The Little Fermentation Jar on My Kitchen Counter

 

The Little Fermentation Jar on My Kitchen Counter

Last Wednesday, I went to a farm in Chester, Pennsylvania, for a fermentation workshop organized by Black Farmers Fund at FarmerJawn’s Farm.

I went there to learn how to ferment vegetables.

I came home with a jar.

Inside that jar were cucumbers, tomatoes, dill, salt water—and a whole microscopic world I couldn't see.

I'm still learning about fermentation, so I decided I wanted to understand what was happening rather than simply follow instructions.

And that little jar has already taught me something.

My Husband Put My Ferment in the Refrigerator

When I came home from the workshop, I placed my jar on the kitchen counter.

That was where it was supposed to be.

Later, my husband saw the jar sitting there and put it in the refrigerator.

I discovered this and immediately thought, "Oh no!"

But then I began to understand something.

He wasn't doing anything wrong. From his point of view, vegetables in a jar belong in the refrigerator.

But fermentation has its own logic.

The microorganisms doing the work need an environment where they can remain active. Room temperature allows fermentation to proceed. The refrigerator slows that activity down.

Fortunately, my jar had only been in the refrigerator for less than a day.

So I took it back out.

Back to the counter it went.

My fermentation experiment was back on.

So How Do You Make the Salt Water?

This was one of the things I wanted to understand better.

The liquid in my jar isn't simply plain water with a little salt thrown into it.

It is a brine—salt dissolved in water.

For a basic vegetable fermentation, the salt is measured carefully and dissolved into the water before the vegetables are submerged.

The exact amount of salt matters because the salt concentration helps determine which microorganisms can thrive during fermentation. Too little or too much salt can affect the fermentation process, the flavor and the texture.

There are different methods for calculating brine. Some recipes calculate the salt according to the amount of water, while others calculate the salt according to the combined weight of the vegetables and water.

That's one reason I'm glad our instructor prepared the solution for us at the workshop. I don't want to guess at the recipe.

As I become more experienced, I can learn how to measure the salt and make my own brine.

For now, I'm learning the basic idea:

Water + measured salt = brine.

The vegetables are then placed into that brine and kept submerged.

The salt doesn't do the fermentation by itself.

It creates the conditions in which the desired fermentation can take place.

"Let the Microbes Poop"

One of the things our instructor said at the workshop made me laugh.

We were told to open the jar every day to let the microbes "poop."

That is not exactly the scientific terminology I would have expected at a fermentation workshop!

But I haven't forgotten it.

In fact, I think it's brilliant.

The microorganisms are consuming the natural sugars in the vegetables and producing byproducts, including carbon dioxide gas.

The jar needs a way for that gas to escape.

So every day I open the lid.

I let the microbes "poop."

Then I close it again.

The scientific term is burping the jar.

But I think I'll remember the microbes.

My Jar Is Alive With Activity

What fascinates me about fermentation is that most of the important work is invisible.

I look at my jar and see cucumbers, tomatoes and dill floating in salty water.

But underneath what I can see, microorganisms are transforming the food.

Some of these microorganisms—particularly lactic-acid bacteria—use natural sugars in the vegetables and produce lactic acid.

The brine becomes more acidic.

The flavor changes.

The vegetables change.

The smell changes.

The texture changes.

Something that began as fresh vegetables becomes something completely different.

And all I have to do is create the right conditions and give it time.

That makes me think.

How many things in nature work this way?

We don't always see the process while transformation is happening.

We see the beginning.

We see the finished result.

But the transformation itself often happens quietly.

Salt, Water and Time

I used to think of salt as simply something that makes food salty.

Now I'm learning that salt can be part of an ecosystem.

The salt concentration helps create conditions that favor particular microorganisms and discourage many others.

The vegetables provide water and natural sugars.

The microorganisms do their work.

And time allows the process to unfold.

It is almost like a conversation between the vegetables, the microbes, the salt, the water and the environment.

No one is rushing.

That part appeals to me.

Learning From Farmers

There is something special about learning this on a farm.

I could have watched a video about fermentation.

I could have read a recipe.

I could have bought a jar of fermented vegetables at a store.

Instead, I went to a farm and put my hands on the vegetables.

I watched someone demonstrate the process.

I listened to instructions.

Then I brought the experiment home.

That is a different kind of learning.

It reminds me that agricultural knowledge is not only about producing food.

It is also about knowing what to do with food once it comes out of the ground.

How do we preserve it?

How do we transform it?

How do we make it last?

How did people learn these things before laboratories, refrigerators and food-processing companies?

They watched.

They experimented.

They remembered.

They passed the knowledge along.

My Cucumbers, Tomatoes and Dill

My particular jar has become a little experiment.

The cucumbers are firm now, but I know their texture may change.

The tomatoes are softer and bring their natural sugars and water into the mixture.

The dill is already giving everything its distinctive flavor.

And the brine connects everything.

I can watch for bubbles.

I can watch the color.

I can notice the smell.

I can see whether the vegetables remain beneath the brine.

I can listen when I open the jar and hear the little release of gas.

And eventually, I will taste the transformation.

When Is It Finished?

This is something I'm still learning.

There isn't a magic day when somebody can say, "Your fermentation is finished."

Fermentation depends on temperature, salt concentration, the vegetables, the microorganisms and the flavor I want.

So I'm learning not to think only in terms of a recipe's number of days.

I'm learning to pay attention.

Perhaps after several days I'll taste it and think:

"Yes. That's it."

Or perhaps I'll decide that it needs more time.

When the vegetables reach the flavor I want, I'll put the jar in the refrigerator.

Then the cold temperature will slow the process down.

The refrigerator isn't where fermentation begins.

It is where I can eventually slow down the transformation I have created.

What I Am Really Learning

Maybe what I like most about this experience is that fermentation is teaching me to slow down.

Everything around us seems to move faster and faster.

We want instant information.

Instant food.

Instant answers.

Instant results.

But my little jar doesn't care about any of that.

It has its own timetable.

The microorganisms don't hurry because I am impatient.

They simply do what microorganisms do when the conditions are right.

Salt.

Water.

Food.

Temperature.

Time.

And attention.

There is something almost philosophical about that.

A Little Jar of Ancestral Knowledge

Fermentation also makes me think about traditional knowledge.

People were fermenting food long before they knew anything about bacteria or lactic acid.

They knew what happened.

They knew which vegetables worked.

They knew how much salt to use.

They knew what the smell should be.

They knew when something had gone wrong.

Knowledge was held in the hands and senses of ordinary people.

It was carried through generations.

Today we can explain the process scientifically.

We can talk about microorganisms and pH and carbon dioxide.

But the scientific explanation doesn't erase the older knowledge.

It helps me understand why something people had been doing for generations worked.

I like having both ways of knowing.

My Little Teacher

So now I have this jar sitting on my kitchen counter.

My husband might look at it and see a jar of vegetables.

I see a lesson.

I see a farm workshop.

I see the hands that prepared the vegetables.

I see the salt water.

I see microorganisms doing work I cannot see.

I see patience.

And every time I open the lid, I remember:

Let the microbes poop.

Then I close the jar and let them continue their work.

Maybe that is what I am learning from fermentation.

Not everything that matters can be seen.

Not every transformation happens quickly.

And sometimes the best thing we can do is create the right conditions—

and then give nature time to do what it knows how to do.

My Fermentation Formula

Vegetables + measured salt + water + microorganisms + time + observation = transformation.

And my little jar on the kitchen counter is teaching me that sometimes, learning begins when we stop rushing and start paying attention.