Wild Micro-organisms

"There are beautiful wild forces within us."
-St. Francis of Assisi

I am recovering from the handiwork of a microorganism quite gifted at turning me completely inside out within a matter of hours. I keep telling myself that this guy was in the minority. The majority of microorganisms wildly roaming the planet both inside and outside of my skin are good guys, right? Then a mean one hits, and you think: Eradicate! Get the Anti-bacterial Soap and scour! It's you or them, baby.

But what would be left? You Are them! We are 10x more bacteria cells than human cells (wikipedia with cites). Between that and being 90% water, I think I must be only .5% human… which is nice, considering the reputation.

These things we cannot see but are told exist all around, like fairies, spirits and angels of life and death, scientifically called microorganisms, roam freely through us with every breath, every sip, every munch. These invisible agents transform decay into life. They metamorphose our food and drink into something more nutritious, digestible, and enjoyable than before.

The king of wild fermentation (if wild microorganisms could be said to have a king) is Sandor Ellix Katz, author of Wild Fermentation. His playful and edifying book recently lead me through several lively experiments with the invisible wild that apparently (obviously) roams my kitchen. Katz describes wild fermentation methods for meads, beer, sauerkraut, miso, gruels, and more. Wild Fermentation asserts that food gone bad is actually good. Just the sort of iconoclastic thinking that can turn us wild again, the .5% part that isn't already.

Despite the power of prior disasters and a proven incompetence at both wine and jam making, my untamed will-power overwhelmed my higher faculties and proceeded to try my hands at Hard Cider. I used un-pasteurized cider, made by our own family at Bishop's Orchard in Garfield (despite their stern orders to pasteurize). Katz doesn’t specify "un-pasteurized", but simply fresh without preservatives. In a sterilized and de-sterilized plastic milk jug, we set the cider on the counter, with 1-2 layers of cheese clothe rubber-banded over the lid to keep out the flies. Within 4 days, bubbles effervesced from the bottom. In five days, the cider was sweet, bubbly and only very mildly intoxicating. One woman, we'll call "Kathrine," liked it very much and sources say she was seen downing several large mugs of the stuff. The next day it was a little harder, but still pleasant, though blue mold needed to be fished from the cups as an aesthetic matter. I will transfer it to an wide-mouth jar and place it on the counter with a couple buddies for a few more weeks to make vinegar, thanks to the direction of one wild and free, Mr. Katz.

Several imbibers found the blue mold disconcerting. I recall that the worlds first antibiotic, penicillin, was derived from moldy bread. Katz suggests removing the funky top layer to get to the good ferment below. He assures readers that he has never heard of food poisoning from improperly fermented foods, although that does not exclude the possibility. He elucidates that the process of fermentation, alcoholic and acidic in nature, creates a hostile work place for the food-poisoning types. However, he warns that if it doesn't taste good or right, don't eat it.

Wild Oatmeal (subsequent post) is allegedly more nutritious and digestible than sober oats. Additionally, we thrilled at the creamy sauce, chewy texture and rich flavor. I ate oatmeal three times that day! I hate oatmeal!

I anticipate adventures with Katz's sauerkraut, Ginger bug soda, Ethiopian honey-wine, and anything not referencing complex ideas such as carboys, siphoning, and several years.

Like all wild and free foods, microorganisms come with an embedded philosophy. Katz attributes Pasteur's microbiology as spawning "a sort of colonial outlook toward microorganisms…they must be dominated and exploited." In a treatise to local cultures (pun intended) he bemoans the "homogenization of culture," and large, corporate, sterile brewing schemes.

Let us join Mr. Katz and resist enculturation with enculturation of the wild kind. With our .5% human selves, freer still, perhaps we will then be the organisms who ferment the culture around us with salubrious insobriety and sparkling verve.

And I am absolutely sure that my state of dyspepsia was Not caused by any hooch. Promise.

