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.

Aronia

"Emancipate yourself from mental slavery.
None but ourselves can free our minds." – Bob Marley


The story of the exodus tells of a desert burning bush speaking to Moses regarding delivery from slavery and misery. And another story goes like this: An Aronia shrub in Autumn is the voice of god. Songs of freedom flare from these flame-leaves, their true colors igniting the world with celestial poems of liberty. Deliver us from slavery and misery? They look like they could.

These shrubs (up to 8' tall) blanket landscaped hills, line Library pathways and buffer yards. The thick and leathery leaves with a saw-toothed pointed-oval shape are dark, shiny green in summer. The Autumn leaves are revolutionary red, riot red, Mujeres Libres red. These leaves will not be slipping quietly from this world. And the berries clustered beneath them are bitter, honest and black as the anarchist uniform.

This is also a story of a common landscaping plant turned Super-Nutra-ceutical. Once thought to be the last in nutritional edification, they are now the first in antioxidant imbibery.

A multitude of studies find Aronias to be the most potent anti-oxidant on earth, and loaded with Vitamin C (many study cites at wikipedia.com). Antioxidants, as you can deduce, slow oxidation which is supposedly caused by marauding free-radicals that bash in the glass windows of your cells, so to speak. Antioxidants were originally looked into as preventatives of rust, oil spoilage, and fat rancidity. And, as far as your body is concerned, the analogy is apt. Want to prevent rust, spoilage and rancidity? Aronias are your berry.

Normally, I wouldn't advocate anything that might limit the freedoms of radicals. I don't want to picture these clusters of Aronia berries in riot gear, wantonly firing rubber bullets (which look a lot like Aronia berries) into a block of free radicals. Perhaps these are merely semantics, but one might consider a conspiracy of government scientists to defame radicals. They could have named them Staid Centrists, right?

Studies also demonstrate Aronias boosting circulation, maintaining urinary tract health, fortifying the heart and fighting cancer (www.hort.net).

Aronias taste just like you might imagine the world's most powerful anti-oxidant would. Their other name is "Chokeberry" (not to be confused with Chokecherry, which is worse). These are not masquerading Jolly Ranchers, and yet somehow my children Love them.

I've hesitated to share the "good news" of Aronias because I've not known what to do with them, other than let the children eat them, then bleach their fingers. And I generously leave them for February birds.

A little "research" revealed these black clad anti-oxidants to be useful after all: for making wine and jams and juices. As readers might recall, my experiments with wine and jam making have been rather …unsuccessful. And my perseverance for such domestic hobbies is very weak indeed.

Aronia jams are sold all over the internet. R.W. Knudsen has come out with bottled Aronia juice. And I direct you to this wine recipe: http://winemaking.jackkeller.net/aronia.asp.

Even more "research" revealed that Aronia berries make excellent and gorgeous scone accessories.

Just as soon as our first frost tempers the tart, I'll be trying this recipe for Aronia juice, found on WSU's Mt. Vernon extension website: http://mtvernon.wsu.edu/frt_hort/aronia01.htm. Though I don't exactly understand the vague directions, I will give it my best shot.

Native to Northeast North America, probably conceived in what became the "Live free or die" state of New Hampshire, this fruit's popularity is yet in its infancy on this continent. However, ex-patriot Aronias have imbedded themselves within the Polish world, where they are quite popular. However, I've uncovered no reports of what we can assume are particularly healthy Polish urinary tracts.

I will remind readers that not all black berries are as marginally edible as Aronias. Some will taste better and some might kill you. Do not jam, juice, wine or scone these berries without 100% certain identification.

Will Aronias free us from slavery? Not even mental slavery. Save us from the misery of rust? rancidity? spoilage? oxidation? Probably!! Bust us from our prisons of urinary tract infections and sluggish circulation? Certainly!! Save us from Free Radicals? Why would we want that?

Aronia-Apple Juice: recipe courtesy Georgene Lee, WSU Mt. Vernon Extension
Steam Aronia berries to extract juice (Yield approximately 2 cups of juice per pound of berries). Mix half and half with apple juice, either commercial or home produced, and chill.

Chicory

In 1492 Blue Sailors sailed the ocean blue.

