Arugula is how I define my cities. I go to the grocery store and either you can get arugula or you can’t. And I really don’t want to be anywhere you can’t.
—Supermodel Cindy Crawford, Bazaar magazine
Arugula, native to the Mediterranean basin, is popular in Italian cuisine, which makes sense: Ancient Romans regarded it as a valuable green for its peppery leaves, and they used the seed as a spice. Believing arugula to be an aphrodisiac, they recommended it as a side dish to accompany any meal.
Though it looks like a leafy green, arugula (also known as salad rocket) is a member of the crucifer family, along with broccoli, cauliflower, and our fermentation star, cabbage. Cooking destroys the enzymes that activate important sulfur-rich phytochemicals; fermenting enhances them.
Sounds great, but here’s the thing: When we experimented with using it in a Korean water kimchi (a.k.a. brine pickle), we discovered that arugula’s nutty-peppery flavor, so tasty in a mesclun salad, when fermented first becomes quite bitter. Even the pluckiest of palates might be turned off.
Now for the good news: As this ferment sits in the fridge, the bitterness mellows, and it actually disappears over time.
Another way to ameliorate the bitterness is to chop the arugula and add it to a combination kraut, or to use it instead of mustard greens in a kimchi.
yield: about 1 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 pint
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
This ferment is a water kimchi (which uses the same process as brine pickling). The brine boasts a lot of flavor and is good all by itself as a brine shot or for making crackers. (This recipe is adapted from the cookbook Good Morning, Kimchi! by Sook-ja Yoon.)
Fresh arugula makes a wonderful pesto. Try fermenting the leaves as a paste with garlic, a little cracked black pepper, and lemon as the base, following the instructions for making pastes. To serve, mix in some chopped pine nuts and grated Parmesan.
The ancient Romans had a saying to describe a task swiftly accomplished: “as quick cooking as asparagus.”
How times change! That wasn’t the prevailing opinion in the United States of 1871. The White House Cook Book: A Comprehensive Cyclopedia of Information for the Home, a book thick with advice to the homemakers of the era, claimed to “represent the progress and present perfection of the culinary art.” Treasures abound within old, forgotten books; this one, however, recommended boiling asparagus for 20 to 40 minutes! One recipe suggested the cook “lift it out gently, as it will be liable to break.”
The Romans had the right idea. Reputedly, their royalty prized asparagus enough to keep a fleet just to fetch it. They would have liked the slightly crisp, al dente texture of our pickled asparagus.
Ferment asparagus in the spring, when it’s in season; the sooner these spears go from ground to jar, the better. (Off-season asparagus has a duller flavor and a denser, less desirable texture.) The diameter of the spears, pencil thin or thumb thick, doesn’t matter. What counts is that within a batch they’re of uniform size.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
These are the pickles to bring to a potluck when you want to show off — they’re food art, in both flavor and appearance, and easy to make. You’ll need to trim the spears to fit into a 1-quart jar, but you can use any leftover nonwoody pieces to make a jar of bite-size pickles. To fill two narrow-mouth pint jars instead, cut the spears to 33⁄4 inches long.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
In this recipe the “kimchi” vegetables and spices are packed around the whole asparagus spears, then a little brine is added to make sure there is enough liquid to keep everything submerged. Serve a few spears topped with the shredded veggies as a pungent fermented side salad to an Asian meal.
A man taking basil from a woman will love her always.
—Sir Thomas Moore
It was only after years of fermenting that we tried the process with basil. We didn’t have a lot of confidence in the resulting texture and flavor. When we finally tried it, we quickly learned two things: We weren’t enthusiastic about the flavor of basil in sauerkraut, and we were pleasantly wrong about fermenting the leaves.
Every summer we grow a flat of sweet basil and a flat of Thai basil among our flowers. We used to make pounds of pesto to freeze, but it was expensive to invest in all the ingredients that accompany the basil; aged cheese, nuts, and olive oil are not cheap. Now we make some pesto, but we save money, time, and freezer space by preserving the basil in a ferment.
Drying diminishes this herb’s aromatic volatile oils. Fermenting, on the other hand, retains the essential basil flavor while unleashing a unique pickled quality — a fresh yet concentrated flavor. We ferment whole leaves to toss in a dish at serving time, and we make concentrated spice pastes to use during meal preparation.
Mint, like its family member basil, has played a significant role in traditional herbal pharmacopoeias throughout history. Its wonderful scent and flavor have also made it a leading player in the kitchen, adding a cool refreshing taste to dishes as well as ferments. Of the many varieties of mint, spearmint, curly mint, and peppermint (the strongest flavor of the three) are the most common culinary types, but there are also fruity varieties, such as apple, pineapple, and orange mint. The flavor of the various mints holds up well in fermentation. If you are creating your own recipe, use quantities similar to what you would in a fresh salad or veggie dish. Choose the type of mint that you have available or like best and add it to the ferment when you combine the rest of your vegetables, just before salting. Chopping the leaves will release a little more flavor in the ferment. Mint also lends itself well to whole-leaf or paste preparations (see chapter 5, Mastering Condiments). Our favorite way to use mint is in Greek Lemon-Mint Kraut.
Humans have enjoyed basil’s fragrant flavor for more than 5,000 years. This member of the mint family is native to India and Asia. There are over 40 varieties of basil — colors range from pale to deep green, rich aubergine purple, and a variegated lace of golden yellow. With this variety comes a range of texture, fragrance, and flavor. The most commonly known is sweet basil (Ocimum basilicum).
The leaves are tender and easily bruised. Harvest basil early in the morning just after the dew dries and use as soon as possible. If purchasing basil, choose bundles with vivid green leaves that are not wilted and don’t have any black spots.
technique used: Whole-Leaf Ferments
These whole leaves are wonderful to have on hand; they retain texture and shape and can be used in any of the same applications as whole fresh leaves. Toss some fermented leaves in a salad, stir-fry, or pasta dish (after the dish has been removed from the heat).
In this recipe you can use any quantity of leaves and any kind, or mix and match: lemon, cinnamon, sweet, Thai, you name it.
technique used: Pastes and Bases
This paste ferments in the same way as the whole-leaf basil. The advantage in making the paste is that you can use some of the stem, which increases your yield and decreases any waste. (We don’t recommend using the flower, as it imparts a bitter taste.) Add this paste at the end of your cooking time to sauces or soups. It can also be mixed into a salad dressing.
If you add a few cloves of garlic to the food processor in the Basil Paste recipe, what you have is, in effect, a great pesto starter kit. After fermentation, add to the paste a few tablespoons of olive oil, shredded Romano cheese, and ground pine nuts or almonds.
technique used: Pastes and Bases
This paste is handy and tasty to add to a coconut milk–based vegetable dish or to dollop onto rice or Asian noodles. This is one of our homemade convenience foods, and we invite you to play with it.
The bottled fish sauce in this recipe provides the salt necessary to start the ferment. You won’t need additional salt.
To make this ferment, pulse all the ingredients to a paste in a food processor and then follow the directions for Basil Paste.
