Fair Kombucha

My husband and I attended Bastyr University’s 17^th annual Herb & Food Fair today with their theme of “Get Down with Your Roots:  Celebrating Heritage from Earth to Table.”  With the bright sun light and the blue sky, my husband and I meandered through the Bastyr University gardens, before the event started, enjoying the light breeze and beholding the plants and their labels, admiring the foliage and flowers, taking in their scents and admiring the plant textures.  The Herb & Food Fair offered educational speakers and workshops, cooking demonstrations, walking tours of the Medicinal Herb Garden, herbal foot soaking, live music, children’s activities, homemade food, jewelry and more.  The Fair flyer on the Bastyr website also mentioned a workshop on Kombucha.  Our daughter had mentioned Kombucha Tea weeks before, a substance I knew nothing about, and so Paul and I decided to sit in on a Kombucha workshop today.  My post is for those equally uninitiated to Kombucha.  I have not tried Kombucha.  Yet.

Chris Joyner, owner of CommuniTea Kombucha, http://communitea-kombucha.com/ whose 50-minute talk was labeled “Kombucha as a Folk Beverage; history and health values of the fermented drink,”  gave us a brief overview of what Kombucha is, how it’s made, and what the health benefits are.  His talk, combined with my web research, revealed that Kombucha is “made from sweetened tea that’s been fermented by a symbiotic colony of bacteria and yeast (a SCOBY, a.k.a. ‘mother’ because of its ability to reproduce, or ‘mushroom’ because of its appearance)” http://www.foodrenegade.com/kombucha-health-benefits/ . 

Joyner has been making Kombucha since 1993, stating that he makes his Kombucha “traditionally and authentically,” citing science from the books Nourishing Tradition by Sally Fallon and The Art of Fermentation by Sandor Ellix Katz and research by Michael Roussin at http://www.kombucha-research.com/?hop=hrc2012 which informs his fermenting methods.  Joyner mentioned some theories about Kombucha originating from China or Russia.  One website  “In the first half of the 20th century, extensive scientific research was done on Kombucha’s health benefits in Russia and Germany, mostly because of a push to find a cure for rising cancer rates. Russian scientists discovered that entire regions of their vast country were seemingly immune to cancer and hypothesized that the kombucha, called “tea kvass” there, was the cause. So, they began a series of experiments which not only verified the hypothesis, but began to pinpoint exactly what it is within kombucha which was so beneficial.”  http://www.foodrenegade.com/kombucha-health-benefits/

Health benefits of Kombucha Tea, one site listed, were:  detoxification, joint care, digestion, and immunity boosting.  http://www.thekitchn.com/how-to-make-kombucha-tea-at-home-cooking-lessons-from-the-kitchn-173858.  Joyner cautioned the audience about the purported health benefits of Kombucha, adding that although he believes there are many health benefits to Kombucha, the adage “if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is,” could moderate the hype.  I appreciated his integrity in sharing this.

            Materials and ingredients needed to make Kombucha (borrowed from the CommuniTea Kombucha flyer):  Pan for heating water, 3 quarts non-chlorinated water, 4 Tablespoons of tea (they suggest green tea as it’s less bitter and has more antioxidants and polyphenols), 7/8 cup sugar, SCOBY (symbiotic colony of bacteria and yeast), a gallon-sized glass fermenting container, a cloth to cover container “mouth” and rubber band to hold cloth.  The instructions suggest that you allow this mixture (after the steeping process) to ferment for 7-9 days in room temperatures between 78 and 80 degrees Farenheit, tasting it periodically for the right ratio of tartness and sweetness, which Joyner says is based on personal preference.

After hearing Joyner speak and examining the bag of starter with the SCOBY floating in it, in addition to researching the topic further, my interest for both making my own batch and taste-testing Kombucha, was piqued.  And repulsed.  This mixture of intrigue and repulsion could be my own “starter” kit. 