Around the big black cloud of Columbus Day there is an itty bitty silver lining: globalized food. India discovered peppers, Europe got potatoes, Italy fell in love with tomatoes, and the Americas got chicory (rice, wheat, etc). Some native-plant fascists will not recognize that as a silver lining.

Chicory is a twiggy, angular plant growing 2-5' tall. Chicory's celestially blue, edible flowers are spiky and round like a ship's wheel, hence the old-fashioned moniker "Blue Sailors." They are also members of the "floral clocks" club, open 7am to noon. Unfortunately, you won't find them now because you are probably reading this in the evening, if at all, and because the plant is currently winding down for winter.

Wild edibles, which are by definition edible plants lacking little copper labels, are frequently difficult to identify because their edibility is in a season when their identifiability is not. Leaves are edible before they flower, and roots are good after the flowers fade. A way to outsmart the crafty Blue Sailors is to identify when in flower, noting the precise location, and then return in fall for roots or spring for greens. Be 100% sure you've got the right plant.

Chicory is supposedly perennial. However, my experience on the Palouse would lead me to believe perenniality might be variable, unless I was supposed to roast the moldy root I pulled up this spring.

The young leaves of early spring, are oblong, and grow from a rosette. These frisky, edible greens should be tempered with leaf lettuce and honey-mustard dressing.

Because they are comparable to dandelions, I assumed fall was the time to dig chicory roots. Upon further research, however, I found the experts fiercely divided. Being a uniter, not a divider, I'll phrase it this way: experts agree that chicory roots should not be dug up during the frozen, dark winter (with exceptions). Spring is the best. Summer is perfect. Fall is the only time to get good chicory roots. Also, there's no time like the present.

Chicory roots are dug up easily, given moist soil conditions. You can find them behind dilapidated industrial buildings and alongside RxR tracks. I'm sure no one will suspect anything; you trespassing with your shovel behind the old grain elevator.

Roots dug from pre-flower chicory are juicy. Roots from post-flower stems are tough. Boil pre-flowered roots for 30-45 minutes and enjoy the juicy roots plain or in soups. For a coffee substitute, soak the whitish later season roots in water for a few minutes, scrub the dirt off, roast at 225* in your oven for possibly four hours, enjoy spicy potpourri of roasting roots, grind, and brew like coffee by percolating or straining through a filter. You might also mix it with roasted dandelion root or, famously in France and New Orleans, with coffee.

The French contend that it counteracts the acidity of coffee. Herbalists recommend it for detoxifying livers, and treatment of ailing spleens, stomachs, and joints. (Growing and Using the Healing Herbs by Gaea and Shandor Weiss.) A recent bee sting at our house might have been soothed by a poultice of chicory leaves, but for the churning arms and body which resisted it. Poultice: pour boiling water over fresh leaves, remove leaves, let them cool slightly, and apply to swelling.

The Blue Sailor's home port is the sprawling, ill-defined catch-all of origins: Eurasia. Cultivation of chicory stretches back 5000 years to Egypt with Romans copy-catting. It also has a history in Chinese medicine. (http://earthnotes.tripod.com)

The well traveled Blue Sailors, also called Wild Endives, are sold in France as Barbe de Capucin which surprisingly does not translate into "Cappuccino Barbie," but into "beard of a Capuchin monk," and no one really knows why (Eat the Weeds by Ben Charles Harris). Called "Succory" in England, it was used in love potions. (http://groups.msn.com/TeaCentral) "Noxious Invasive Weed" is a recent, American-made, USDA slur for the Blue Sailors, never applied to pilgrims and their descendants, of course.

Because I'm a uniter, let us all recognize, if not celebrate, Columbus Day by honoring the Blue Sailors as perhaps one of the healthiest and prettiest sailors to come to this "new" world in many centuries.

Apples

FREE: the unconditional love of apple trees. You can find forgotten or un-harvested apples (sweetened by frost) in every neighborhood. Technicolor-red apples are dropping at Idler's Rest near Moscow, ID and a large variety fall at the base of Steptoe Butte. For the imperfect and infested apples of neglected trees there are several delicious options after you have cut out the worms and bruises: 1) Drying. I love sweet dried feral apple in my oatmeal. 2) applesauce 3) spiced apple butter and 4) apple pies and 5) cider! But beware the dung flecked and bruised wind falls which lend a gross, moldy, and e-coli laced flavor.