There is a bit of confusion about Thai basil. The culinary Thai basil that one normally finds at the market or in the seed section of the garden center is a purplish variety of sweet basil, Ocimum basilicum. It has a distinct flavor that shows notes of licorice, cinnamon, and a hint of mint.
Thai holy basil, sometimes called tulsi, is a variety of Ocimum tenuiflorum that has a minty flavor with a peppery kick. The variety of tulsi commonly found in stores has a sweet floral flavor with a delicate mint quality. This rich antioxidant and digestive aid is said to be a balm for mind, body, and spirit. Fresh and dried leaves of any variety of tulsi enhance many ferments.
Common wisdom has it that green beans should not be consumed raw, due to varying concentrations — less in young beans, more as they mature — of lectins, potentially toxic proteins (see below). It’s a matter of balance: Enjoy young, succulent green beans as a fermented pickle; don’t make them a staple in a raw-food diet.
Plant breeders have developed fleshy and tender beans that are often string-free.
There’s a lot of information (and misinformation) on the subject of eating raw green beans, from touting their health benefits to the warning that they’re anti-nutrient thugs you should stay clear of. Conflicting information can make us afraid of our food.
The fact is that much of what we eat contains something “toxic” along with the benefits. As it happens, lectin proteins are present, in varying concentrations, in almost everything we eat.
According to T. Shibamoto and L. Bjeldanes, the authors of Introduction to Food Toxicology (Salt Lake City: Academic Press, 1993), “Toxicity has been shown in feeding studies with the pure lectin comprising 0.5–1.0% of mice or rat diets. Lectins appear to inhibit nutrient absorption in the intestine and inhibit growth of the animals. Meals that contain raw or fermented green beans should be of no cause for concern, as any lectins present would be too small of a dose to have any effect on nutrient availability. It is unknown if lactic acid fermentation has any effect on lectin content of green beans, since lectins are a group of proteins and glycoproteins.”
There are many beautiful varieties of green beans, among them some that aren’t even green. Yellow wax beans and green beans retain their colors when fermented, but the purple beans and the beautiful pintoed red-and-white beans turn drab during fermentation, their colors bleeding into the brine.
Choose pods that are firm and slim, with a slightly downy bright skin — indicators of a young bean. As the green beans mature on the vine they become tough and will not break down properly in fermentation. If the shape of the seeds is evident through the skin, they’re too mature.
Snapping beans was the task my brother and I did every summer. The job description was simple: Pinch one of the pointy ends and pull the string along the side of the bean and off. Then snap the beans into pieces.
This garden bounty was canned and stashed in our basement and it was my job to go down there to fetch a can or two for dinner. The monsters I knew lived there might grab my legs from under the stairs, or drop on me from the exposed floor joists, or best yet reach out and grab my hands as I reached for a jar . . . I really did see eyes and often heard breathing, and more than once I dropped and broke a jar as I sprinted for my life up the stairs.
Whatever bounty my mother sent me to get, it was always the green beans that died at my hand, and here’s where it gets weird. My mother would go into hazmat mode: She’d direct the family to go behind the tape and with bright yellow dishwashing gloves she’d meticulously clean up and then douse the crime scene with Pine-Sol or bleach or both. I remember wondering, “Why are those green beans radioactive when the jar breaks, but otherwise we just dump them in a pot and eat them?”
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or four 1-quart jars
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
Dilly Beans are the gold standard of green bean pickles and that is the recipe we’ve included, but don’t feel limited. If you want to try something else, we encourage you to use this process along with your favorite spice combination. For example, we think green bean pickles are great with curry powder added to the brine. You can also include green beans in our Edgy Veggies recipe.
Clostridium botulinum, which manifests as botulism, is rare but still is the bogeyman of canning, both home canning and commercial-scale canning. As recently as 2007, C. botulinum was discovered in commercially canned green beans. We don’t worry about botulism because fermentation uses acidity to preserve vegetables (and control microbes), which happens at below 4.6 pH, an acidic environment where the C. botulinum spore cannot hatch or grow.
When Christopher and I first were married I remember his mom lamenting that it was too late for canned green beans one night. Dinner was still an hour away, but she explained that it would take a minimum of two hours to cook them. I had no idea what she meant. It turns out that my new mother-in-law was concerned about botulism, which is a rare form of food poisoning but nonetheless can be a real threat in canned, low-acid foods.
As with any “threat,” we all learn to respect it and live by the rules. My lesson came when we started our commercial kitchen, 20 years later; I had to spend two days memorizing everything about botulism in order to get certification (part of our state’s licensing requirements).
My mother-in-law was right, if overcautious with two hours of cooking time. Heat does kill the botulism bacteria at the boiling point, and generally people are told to boil for 10 minutes to make sure the entire batch has cooked evenly.
The beet is the most intense of vegetables. The radish, admittedly, is more feverish, but the fire of the radish is a cold fire, the fire of discontent, not of passion. Tomatoes are lusty enough, yet there runs through tomatoes an undercurrent of frivolity. Beets are deadly serious.
—Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume, 1984
People seem to have a strong opinion about beets. It’s either love — “I adore the earthy flavor of beets” — or hate — “Beets taste like dirt.”
In a ferment, love them or hate them, most people expect the sweetness of roasted beets and are surprised by the tang, which comes with the conversion of sugars into lactic acid. Even so, most beet lovers still feel the love, and even the naysayers often, again to their surprise, can develop a taste for them.
One thing we all agree on is the health claims. High in vitamin C and folate and famous for their ability to cleanse the blood, beets are also loaded with minerals that support the liver and gallbladder. Fermented, shredded beets also seem to have properties that lower the risk for certain cancers and help cure others.
As far as flavor is concerned, there’s a huge difference in how spring beets and the overwintered roots ferment. It’s in the sugar. Once beets freeze in the ground, the roots develop a lot more sugar; this affects the result of the ferment — the bubbling and what we call life energy are amazing. The brine is also thick and syrupy. Wonder why your beet ferment didn’t work? The answer probably lies in when you made it, and thus the sugar content.
Fermenting beets by themselves makes them thick and syrupy, tasting somewhat alcoholic. Thus, we like to ferment beets with cabbage, half and half. Spring-beet kraut is light and bright, like the days. When using overwintered beets, increase the amount of cabbage to lighten the taste.
Undeniably, fermented red beets are beautiful, a rich and deep crimson. When you start with other types of beets, the colors won’t always be what you might expect. For example, golden beets don’t retain their original sunset gold. Be aware, too, of Chioggia beets. They’ll lure you with their concentric, candy-cane rings. You’ll think about how sexy they’ll look in the jar. You might take the candy-cane image further — sugar and spice and everything nice — and make a Chioggia pickle with cinnamon sticks and whole cloves. You’ll pour in the brine, and your great idea will be confirmed . . .
Fast-forward a few days, when you check the jar and see gray slices of those once candy-cane beets: The beautiful pink stripes have fallen out of the beets and into the brine. Oh, the disappointment! Your only consolation is that the flavor is still good. All right, we confess: The reviews were mixed — still love or hate.
Beets blend nicely with a lot of other vegetables, but they’ll turn everything else fuchsia. (Even the smallest addition of beet is dominant.) And your hands will also turn red. Use gloves if you’re going out . . . it takes a lot of scrubbing to remove the stain, and the staining can last a few days.