Grandma, Grandpa and Jello

It looked like an ordinary jello salad.  An ordinary YELLOW jello salad sitting on a piece of lettuce, on a pretty salad plate, to the left of our dinner plates.  Grandma had a veritable feast prepared for us.  She must have spent hours putting this meal together.  Slow roasted beef, boiled potatoes shiny from the butter toss, cooked carrots and peas, homemade bread warm from the oven, and the ordinary yellow jello salad.  We prayed before the meal. 

Grandpa and Grandma had invited Paul, my fiancé, and I over so they could meet him. We were visiting my parents that week from Michigan and took a day to visit Grandpa and Grandma, in the nearby town of Edgerton, Minnesota.  Farm country.  It was good to be back in Edgerton.  We were enveloped in their embraces and kisses and invited in.

As we ate our meal, we talked about when Grandpa and Grandma lived on the farm.  They shared stories of how the brutal winters made it necessary for a rope to be tied from the house to the barn so that during the blizzards, they could still reach the barn to feed the animals, and then return to the house safely.  They had recently moved to “the city” after selling off their land, their house, and the out buildings.  I missed their farm.  Conversation among us felt comfortable and familiar.  The food felt like we were home.  And then, as if it had been choreographed, Paul and I both took a bite of the jello.  The transparent jello, with unknown items suspended in it, remained a mystery.  Until, that is, when Paul and I simultaneously placed a good portion of it in our mouths.   Jello can be such a fun food to eat.  We loved it as children.  Grandma had put shredded carrots in this yellow jello just like my mom would do.  Hmmm, I thought, what could that be?  Oh, fruit cocktail?   But.  Wait.  What.  Is.  In.  My.  Mouth?  Paul turned and looked at me and I could tell he wanted to extract the mysterious food from his mouth.  We swallowed.  I took my fork and pushed the jello around, all the while conversing with my grandparents, and examining the salad plate further.  My probing produced an offal substance.  Corned beef.  Cubed.   The roof of my mouth was now coated as if I had taken a bite out of a bacon candle.

I later told my mom about the great dinner Grandma made, about the captivating stories they shared, and I mentioned the jello salad, and she giggled.  “Oh, I have that recipe if you want it.”   

We now have a family cookbook and the recipe for Corned Beef Gelatin Salad is forever preserved.  Just like a can of corned beef.

3 oz. package lemon gelatin

1 ½ cups hot water

2 T. vinegar

1 can corned beef, cut in small pieces

½ tsp. salt

3 cups shredded carrots

1 cup drained peas

1 onion, finely minced

1 cup finely diced celery

3 hard-cooked eggs, chopped

1 cup mayonnaise

Dissolve gelatin in hot water.  Add vinegar.  Cool until syrupy; then add remaining ingredients.  Pour into a mold or a 9X13 inch pan and chill until firm.  If desired, 2 T. of horseradish may be added to mayonnaise.

Indian Food and Angry Housewives

On Mother’s Day this year, I drove over to West Seattle with my husband Paul, his brother Dave, our sister-in-law Claire and their beautiful daughter Vivian to catch a showing of Angry Housewives at the ArtsWest Theatre (http://www.artswest.org/theatre-plays/angry-housewives/).  The show tells the story of four adult women who form a band in an attempt to win top prize at a punk-rock band contest.  The musical performances were captivating, the storyline poignant, and hilarious at times, and I’m thankful I got to see it.   Laughed loudly and frequently!  Afterwards, we wanted to grab something to eat in the area and we thought we would check out the Maharaja restaurant, http://maharajawestseattle.com/. The restaurant is located just up the street from the theatre at 4542 California Ave. SW. Reservations are accepted for parties of 6 or more, but we didn’t need them (for reservations: (206) 935-9443).  This restaurant offers a variety of Indian Curries, with dining hours from 11:30am – 1:00am, 7 days a week.  We arrived after the show at 5:30pm and were seated right away at a great spot with a long table and leather booth seating on one side, and chairs on the other, both of which were very comfortable.  The mood and lighting were subdued, and there were very few other patrons in there at the time, as they had just finished up their Sunday brunch.  The waiter was relaxed, and spoke quietly, with prompt attention to our drink and appetizer orders, before attending to our entree choices. We really liked the atmosphere, which made it easy for us to talk about our experience of the show, and revisit favorite scenes.

