Inspired by the ancient Sumerians, my beer-brewing boyfriend, and the evidence everywhere of natural yeasts—in unfortunate places, but including my fridge and socks—I began to ferment items with purpose. I have yet to ferment either of the cats, though one of them lately has begun to smell like a Swamp Thing. But to date:
1. Beer. A precise craft, I learned, at least when the boyfriend does it, but likely not as much so if I ever take the helm. He is accessorized with tubing and gadgetry, which increases his allure. We made a tasty brown ale and bottled it yesterday. A week ago the mother bear who is roaming Starr Hill broke into the kitchen and dragged off thirty pounds of malt grain, but lost interest or hope partway through the drag and left it—or perhaps could not juggle both that with the seven-gallon bucket of animal crackers (the roommate’s) that continues, at this date, to be missing.
2. Sauerkraut. The recipe I jotted down in Trencin, a small town in Slovakia, from a friend’s cousin whose English was terrible but way better than my Slovakian. “Cut cabbage hearts out,” I noted ruthlessly. “Slice. Hard cabbages, the winter cabbages. Mix with a jar of salt (for 12 big cabbages). Wait couple hours. Layer with: allspice [could have been juniper, now, I'm thinking], pepper, bay leaves, apples. Stick in barrel. Squeeze out all air—anaerobic fermentation. [This was a particularly difficult point to translate.] Go to Croatia. [Easier.] Come back. Eat.” The first effort failed completely. I bought five cabbages and followed only the stick-in-barrel exhortation, thinking I’d get to it right after I returned my library books. As they turned black, my roommate and visitors began to avoid that part of the kitchen. The second effort, with new cabbage and renewed determination, used allspice. I don’t have any juniper berries.
3. Sourdough. Starter begun last month as a classic biga, using a bit of store-bought yeast, was at first slow and uninteresting, is now active and interesting. It is mainly used for pancakes, which boyfriend makes for me. The key bit learned so far: a. Mix everything but the eggs and the soda the night before. In the morning add soda-in-water, eggs, wait an hour before cooking. This week we may try screen-printing them, a la the weekly Instructables, with Gov. Sarah Palin’s image and a “Thank you, welfare mom!—$3,269 in 2008″
Except my pancakes will say nothing of the sort. Since I’ve only been in Alaska this time for eight months, I don’t qualify for the PFD—which means, though I’ll be paying just as much for fuel as the next Alaskan gal, I also don’t get the state energy assistance handout. That would be a big deal, more than a month’s worth of income for me. But I’m going to pretend I have an ethic of self-sufficiency through hard work and not whine about it, because I don’t deserve it. It’s hard to do, though, when I see my lazy, shiftless, born-in-Alaska friends raking it in. I’ll just say: Drinks are on y’all this year.