Peel beets; no matter how well you wash them, a “dirt” flavor (more than earthiness) comes through when the skins are intact.
In general, beets are tough to grate. After peeling, quarter them and run them through the grater attachment of the food processor. If you do not have a food processor, hand grating works and will build up your muscle strength.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
The nature of beets might cause the brine to be heavier than usual, more like a syrup. This is normal. If it’s too thick for you, use more cabbage than beets.
The beet kraut is a monster! Keeps exploding and knocking the jars sideways and burping over. I punch it down and add some kraut brine to try to thin the syrup a bit. Gad!
—Mary Alionis, Whistling Duck Farm, Grants Pass, Oregon, making her first beet kraut to sell at her farm stand
A longer ferment will give you a more sour flavor. Sometimes red beet kraut will also take on a faint orange color with age. This is okay, but with time the beet kraut can take on yeasty or alcoholic flavors. Experiment to find the perfect beet kraut for your palate.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
This is Guatemala’s version of sauerkraut. It’s usually served as a quick fresh side dish, pickled with vinegar. This is our take on it, fermented. It is a variation on the Simple Beet Kraut recipe.
Follow the recipe for Simple Beet Kraut, at left, adding the beets, onion, beans, garlic, jalapeños, cumin seed, zest, oregano, and chile flakes to the cabbage. Massage in the salt. When the brine has developed and it’s ready to pack, lay the bay leaves in the bottom of a 1-gallon jar or crock and continue with the recipe instructions.
When a farmer friend called and asked if we would like to make kraut with golden beets, our immediate reaction was: absolutely. We envisioned a radiant yellow, like van Gogh’s sunflowers, beaming beet love throughout the market, pulling customers to our table. Later that week, as we enthusiastically peeled and grated beets, their vibrant color was fading before our eyes, fading into a rather unappetizing grayish-brown. Oxidation was taking place before fermentation’s anaerobic acidity could save the color. Then we had a “eureka” moment: “Turmeric!” The beets fermented thick and syrupy and the color of saffron. We were sold out of 6 gallons’ worth in 2 weeks.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
Shred the beets for this recipe at the last minute, as golden beets will start to oxidize as soon as you cut into them. Work quickly once the beets are shredded; they’ll retain more of their golden color the sooner you can get this ferment tucked under the brine. The optional dried currants in the recipe make this ferment thicker and sweeter.
In a dry skillet, toast the cumin and mustard seeds; transfer to a bowl, then stir in the rest of the spices. Store in a spice jar for up to 6 months.
Beet slices, beet spears, tiny whole peeled beets: they all make wonderful pickles. However, for people accustomed to the soft, sweet, acidic flavor of vinegar-pickled beets, these are a surprise, as the beets stay quite firm — their texture is that of raw beets. Slice them thinly.
yield: about 1 quart
(fermenting vessel: 2 quarts)
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
One of our market regulars always requested jars of straight beet brine to purchase. She wanted to have this elixir whenever her mood was low. One day she brought a small paperback cookbook to show us a recipe for russel. That was the first time we’d heard of this traditional Jewish cooking brine. The pages of The Complete American-Jewish Cookbook, by Anne London and Bertha Kahn Bishov (1952), were yellow with age.
Beet kvass is the sour salty liquid that comes from fermenting beet cubes. Depending on the region or ethnicity, this same liquid is also called russel, which is the Yiddish or Slavic word for brine, and brine it is. It’s a fermented, ruby-colored beet “vinegar” used to flavor soups, preserve and color horseradish, and make drinks. This brine has a reputation as a tonic, cleanser, appetite builder, and hangover cure.
The word kvass comes from the old Slavic word meaning “yeast” or “leaven.” It’s a common brew throughout Eastern Europe, usually made by fermenting dark rye bread. In Russia, rassol is cucumber brine, pickle juice touted for the same virtues as kvass, and is the identifying ingredient in rassolnik, a traditional soup made with meat and barley.
The recipe was simple: 12 pounds of beets in water (no salt) for 31⁄2 weeks. Our recipe isn’t much different — just less time and a bit of salt. Try this as a base in your favorite borscht recipe. The rough chop in this recipe gives the beets enough surface area to ferment without breaking down the sugars too quickly, thus leading to alcohol; don’t grate the beets.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts
This is Tiffani Beckman-McNeil’s recipe for beet kvass with a lemon twist. It is one example of a kvass that is a little less beet-y. (Meet this fermentista and her husband Mike) The process is the same as for the Beet Kvass above, but a gold tone replaces the ruby jewel tone. Make a more savory kvass by substituting onion, carrots, even cabbage for a little of the beets. Or add orange peel and spices such as cinnamon sticks. Tiffani says, “It’s fun playing with different spices and seeing how things change, yet still stay the same.”
Broccoli is a versatile vegetable. Raw, steamed, sautéed? Yes. Lacto-fermented? You’d rather not. When we tried brine-pickling broccoli florets, we came up with a lot of comments that weren’t exactly flattering. When we chopped the florets and stalks and added them to a basic cabbage sauerkraut, it had a nice-enough earthy flavor for the first few weeks, and then a strong broccoli-gas taste developed, almost like sulfur. As it aged, this became even more acrid. Fermentation just isn’t a long-term preservation solution for broccoli.
You can peel and then shred broccoli stems and add them to a sauerkraut, but make just a small batch and eat it within a few days — it’s not a keeper. Or you can quick-ferment broccoli for an instant pickled salad. The fermentation process breaks down some of the sugars and starches in the vegetable, making it easier to digest.
A fruit is a vegetable with looks and money. Plus, if you let fruit rot, it turns into wine, something Brussels sprouts never do.
—P. J. O’Rourke, humorist
Pickling Brussels sprouts came early in our fermentation experimentation. Kirsten’s sister loves Brussels sprouts. We used to think she was the only one who held such affection for them, but now it seems everyone we meet loves them. We hoped to surprise her with a new way to enjoy them and eagerly prepared a jar of whole Brussels sprouts, decorated with herbs and bathed in brine. The jar sat in our fermentation cave, bubbling away in the company of 10-gallon crocks of varieties of sauerkraut. After a week, the color had turned the dull olive green of a pickle.
Kirsten began the process of taste-testing while Christopher watched. She took a sprout out of the jar; she spat it out. “These aren’t ready,” she said. A few days later, the result was the same. They were disgusting.
Even though we knew that in Eastern Europe barrels of whole cabbages are fermented, we suspected that the tight leaves were too dense to allow the acidification to penetrate to the centers. We briefly entertained the idea of shredding them for a sprout kraut, but the thought of scraping all those tiny Brussels sprouts back and forth across a grater for a wee bit of kraut was not appealing.
We’ve since learned that cutting the sprouts in half or into quarters and pickling them in a brine creates a delicious product.
Brussels sprouts are one of the few vegetables that aren’t available fresh year-round. They’re a cold-season crop found in markets as fall approaches — usually available from September through January.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
This recipe is inspired by our love for Brussels sprouts sautéed with plenty of bacon. We use a small amount of smoked salt in the brine, as it can become overpowering.