Wild Oatmeal Recipe

Wild Oatmeal (a.k.a. Oat Porridge) paraphrased from Wild Fermentation

1 cup coarsely ground, steel cut, or rolled oats
5 cups water
Salt

1)Soak oats in 2 cups of water, in a bowl, covered loosely to keep out flies, for 24 hours or more.

2)When ready to cook, bring 3 cups (or less) of water and a pinch of salt to a boil. Lower heat, add oats and their bubbly water. Stir until oats are hot and water absorbed, 10? Minutes. Don't let them stick or burn. I would try not to boil it, as that would kill the microbes, probably.

3)Here's the tricky part: eat it. We put maple syrup on ours first and let it cool a little.

Kinnikinnick

There once was a plant from Kennewick
Who longed to be part of a limerick
He thought real hard
He thought like a bard
And named himself Kinnikinnick
-myself (or shouldn't I admit that?)

I was Kinnikinnick to Native Americans. You can call me bearberry. Scientifically I'm Arctostaphylos (Greek for bear grapes) uva-ursi (Latin for grape bear). It bares repeating. I'm a bear-plant with double powers: spiritual and medicinal.

In memories I've nearly lost, Native Americans smoked me. Before tobacco came charging in, I was their go-to guy. They dried me and smoked me and my swift, sweet spirit delivered their prayers to gods (Food Plants of the Interior First Peoples by Nancy J. Turner). These days, I could over-power modern weaklings with dizziness or fainting. I relish the idea of being an outlaw, but the DEA hasn't honored me with that yet. You can buy me in the Pow-wow Blend, roll-yer-owns. But I can also be had for free. On every corner, in every town, I lay like a bum in landscaped parking lots, between the shrubs. I don't need no namby-pamby humus and loam. Just give me some gritty ground and don't pamper me with prissy baths and showers!

I keep my thick, leathery, oval leaves green and strong year round. My spring flowers are white and pink, shaped like jugs. I do my best work in fall and it stays all winter; my little red round berries look and taste like miniature old apples. Meriwether Lewis called me "tasteless and insipid." Coming from a guy named Meriwether, I'll take that as a compliment. One little girl says my berries are sweet and dusty. I'd blush if I could. Some people mistake me for a low cotoneaster, the ornamental creep. We are both a foot tall with red berries. Check my ID twice so you don't mistake me for the dangerous imitations.

I have a sentimental side and like to do the Christmas thing. November is apparently the new December, according to retail outlets. I appreciate all holidays: old, new, renamed, reclaimed, loud, quiet, forgotten, lost, and imaginary. Use me in your Christmas decorations next summer! Except you have to wait for fall when my little red berries make me festive and cutesy.

"Experts" say that I am survival food best left for winter birds. I like birds, I like feeding them, and "Survival" sounds tough. Maybe the most recent crop of people don't like my dusty berries, however they've been eaten by folks since before my memory. My berries have been boiled, fried, popped and eaten raw all fall and winter. The Lakes people mixed them with Salmon roe for ceremonies (Food Plants). I like that. Makes me feel powerful.

Frost erodes the mightiness of my medicinal leaves, so leave my leaves alone for a while. I make strong iron and Vitamin A, but I hate hot water. Don't boil me or I'll kick your butt with my tannins. I like a nice long, 8 hour soak in cold or lukewarm water: builds character. When you drink me, my potent and magical arbutim mixes with your urine to make a green germicide that is rumored to destroy infection (Wild Berries of the West by Derig and Fuller). All over the world, my muscle is employed by herbalist to kill urinary tract infections, zap kidney stones, thrill the spleen and liver, and wrestle syphilis and gonorrhea to the ground. I'm powerful. I'm like a god you don't want to piss off (so to speak). I'm so amazing, that with me, too much of a good thing isn't much at all. I'm a loner. I like our visits short and too the point. There are simply some people that I can’t stand like some pregnant women and people with high blood pressure. Nothing personal. And keep that acidic Vitamic C and cheery Cranberry juice out of my way; I hate those guys too (Encylcopedia of Alternative Medicine, on-line).

