rocket launches into space in this manner. But fermenting kraut? Not so much. 

It turns out that fermenting is more about instinctive conjuring. While it is true that somewhat precise amounts of various ingredients should be thrown in a mason jar or barrel in hopes of producing a particular and flavorful outcome, it is also true that each sampling of ingredients (usually vegetables) grows, is transported, sits, and collects natural yeast, bringing some degree of variation into the fermenting solution every time. The fun of it is that each batch can turn out different. Wine makers have known this (harnessing similar natural forces), and wine culture celebrates wonderful variations in outcomes.

Fermenting, whether it applies to sauerkraut or our changing world, needs better marketing.

Here now is my first metaphor for this “world of ferment” we live in today: Don't get too hung up on overly-precise predictions about how all of this will turn out. In our world of ferment, too much is brewing to be certain of the result. Embrace whatever the outcome is, and also be prepared to throw it out if it comes out a bit too funky.

My second metaphor: This world of ferment is mysterious and can even be a bit messy.

Tell me if this describes your life over the past few months: The fine produce of spring was sitting perfectly beautiful on the counter waiting to be consumed. Then it was thrown into darkness, the lid fixed so tightly that nothing could breath in there. There it sat, stewing in its own juices, turning from one thing, into the next.

It happens in its own way, in its own time, with minimum supervision from us. You could try to watch it happen but you probably won’t see much because not much seems to happen, at least in the short term. But if you are patient, you may see the results of the alchemy that you did not cause, but created the conditions in which it might occur.  Perhaps you’ll notice the colors in the jar evolving. Or the texture of the ingredients changing. Maybe even bubbles forming and rising to the top. 

Ferment requires darkness for transformation, and you’ll see bubbling, sometimes even an explosion along the way.

We live in a world  of ferment.

Fear not. Just as fermented food can be good for your gut, the consideration of the process of fermentation can be good for your soul. It’s the most non-modern of ways to prepare. It requires sitting quietly and letting "it" happen. Some of the catalysts and causes are not exactly predicable or explainable. Yet, for the most part, it comes out okay, irrespective of the occasional bad batch or messy explosion. 

Fermentation is a process of conversion from one thing to the next. A metamorphosis takes hold. It can occur across a very diverse group of foods and drinks, spanning all of the corners of the globe and all cultures. Consider these: Wine, beer, olives, yogurt, bread, cheese, kimchi, poi, chocolate, salami, miso, soy sauce, tempeh, kefir, and yes, even kraut. The list goes on and on: all made through some sort of fermentation. Fermentation is not germination. It is the change which comes at the chrysalis stage.

This is a metaphor for the process of change, of ferment, which can make something wonderful, from something else which might  have been completely different to start with. Where we are now is not necessarily where we will end up. 

This world is in ferment. We are fermenting, being fermented, simultaneously witnessing both the start and the end process. It all seems inexplicable when viewed through our daily lenses, yet the results may be a good thing, healthy, interesting, and that which makes us stronger. Nevertheless, no matter how much we wish to know how it will all turn out, fermentation does not fully allow us to peer into its darkness and divine the end result. We have assembled the ingredients, placed them in with our own hands, and mixed the concoction we now watch with great anticipation. But fermenting involves forces out of our control and unknowable in their fullness.  

This is my final metaphor: It’s about learning to live with uncertainty. But also with the notion that things have a way of working out. Not every time, not every batch. But most jars and barrels will yield, and will delight, if you only let them "be.” You must believe this. This is our world of ferment, and we are all floating in it, awaiting transformation from this time to whatever is our next.