You can pickle Brussels sprouts in a number of ways — on their own in regular brine, with other vegetables in a medley, and with curry.
Brussels sprouts are versatile. Slice them thin and let the sprouts make a brine for a kraut, or add garlic and ginger to make a kimchi. Follow basic cucumber-pickling recipes, with or without the dill. Just be sure to cut the sprouts in half or into quarters.
The largest green leaf here in the country is certainly the burdock leaf: if you put it round your little waist it is like an apron; and if you lay it upon your head when it rains, it is almost as good as an umbrella, for it is extremely large. One burdock never grows alone; where one grows there are several more, making quite a splendid sight.
—From “The Happy Family,” by Hans Christian Andersen, 1847
The reputation of burdock, or, as it’s called by its botanical name, Arctium lappa, bounces between nuisance weed to flower gardeners and essential to herbalists and chefs. Its Japanese name is gobo.
Burdock has anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, and antibacterial properties. It’s said to aid digestion and alleviate arthritis and some skin disorders. This list goes on, and the reason is that this “weed” belongs to the class of herbs known as adaptogens, which work to balance the system. This group of highly nutritive and medicinal broad-spectrum plants includes perilla, spikenard, nettle, and ginseng.
Burdock originated in the Siberian region of northern Asia. In Europe it was used during the Middle Ages both as a medicinal herb and as a vegetable. It’s a popular vegetable in Japan and is important in the Chinese herbal pharmacy.
Though it’s a biennial, most gardeners and farmers cultivate burdock (Arctium lappa var. edule) as an annual and harvest it for the long, thin taproot, which may be 4 feet long and with a 1-inch diameter. If you let it go to seed, in the “right” environment garden burdock will quickly get away, at which point you have the “pesky” wild burdock.
You’ll find it in the vegetable section of natural-foods stores. Look for roots that are still firm, not limp like an old carrot. Select those that are about the thickness of your thumb; any bigger and they tend to be woody.
Burdock, or gobo, is a wonderful addition to sauerkraut. It imparts a mild sweetness, only subtly perceptible against the stronger taste of the cabbage.
If you are a gardener or a wildcrafter and come across burdock, it’s good to know that its tender leaves make a nice salad green (if you don’t mind the small hairs on them). Shred a leaf or two — they’re big — and add to a kraut; that will take care of the fuzzy texture.
Burdock oxidizes to an unappetizing gray-brown when shredded and exposed to the air. Although in the beginning the color makes you think the burdock must have been scraped off the forest floor, after some hours in the anaerobic, soon-to-be-acidic environment of the brine, the brighter color of the freshly shredded root returns.
Shredded burdock works nicely with other vegetables, but if you’re working with a lot of it, as in the recipe for kimchi, it’s better to cut the roots into thin slices. They become a little too starchy when shredded for use by themselves.
When I first started working with this plant, I wanted to make a burdock-only ferment. The peeled and shredded root soon began to oxidize. I added fresh-squeezed orange juice; I thought the flavor would complement that of the burdock and was hoping the acidity would balance the color, much in the way lemon juice does with sliced apples.
As it fermented it became increasingly starchy and thick, and there was no recognizable brine. The orange juice did nothing for the color or flavor; it was slightly alcoholic, and that was the least of its problems. It all went straight to the compost bin.
So much for an all-burdock ferment.
Follow the directions for Naked Kraut, and add 4 large or 5 medium burdock roots, peeled and shredded. For a spicier kraut, also add 1⁄4 cup minced horseradish root. For a more colorful sauerkraut, add a grated carrot with the burdock.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
This root never bubbled to the top of our gotta-have-it list — until fermentation. After much experimentation, we found this condiment to be a perfect (and tasty) way to incorporate burdock into our diet. It’s a satisfying snack in the middle of the afternoon — a dollop of Burdock Kimchi and a few slices of cheese.
This kimchi is traditionally spicy, but we leave just how hot up to you.
Follow the Burdock Kimchi recipe above, adding 2 pounds of thinly sliced carrots and omitting the mustard greens and sesame seeds.
Cabbage, n: a familiar kitchen-garden vegetable about as large and wise as a man’s head.
—From The Devil’s Dictionary, 1906, by Ambrose Bierce
The lowly cabbage, round and plain and generally inexpensive in the market bins, turns out to be the Queen of the Crock! This simple-looking vegetable in the grocery store is one of the most beautiful in the garden — a magnificent “flower” when surrounded by all its deeply colored leaves peeling back as the plant appears to bloom.
This vegetable is the basis of most of the traditional ferments around the world. Fermented cabbage under its many names — German sauerkraut, Dutch zuurkool, Russian kislaya kapusta, Korean kimchi, Japanese tsukemono, Chinese suan cai, French choucroute, Swedish surkål — has been, and continues to be, an important staple in keeping people around the globe nourished through the lean winter months.
Winter cabbages are as beautiful as they are welcome for their freshness. January King, with outer leaves that are a deep fuchsia, matures just when we’re in the darkest of days, reminding us it’s time to make kraut to get us through the bleak months of February and March and to savor with thick hot soups. Note: These winter cabbages tend to release less brine.
In spring, nature brings us flowers and salad greens, but the big, overwintered cabbage heads you see are ready to do what’s in their genetic makeup: bolt and go to seed.
Summer and fall cabbages are the archetypal pale green. They’re crunchy and moist, perfect for putting up a year’s supply of kraut. Savoy, beautiful and crinkly, is a late-fall variety. Its taste is generally milder than that of other cabbages; fermented, it has a similar flavor but the leaf has a thinner quality. When we made Lemon-Dill Kraut with savoy for our business, it was different enough that we renamed it Lemon-Dill’s Curly Cousin. It’s somewhat drier and produces less brine.
In general, for the recipes in this section, 1 cabbage head equals 2 to 3 pounds.
Crucifers (the backbone of the canon of fermented vegetables) contain goitrogens, which some people with hypothyroid conditions should avoid, as the goitrogen suppresses thyroid function. Cooking breaks down goitrogen compounds; fermentation will not, so we spent time testing krauts and kimchis based on vegetables not from the cabbage family.
To balance or counteract too much goitrogen, add sea vegetables (see Natural Iodine to crucifer-based ferments).
Alternatively, try Escarole Kimchi and celeriac or carrot krauts — a few examples of ferments in other families that have just as much pizzazz and flavor as does anything with cabbage.
The ferments pictured here are all free of goitrogen.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkrauts
This is pure cabbage deliciousness. Just remember the kraut mantra: shred, salt, submerge.
Pediococcus cerevisiae is one of the members of the Lactobacillaceae team and is the bacterium that gives lacto-fermented sauerkraut its buttery flavor. This occurs because Pediococcus produces diacetyl, a compound that tastes, well, buttery. The creamy flavor profile of this bacterium makes it a good influence on cheeses and yogurt; wine and beer makers, however, view the little guy as a contaminant.
yield: about 3 quarts
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
The three Cs are cabbage, carrots, and celeriac. This kraut combination was one of the first products we sold at the market. Each of the vegetables provides a subtle flavor that doesn’t overwhelm the others.