Do what you dare with me, just don't laugh at my name. I repeat, don't laugh at my name.

Junipers

"No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!" (Thomas Hood).

Don't get lost in the woods right now. It's cold and there's nothing much to eat. No matter the weather, we can rely upon the exuberant and generous Juniper to gift us with at least a spicy condiment.

Common and Rocky Mountain Junipers are native to the Inland Northwest. As their habitat is now wheat fields, we look to the unwitting, ornamental landscape for our forage. Junipers are an evergreen shrub (or tree) varying in size, shape, and color, yet somehow retaining a quintessential "juniper-ness." Around our towns I have spotted both tall and short, blue-grey, lacey Junipers (Blue Pfitzers or Juniperus Chinensis Pfitzeriana 'Glauca' as Huckleberry calls them) as well as deep urgent green, short 'Tam' Junipers. These plants are on almost every corner. Most Junipers have edible "berries" with one exception: the unpalatable One Seed Juniper. This tree-like, bluish landscape Juniper looks a little like an arborvitae. If you are at all unfamiliar with spotting and identifying Junipers, please consult your expert: person or book. If the berries on an evergreen, needle-leafed shrub are red, it is a Yew and could cause a gruesome death.

Having indubitably identified your Juniper, you will want to identify it's "sex". Juniper "berries" grow, of course, only on female plants. The males have pathetic little brown/green cones. The females have round reproductive organs called "berries" which are actually fleshy cones with a grey bloom. You will notice small, purple, second-year berries and larger, green, first-year berries. Reassuringly, both are fine for culinary use.

I look for a good, weedy base around the plant, or spider mite webs, hoping they are evidence that pesti/herbi-cides have not been applied recently. I avoid the creeping Junipers as they look like great targets for territorial dogs.

Once found, what is it that we do with Juniper berries? In my house, I dry them in the oven on less than low for several hours, until they look like peppercorns. Then I put them in my spice grinder and use it just like pepper, just for the thrill.

"Why would you want a pepper substitute?" you ask.

Answer: It's local. It has no colonial history. It has more complex flavors than pepper. As I gather and prepare it, I feel connected to tens of thousands of years of human foraging and food preparation history. I get to meet some wonderful plants. And I'm madly in love with it. That's why.

I recommend using a little bit at first, until you get used to it. I adore it in mustard-tamari salad dressing, vinaigrette coleslaw, cheesy noodles, homey lentil soup, borscht (with dandelion roots), and in an apple, carmelized onion, and cabbage soup.

You can use them fresh, crushed or whole. Put fresh, whole berries in while cooking and removing them later, as with a bay leaf.

Junipers are included in Wild Berries of the West (Mountain Press Publishing Company, 2001) despite the fact that Junipers produce fleshy cones, not berries. The authors, Betty R. Derig and Margaret C. Fuller, remind us that Junipers flavor jin. Oil of Juniper is toxic and the berries are not to be eaten in large quantities.

Without giving us any specific preparation advice, Derig and Fuller inform us that the Nez Perce, among others, treated colds, coughs, headaches and the flu with Juniper tea. Some tribes treated sinus congestion by inserting a juniper twig in a pierced septum. The aromatic smoke of burning Juniper was used by many tribes to cleanse and purify a home. The Hopi would hold a child over the smoke of burning Juniper until it was cured of naughtiness, supposedly. Either we're doing it wrong here, or it's just a myth.

Junipers were also used as a green dye, a writing tool, diapers (ouch!), rope, necklaces, a talisman against evil, love-charm flutes, contraception, abortion, to start labor, and to ward off bad baby dreams.

In addition, I found a Twister Juniper to be an extremely useful focal point during labor with my daughter, who was then named after it: Blue Juniper.

In this month of Thanksgiving, I will be giving thanks for the spicy beauty of the Juniper, a generous shrub, bestowing upon us berries and greenery in a time when both are scarce. Also, I am thankful to not be lost in the woods.