I ordered the Chicken Biryani, which the menu says is “Aromatic Basmati rice cooked with chicken and Indian spices” for $12.95.  All Biryani, it states, comes with Almonds, Cashews, and Raisins. I love those items with my rice, and was disappointed when my dinner came and I didn’t see many actually in the dish I was served. Next time  I would definitely ask for more up front.  I had never ordered a Biryani before, and later checked out the Wikipedia and discovered that Biryani (pronounced [bɪr.jaːniː]) is a mixed rice dish from the Indian Subcontinent. It is made with spices, rice and meat or vegetables.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biryani.  The waiter asked what level spiciness I preferred with this dish.  If I’ve never been to a restaurant before, I’m never sure what their level system really means. Will I ask for medium heat and get scorched by the “burn” or will the tepid seasoning disappoint me?  I ordered a medium amount for my Biryani and it arrived without much heat. The bite-sized chicken in my Biryani was delectable, melt-in-your mouth yummy, as if it had been cooked low and slow.  The unfortunate thing though was that there were only 4 small pieces of meat in this dish.  Everyone commented about the rather meager portions we received – these were the dinner entrees, not the lunch items. 

  

We ordered naan bread, both garlic and cheese versions. Because I eat gluten-free I did not have any, but others enjoyed every bite. The flavor and texture of the bread did not disappoint, but the cheese version only showed the slightest evidence of cheese. 

            Our table enjoyed several of the curry dishes, and all reported that they were quite good, although the goat curry was more tough than tender.  The Maharaja was a convenient place to stop after the theatre, with a good atmosphere and attentive service. Food portions were modest, and nothing had a wow factor to impress. I think I would like to try the Maharaja again, perhaps for the Sunday buffet, in order taste a wider variety of their offerings, and give this restaurant a second chance. 

Popcorn and Toads

 
                   

For as long as I can remember popcorn has been one of my favorite foods. For some people it invokes memories of watching a favorite film at a movie theater, or sitting in the stands rooting for your baseball team. But for me, popcorn will always be linked to the memories of my childhood and my pet toad oasis.  The memories will always be mixed.

But let me start from the beginning.  My brother was allergic to dogs and cats and so we couldn’t have pets.  As a curious young girl, I loved most living creatures, (well, except for spiders.)   We had a field behind our house where I spent hours  exploring.  I would venture out among the tall grasses and cattails, the milkweed and goldenrod, and lift up old boards, left behind by building contractors, and discover mother mice tending to their little pink babies.  Or I would find thumb-sized black beetles scurrying away from the exposure to light.  I discovered baby bunnies without mothers. And snakes.  Turtles.  Frogs.  And toads.  True toads, as they’re known in the biological realm, categorized in the family called Bufonidae.

As with most kids my age, I had a blue molded plastic swimming pool, with pictures of mermaids and dolphins on the bottom.  During the hot Michigan summer, I’d fill up the pool with frigid water from the hose, and splash around in it, de-pooling only as the sun was setting.  One day I had this idea that I’d like to have an aquarium, the type seen in pet stores, rectangular, glass, housing mice or frogs or snakes.  My parents quickly vetoed that idea.  I pleaded that I wanted pets and it wasn’t fair that my brother had allergies and that I couldn’t have a dog or a cat. Unmoved, the veto held. Discouraged, I sat in my pool, cool water to my waist, and pondered how I could turn my blue plastic swimming pool into the aquarium I wanted.