Follow the directions for Naked Kraut, adding 1 packed cup each of shredded carrot and celeriac with the cabbage and 1⁄4 to 1⁄2 teaspoon additional salt.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
Curtido tied Lemon-Dill Kraut for our best seller, and people who were adamant that they didn’t like fermented vegetables liked Curtido.
Curtido comes from the Spanish verb encurtir, which means “to pickle.” It is traditional in the cuisine of El Salvador, and it’s as versatile in Latin American food as sauerkraut is in Eastern European. It’s a refreshing replacement for pico de gallo salsa, which helps your efforts to eat local, as it’s not reliant on the fresh tomato that travels 900 miles to get to your winter table.
Follow the directions for Naked Kraut, adding the carrot, onion, garlic, oregano, chile flakes, cumin, and salt to the shredded cabbage.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 2 gallons
This variation on Naked Kraut was our first foray into beyond-cabbage kraut; we had no idea what would lie ahead. Kraut and onions are a delicious combination on their own, but the sweet piney notes of juniper really bring the flavors together. Some people love to bite into the whole berries for an intense bite — not unlike a shot of gin.
Follow the directions for Naked Kraut, adding the onions, juniper berries, and salt to the shredded cabbage. Note: Lightly crush the berries with the handle of your knife to release the flavorful oils.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
Lemon is a player in this sprightly kraut as well as in the lemon-dill one that follows, but in this recipe we accentuate it even more with the use of the zest. The cooling quality of the mint and the freshness of the lemon make this a superb summer kraut. It’s particularly nice on a Mediterranean platter and is a traditional accompaniment to lamb. Try lamb burgers topped with feta and this kraut.
Follow the directions for Naked Kraut, adding the mint, lemon juice and zest, and salt to the shredded cabbage.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
One of our sons was going backpacking and wanted to bring a kraut, something refreshing that would provide some electrolytes to go along with the cheese, crackers, and trail mix that make up his standard fare. The sauerkraut we came up with soon became our best seller. Many of our students have come to our kraut school just to learn this recipe, and this is the kraut we recommend to those who say, “I don’t like sauerkraut.” It’ll win them over.
Follow the directions for Naked Kraut, adding the lemon juice and the dill with the salt. When the cabbage is glistening and you have a small pool of liquid in the bottom of the bowl, mix in the garlic.
We received an e-mail from a customer off-season, right before Christmas, asking if we had any Lemon-Dill Kraut (above). Her seven-year-old had written to Santa and requested only two things: a bathrobe and a jar of our lemon kraut.
Consumption of large quantities of the goitrogens in raw cruciferous vegetables is not recommended for those with a sensitive thyroid. The best way to consume them is fermented with seaweed. It naturally contains iodine, which the body does not produce on its own, and which is important for the proper function of the thyroid. Although some say iodine inhibits fermentation, we’ve never had a problem with it, nor do we know anyone else who has.
yield: about 1⁄2 gallon
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
This was one of our best sellers, especially in the fall — maybe it was its deep golden color. You’ll find scapes , the curly flowering stalks of the garlic bulb, at farmers’ markets in early summer.
Follow the directions for Naked Kraut, adding the scapes, carrot, turmeric, and spices to the shredded cabbage before salting.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
Follow the directions for Naked Kraut, but replace half of the regular salt with smoked salt. After you’ve shredded the cabbage, add 1 sliced onion and 1 diced red bell pepper for a mild smoky kraut; for the hot version, add 2–3 diced jalapeños instead.
There are many varieties of smoked salts, which impart different character and smoky notes. We use applewood, as it is delicious and readily available where we live. We encourage you to start with your region’s specialty, such as alder, hickory, or mesquite. Some smoked salts are quite strong — in that case, use half smoked and half regular salt. The goal is for the smoky flavor to be noticeable but not overwhelming.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
We wanted to make a lacto-fermented wine sauerkraut that retained the flavor of the wine. Wine added to raw cabbage at the beginning of the ferment time became vinegary. Not bad, but not wine. We thought of trying to infuse the flavor by fermenting in an old barrel from one of the local wineries, but 55 gallons of kraut was a larger-scale experiment than we were up for. In smaller trials, we learned to add the wine at the end of the fermentation.
Ferment Naked Kraut for 2 weeks, then add 1 cup of a good red wine. Because the kraut is already fermented, just let it sit on the counter with the wine infusion until you like the flavor. It will taste like a wine kraut immediately, but a day or two on the counter lets the flavors commingle and deepen.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
Za’atar is a blend of herbs used in Middle Eastern cooking. In the Mediterranean countries east of Italy, za’atar is believed to make one’s mind alert and the body strong, and it is often incorporated into breakfast to prepare for a big day. If you’d like a bold kraut as part of your morning meal, this one’s nice in an omelet.
Follow the directions for Naked Kraut, adding 2 tablespoons of the za’atar blend with the salt.
Sumac, a red-flaked spice with a tart flavor reminiscent of lemon, is an essential spice in much of the Middle East. It has a long culinary history: it served as the tart, acidic element in food before the ancient Romans brought lemons to the region.
Combine all the ingredients, and there you have it!
yield: about 4 gallons
fermentation vessel: 5 gallons
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
The basic process is the same for a large batch as for a small one. The differences have to do in part with the equipment needed to manage a vast pile of cabbage, especially before it breaks down, but the bigger factors are that the fermentation time is usually longer and the brine management duties are less (this is because the weight of the shredded vegetables with the resultant larger quantity of brine achieves a critical mass that helps keep a properly weighted follower in place). It is interesting to note that large batches need less manipulation for the cabbage to release its juices. If the cabbage is evenly salted, the mass, weight, and gravity help this happen on its own in a few hours.
Prep the cabbage in the largest bowl you have or try a Tubtrug, which is a large food-grade plastic vessel. Add salt as you go. This jump-starts the breakdown of the cell walls, releasing juices even before you begin to work at it.
yield: about 8 gallons
fermentation vessel: 10 gallons
This is a super-sized batch of Curtido. The process is a variation of the Large-Batch Kraut, but this recipe is larger still.
Follow the Large-Batch Kraut directions, mixing the cabbage with the carrots, onions, garlic, oregano, chile flakes, and cumin, then adding the salt.
yield: about 8 gallons
fermentation vessel: 10 gallons
This recipe makes enough for a big family (a very big family) to last the year — as in, once fermented, it will take 40 quart jars to store it! It’s somewhat labor-intensive; it’ll take two people at least 2 hours to cut and prepare the cabbage.
Follow the Large-Batch Kraut recipe, adding the lemon juice and dill with the salt. When the cabbage is glistening and you have a small pool of liquid in the bottom of the bowl, add the garlic.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
This recipe, one of OlyKraut’s favorite traditional-style caraway krauts, in 2012 won the Good Food Award from the Seedling Project in San Francisco. It seamlessly blends the crisp, fresh taste favored by the modern palate with the deep, traditional flavor of sauerkraut and caraway. The recipe is based on one that OlyKraut founding member Kai Tillman learned from her grandmother. The OlyKraut women tasted batch after batch, adjusting as they went, until it was just right. Kai is no longer with OlyKraut, but this recipe won’t be going anywhere.
We met the women from OlyKraut — Sash Sunday and Summer Bock — a year after they began making kraut commercially. It was around the same time we launched our farmstead kraut business. When we asked Sash what put her on the journey to fresh real sauerkraut, she said it was her home garden.
One year she grew a lot of cabbage and decided to try making sauerkraut. She liked it. She made more. “I gave a lot away,” she said. “I was a kraut charity.”
At that time Sash was a student at Evergreen State College, in Olympia, Washington, with her focus on food and nutrition. She and other agricultural students put together a farm-based business plan for Evergreen’s organic farm. According to the plan, they would grow cabbage, make kraut, and sell it to the student-run cafeteria and at a farm stand. The school implemented the plan, and OlyKraut grew in part from that experience.
Meanwhile, in another part of town, Summer Bock, a holistic nutrition counselor, was part of a group called the Fermented Veggie Club. It was through the club that she met Sash. In 2008 circumstances, among them a great commercial kitchen space, aligned just right for the women to establish OlyKraut.
The white wood building that houses the business was originally built as a cannery in 1934. Inside, a 25-foot-long stainless steel table dominates the vast space. There’s also an insulated fermenting “cave,” as the main room gets quite chilly. The worst days, Sash told us, aren’t when you don’t feel the difference walking in and out of the cooler; it’s when you want to work in the cooler in order to get warm.
Health — both of the local population and of the local economy — is the driving force behind the flavors of OlyKraut. “We hope raw fermented vegetables reclaim their essential place at the American table and will play an important role in healing our people, our food system, and even the environment,” Sash said. “Don’t underestimate the lowly lactobacillus.”
Sash and Summer developed their first recipes through trial and error in small batches in their home kitchens. Now they use 55-gallon stainless steel barrels. OlyKraut’s seasonal approach captures the peak of taste and abundance at harvest time in the Pacific Northwest, so all of their flavors are balanced and delicious.
So many krauts, so little time. Cabbage is the base for just about anything you can think of, kraut-wise. A good formula is 3 parts cabbage to 1 part other fresh veggies.
How about a salsa kraut? Use cabbage, cilantro, garlic, a serrano or two, sweet red peppers, lime zest, and juice.
Or a wasabi-nori kraut. Add 2 to 3 tablespoons of nori, cut into small pieces, plus 3 tablespoons of wasabi powder to Naked Kraut.
Use your imagination, and have fun!
Napa, or Chinese, cabbage is the main ingredient of kimchi. It is a staple throughout Asia. Napa leaves are typically more tender, juicy, and delicate than those of other types of cabbage. Depending on the recipe you may use it whole, slice it diagonally or lengthwise, quarter it or halve it, roll it, or stuff it.
Whole-cabbage kimchi is a traditional winter dish — it’s strong and made to last until springtime. A typical stuffing consists of radishes, scallions, mustard leaves, watercress, garlic, ginger, anchovy juice, pickled or fresh shrimp and oysters (the seafood protein causes the ferment to develop essential amino acids), and a chile pepper powder known as gochugaru.
Other whole-cabbage kimchis are lighter and sweet. One stuffing calls for a small amount of anchovy juice and red pepper but includes apple, Asian pear, chestnuts, jujubes, pine nuts, and ginger.
There are many varieties of Chinese cabbage. Some are short and stalky; some, long and thin. All work well as long as they’re fresh. Choose cabbages with a tight body and light green outer leaves. The inner leaves should be almost white, with no browning on the edges. Sometimes the darker green outer leaves are left on the cabbage as protective wrapping. That’s fine, but remove them when you’re ready to prepare the cabbage.
When we were making kimchi commercially, sometimes we’d get a box of cabbages and when we cut them open, all were bolting. You can’t tell if they’re bolting until you split them open and see a tight-curling sprout with cruciferous-type flowers. We tried cutting out the sprouts, but that sent almost half the cabbage weight to the cows instead of the crocks. Then we tasted them.
When we realized the sprouts were mild, neither bitter nor tough, the cows were out of luck and the crocks were full again.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
technique used: Mastering Kimchi Basics
This is our basic kimchi recipe. We make it in the fall in a 3-gallon batch, which almost lasts through the winter. It’s a good basic recipe to use as a springboard for experimentation. Remember to plan ahead, as this recipe requires a brining period, 6 to 8 hours or overnight.
In traditional kimchi making, after brining, the cabbage can be sliced in a variety of ways: chopped, quartered, halved, or left whole. In the United States, it’s most commonly cut into bite-size pieces, but slice it however you like. The pickling is usually done in onggi pots.
Seaweed brings its own salt to the mix, and that sodium is unrefined, full of minerals, and bioavailable. For these reasons, many omit some salt for a ferment heavy with seaweed. If you’re adding a significant amount to, say, a sauerkraut, cut the additional salt by half. That way, you get a bit of both. You don’t have to presoak dried seaweed, but keep in mind that when it reconstitutes in the ferment, it will swell to five times the size. See Seaweed Primer for more information.
In 2006 Andrew Sauter Sargent picked up Salt: A World History, by Mark Kurlansky (a great read that we highly recommend). Reading about the sailors who stayed healthy by eating sauerkraut inspired Andrew, a sailor himself. Meanwhile, Jennifer Sauter Sargent, passionate about gardening, had a bumper crop of cabbage.
They harvested the cabbages and other vegetables, and they worked together to ferment them for their family. The first inkling of a business plan came when Andrew mentioned to Jennifer that if they made 30,000 jars of sauerkraut and netted a dollar on each, they’d have a profit of $30,000.
By the next year they’d talked themselves into starting a farmstead kraut business, and in 2007 Spirit Creek Farm was born. The couple’s off-the-grid, solar-powered farm sits on 70 acres on the south shore of Lake Superior. They source their ingredients from sustainable organic farms in the Upper Midwest. They’re committed to stewardship of their land and their community.
Jennifer recently participated in a farm-to-school program in which she taught the art of fermentation to 100 schoolchildren. Clad in rubber gloves, the children salted, hand-mixed, and pounded cabbage; when it was ready to ferment, the kids took turns pressing and pummeling the cabbage in a huge bucket. Jennifer said, “It was some of the best-pounded weeping kraut I’ve ever seen.”
Different regions seem to have their own preferences for kraut taste. “All of our krauts are tailored to the palate of the northern Midwest,” Jennifer says. “Our population is heavily Scandinavian and German, so we keep our flavors mellow.” Once a year, though, Andrew steps up the amount of spices, adds seaweed, and makes a kimchi for family and friends. It’s distinctive because their commercial kimchi is made with green cabbage, not napa cabbage, which they find difficult to source locally.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
This is a mild variation of our basic kimchi recipe, using two sea vegetables instead of the chile pepper flakes. Sea vegetables is the culinary-savvy term for what’s commonly known as seaweed, a type of ocean algae. Despite all the great health reasons one should eat seaweed, some people find little about the ocean smell appealing. This kimchi uses two mild sea vegetables that when fermented do not smell “fishy.” Dulse comes in small flakes and adds pretty purple flecks to the ferment. Sea palm has a mild flavor; when rehydrated in kimchi or another ferment, it retains a nice crunch. If you can’t imagine kimchi without a little heat, feel free to add 1 to 2 tablespoons of chile pepper flakes.