First, I drained the pool of its water.  Then I brought in pails and pails of dirt from the field.  It took me hours to fill the pool, but I was a girl with a plan and no heavy equipment.  Once I had what looked to be enough dirt, I took my hands and bulldozed some of the dirt into mounds, patted and smoothed them, and created valleys that could hold water.  I cracked small leafy branches from trees and stuck the stalks into the sandy mounds to create miniature shade trees for the future inhabitants of my oasis. 

The first time I picked up one such inhabitant to place into its new oasis, it peed on my hand.  I didn’t know a toad commonly did that but I quickly learned to pick the next, and the next, up by placing my thumb and index finger on either side of its billowy, squishing, sides.  I briefly wondered if the warts on its back would transfer to my skin but the adults I asked allayed my fears.  I still wondered.  And vowed that I would always pick the toad up “correctly” so that I wouldn’t have the toad pee on me again.  Pee = warts. 

I began collecting toads, placing them in the blue pool, sharing my extravagant island with them, one with palm trees and ponds, hills to climb, and pools to float in.  I didn’t get my glass aquarium but I finally had my pets.  I collected ten toads.  I gave each one a name.  They were named after my parents, my sisters, my brothers, and my friends.  Once I had this captivated pet posse, I took great care to feed them.  I fed them each morning and each evening by hunting and gathering long, fat earthworms pulled slowly from the ground, or shiny black beetles I found underneath boards or logs, and Daddy Longlegs crawling unknowingly around the pool.  I would bring my lunches out to sit by my pool pets, watching as they sat motionless, staring at the worm accordion across the sand.  In an instant, the toad would flick out its tongue, and the worm would now be squirming from either side of the toad’s mouth, the toad taking its front limbs and cramming the rest of the worm into its mouth.       

         

One day while watching over the oasis I had created, I dropped a piece of my popcorn into the toad domain.  I used the tip of a stick to poke at the piece of popcorn on the sand.  I poked it again.  I had dropped the piece of popcorn earlier to see if Mert (named after my father) would take it.  He hadn’t.  Apparently, the lifeless popcorn did not fool the toads. Didn’t they realize how good it was? The perfect crunchy, salty snack. Wanting the popcorn to appear alive, I moved it with the stick again, and then, just as quickly as it had landed on the ground, it was gone.  I dropped another piece onto the wet sand, gave it a slight tap, and as with the last piece, it disappeared.  Mert apparently had developed a taste for this flying popcorn, perhaps thinking it was a bug, or a worm.  He flicked his tongue out, the sticky tip snagging the popcorn. He likes it! What fun!  Mert went for it again, lurching forward with both tongue and head, and each piece of popcorn that I gently tapped disappeared.  I had created a veritable toad Garden of Eden, where life was good, and good food was provided. It wasn’t until the next day that I discovered, that not all good things last.

The following apocalyptic morning, all four feet of me stood at the edge of the pool and looked at what was floating in the oasis.  I couldn’t imagine what or who had done this.  My young heart hurt for them and wondered if they were in pain.  My tears, like an infinity pool, poured over my lower lids and splashed next to my floating friends.  My pets.  The bag of popcorn I had been carrying dropped out of my hand, hit the lip of the pool and exploded out of the bag like a fireworks display, showering the lifeless pool with popcorn. I began weeping out loud, no longer aware of anything else around me.  I dropped to my knees.  What was that smell?

Skunks maybe?  It was morning time and skunks, being nocturnal, were absent, but their essence lingered.  And their scat.   My parents and I speculated that, during the night, a skunk had dined on toad legs and had left their remaining bodies, with forelimbs attached, to drag themselves along what was once their oasis.  Or so I thought. 

I felt responsible for the toads’ demise.  After the ceremonial burial, and to manage my grief, I quickly vowed never to encase a pet again and paid homage to my ten toads by eating my popcorn, one piece at a time.  I would bring the popcorn bowl close to my face, stick my tongue out, and attach the tip of my tongue to a piece of popcorn.  Popcorn continues to be my favorite food, and as I hold the memories of my ten toads, I stick out my tongue to them.