You’ll need to plan ahead for this recipe, as it requires a brining period, 6 to 8 hours or overnight.
Follow the recipe for Kimchi, adding the sea palm and dulse when you add the seasonings, radish, and carrot.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: two 2-quart jars
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
Andrew Sauter Sargent’s recipe (see Meet the Fermentistas) is a bit different from the other kimchi recipes in this book in that he prepares kimchi like a kraut, without the extra brining step.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
This recipe and the next use the same ingredients. What makes them different is how you prepare the cabbage. For the Japanese tsukemono, you slice it before fermenting; for the Chinese suan cai, leave the cabbages whole.
The literal translation of tsukemono is “pickled things.” Traditionally, this recipe calls for the cabbage to be “layered in salt,” which is just too much for our taste. In Japan this ferment is made in a special container called a tsukemono press (See the resources); it has a lid that when screwed down acts as the follower and weight.
yield: 1–2 gallons
fermentation vessel: 2 gallons or larger
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
The literal translation of suan cai is “sour vegetable.” This traditional napa “sauerkraut” comes from the northern part of China. Pickle the cabbages whole, without any other vegetables or spices. Use a few whole cabbages and wedge them into the crock; one would just float around and be difficult to weight down. Once fermented, they are used as an ingredient in stir-fries. Or you can use them as you would any other kraut.
Use these whole pickled leaves as a fun wrapper with your favorite sandwich filling. Just remove a leaf from the head and pat dry with a clean towel before wrapping.
We found one reference to this type of vegetable ferment accomplished as a dry-salting process. It seems part of the unique flavor of this method comes from the time it takes for the salt to break down the cell walls of whole cabbages to create the brine. We tried it.
We used four napa cabbages. The thinking was that whole cabbages would supply the critical mass necessary to make enough brine and weight. We rinsed them in cold water. Because we wanted to compact the cabbage for packing into the crock and to give the salt a place to start its work, we then tried to crush each base with the palm of a hand. Not easy. We sprinkled salt among the leaves as best we could.
The recipe called for stoneware pots and to weight the cabbage with a large rock. Instead, we used a 3-gallon crock and pressed in the cabbage as firmly as we could. We then weighted with 16 pounds in the form of two water-filled gallon jugs.
Then we waited.
After three days we had 1 inch of brine at the bottom of the crock. Hmmm. We rotated the cabbages, putting the top ones into the (wading) pool of brine. Two days later there was 2 inches of brine; the smell, however, was clearly headed toward a unique flavor that was, let’s say, beyond our interest. We let it continue to ferment for a few weeks in the name of science, but it never developed enough brine to immerse the cabbage. It landed in the compost pile.
Red cabbage is not a go-to vegetable. Many people simply don’t know what to do with it. Perhaps their only experience with it are the shreds thrown into a salad-bar mix to add color and texture to the iceberg lettuce. Red cabbage has so much more to offer.
Beyond a mild, pleasantly sweet flavor and a great color, it’s packed with nutritional elements. During the Middle Ages, botanists encouraged the red pigment, which we now know as anthocyanin. The amounts of anthocyanin and vitamin C in red cabbage are superior to those of green cabbage. Studies suggest that certain anthocyanins have anti-inflammatory, antiviral, and antimicrobial properties.
When fermented, the violet-red of the raw cabbage is modified by a cooling blue hue that makes the whole affair a fuchsia-infused purple, the color of royalty, military honors, religious ceremonies, and the ’60s haze of psychedelic drugs. For the artist of the crock, this cabbage adds allure to any dish.
The leaves of the red cabbage are different from those of the green. How to describe them? We hesitate to use the word tough, which gives the sense of a chewy texture, which is not the case. Red cabbage is sturdier than is the green; it keeps longer under cool storage and has a different texture than regular sauerkraut.
Because it stores well, look for heads that are crisp and brightly colored; avoid cabbage that looks old or wilted. Choose the heads with the deepest red, as this pigment is what gives nutritional value. A dull color indicates that the cabbage is no longer fresh. A fresh cabbage will still have some outer leaves — if it doesn’t, or if you turn it over and the leaves are beginning to separate from the stem, you’re looking at an old cabbage.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
The flavor is decidedly more acidic than the traditional, Bavarian sugar-sweetened cooked version, but it’s delicious and a satisfying accompaniment to meat and potatoes. Serve as a side dish just as it is, dress it up with blue cheese and walnuts, or turn it into Braised Blaukraut. It also makes a nice layer in a sandwich or wrap.
For amazing color, make a beet–red cabbage kraut. Our neighbor used a dynamite combination of these two red veggies and added chopped jalapeño for even more excitement.
The day is coming when a single carrot, freshly observed, will set off a revolution.
—Paul Cézanne, post-impressionist French painter
You can’t go wrong putting carrots in any ferment, at least as far as taste, color, and crunch are concerned. In other words, it makes a beautiful, crisp ferment that begs to be eaten. You’ll find recipes throughout this A-to-Z section that include carrots (maybe even more than include cabbage). Curtido is a cabbage kraut punctuated by carrot coins, sliced carrots are featured in Burdock-Carrot Kimchi, and shredded carrots make an appearance in a number of krauts and kimchis.
Carrots also brine-pickle well. Our first introduction to pickled carrots were the ones prepared by a Ukranian neighbor. She never got used to the abundance in our American supermarkets and could not help saving every scrap of food. She would even ferment the miniscule carrots gleaned from thinning the garden. It took her hours to clean and prepare them. They were adorable in the jar and scrumptious too, but while we adopted the practice of fermenting carrots, we still feed all the tiny ones to the goats and horses.
Carrots come in myriad colors, they’re available year-round, and they’ll transform any ferment by adding a hint of sweetness. And they pair with any other vegetable. What more can you ask?
Ferments that contain a significant quantity of carrots are more susceptible to yeasts. This is also true for other roots with a high sugar content, such as beets. It isn’t a problem, just something to be aware of. Keeping the level of the brine consistently above the vegetables will hold yeast at bay (see Scum You Can Ignore).
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
This is an adaptation of Sally Fallon’s gingered carrots. Though it’s a colorful and refreshing side dish, we like it best in carrot cake. The kraut adds moisture, and with the cream-cheese frosting, life is good. Note: Due to its high sugar content, this kraut continues to ferment in the refrigerator and will sour more with time.
It’s not always necessary to peel carrots. If they’re young and sweet, just scrub them and grate. If the carrots are large with darker, bitter peels, pare them before you grate.
yield: about 1⁄2 gallon
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
This is a variation on a pickle that’s an important ingredient in the Vietnamese banh mi, which is the cuisine’s version of a hoagie, a hero, or a sub. The traditional ingredient is a vinegar pickle, but this lacto-fermented one carries itself just as well in this and other sandwiches. Because these pickles are Asian style, you’ll be making the brine with some sugar.
This is a kid-friendly variation on the above recipe. Pickled carrot sticks can be a child’s gateway into fermented food. They’re crunchy and so convenient; just pull them out of the jar and serve with peanut butter.
Follow the process for Vietnamese Pickled Carrot and Daikon, using only the carrots and cutting them into sticks. For a less sour ferment, omit sugar from the brine. For a little more flavor, add a sprig of rosemary or 3 or 4 lemon slices to the jar.
Cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education.
—Mark Twain, Pudd’nhead Wilson, 1894
Cauliflower, as its name suggests, is a bundle of flowers. It probably developed in Asia Minor, from wild cabbage, which grew in gardens of that area around 600 BCE. Botanists believe it looked somewhat like today’s collards.
It made a mark on the culinary scene in the 16th century as cauli-fiori, from Genoa, then made its way to France, where it was grown in gardens and called chou-fleur. It was prized for its delicacy of flavor.
Cauliflower’s head is called a curd. In making your selection, it is great to see thick, dark green leaves surrounding it. They serve as protection and keep the cauliflower fresh. However, these have usually been trimmed off, so when you examine the curd, it should be compact. Separation in the bud clusters, or a rough or loose texture, means the head has matured past its prime. The curd should be creamy and white, not dull. Don’t bother with spotted cauliflower, as the spots are another sign of age.
Varieties other than the usual cream-white ferment well too. Orange cauliflower was developed in Canada in the 1970s; it has a sweeter taste and boasts 25 percent more vitamin A than its pale counterpart. The origins of the purple cauliflower are unclear, but it’s said that it developed naturally. The color comes from anthocyanin, which is considered to be a beneficial antioxidant.
For us, green cauliflower and Romanesco are hit-or-miss in the crock, probably because these varieties are a cross between cauliflower and broccoli, and broccoli is our crock problem child.
I’ve hidden, puréed, and disguised many a cauliflower floret into family meals. Cauliflower has a hefty amount of vitamins C and K. Raw, a serving fulfills 77 percent of the daily C requirement; cooked, that number is reduced to 46 percent. “Eating yucky food is a big price to pay for vitamins,” to quote a member of my family. But fermented raw cauliflower is a whole other story.
About five years ago, I proudly traded some of my homemade feta for a big box of cauliflower. (My family didn’t share my enthusiasm.) That year our garden produced an abundance of jalapeños. I brined the cauliflower with the jalapeños plus onions, carrots, and a lot of garlic. Crisp and spicy, the cauliflower took on all those flavors beautifully. In this new guise, cauliflower became a new family favorite.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
When making this tasty kraut, the key is to slice the cauliflower ribbon-thin. Use a mandoline slicer or the slicing option on a microplane grater. The latter works well enough, but be aware that the brittle cauliflower bits tend to snap and fly off the counter — just corral them and toss them back into the bowl.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
This is an ocher-yellow, Indian-spiced variation of CauliKraut. Toasting the curry spice seeds intensifies their flavor, but in a pinch you can substitute 2 teaspoons of curry powder instead.
Cauliflower is a natural choice to brine-pickle in any vegetable medley. To prepare it for pickling, first remove the outer leaves. Turn the curd upside down and remove the core or stem with a paring knife. Discard the core.
Pull apart the curd and separate the florets into bite-size pieces. When you get to the big stems, use the paring knife to cut them apart, then continue to break apart into bite-size pieces. What you want is to retain those nice flowery shapes.
Always use fresh veggies in your ferments. Old vegetables provide less energy, have fewer nutrients, and don’t taste as fresh, resulting in less power in the crock or jar.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
This medley can range from spicy to fiery, depending on the jalapeños. The recipe was inspired by the pickled carrots and jalapeños served in many Mexican restaurants. They often appear on our winter table, dressing up stews, soups, and beans. A gallon might seem like a lot, but you’ll see they go quickly.
Unfortunately everyone seems to be completely baffled by celeriac, but it’s beautiful in soups or thinly sliced into salads. When roasted it goes sweet and when mixed with potato and mashed it’s a complete joy.
—Jamie Oliver, Happy Days with the Naked Chef, 2001
Celeriac, though lacking in conventional beauty (it’s really not pretty), is delicious fermented, but even more important, it’s one of our favorite bases for crucifer-free kraut (good for the crucifer intolerant). The shreds hold up to the fermentation and provide good consistency. It has a mild celery flavor, which other vegetables and spices complement, so it’s a nice addition to krauts.
Celeriac is a bit difficult to peel. The top and the sides, however, are straightforward enough. Using a paring knife, carefully cut off the skin. The bottom of the root is where it gets confusing: there’s a tangled mass of roots with bits of dirt wedged in. Either spend a lot of time trying to salvage most of the tangle of roots or cut off the bottom and move on.
Celeriac, or celery root, is rare on the American table. In Europe, on the other hand, it’s quite common. I grew up eating it as a warm salad, somewhat like a traditional warm potato salad. My mother boiled it, then peeled it while still warm. She sliced it thin, added some raw onion, and dressed with vinegar, oil, salt, and pepper. And this is how I prepared it for my husband and kids. The children tolerated it.
A couple of years ago, when we began experimenting with fermenting celeriac, we were stunned by how delicious it is.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
This is fermented celeriac, plain and unassuming. Like Naked Kraut, it is delicious and versatile. This recipe is shredded for a krauty consistency; however, for an alternative “salad,” slice celeriac thinly on a mandoline.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
In our hands-on krauting classes the vegetables are piled high for students to choose from. We start by tasting krauts so that people get a sense of what they like. This kraut never ceases to surprise and delight students, not only because it’s delicious but also because most people have never thought to ferment celeriac. Often when it’s time to make the kraut there’s a mad dash to the vegetable pile for this gnarled root.
Follow the directions for Naked Celeriac Kraut, adding the peppers and spices with the celeriac.
Incorporate celeriac spears into a vegetable pickle medley.
The best way to find out what others are doing in the celery business, is to take a bunch of your celery of an average grade, tie a bunch of damp peat moss upon the butts, then wrap all in paper to protect from the air and getting marred, and take the early train for your nearest city; inquire for the fancy grocer of the town, and show up to him just what you have.
—Homer L. Stewart, Celery Growing and Marketing a Success, 1891
Where does celery fall on the nutritional scale? Urban legend has it that celery takes more calories to consume than it contains, and that it’s all water, which leads some to think of it as a diet food and others to think of it as an empty food. Instead, celery boasts a number of health benefits. Got sleeplessness, mild anxiety, high blood pressure, arthritis, kidney stones, or gallstones, anyone? Need relaxation, a cancer preventive, a sexual stimulant? Celery. Nothing empty about it.
For fermenting, find the freshest celery available. We use locally grown heirloom celery; the stems are greener and there are more leaves. The stems are also denser, which means a stronger flavor and crunchier texture.
Homegrown celery has less moisture than store-bought. When packing it into the crock, with patience and massaging perseverance it will weep enough to create its own brine. But this same low moisture content gives homegrown celery ferments a more robust flavor and texture.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
This “bready” name seems ridiculous for a vegetable ferment, but you’ll be surprised. It’s not a relish, a kraut, a kimchi, a pickle, or a paste. It is, though, a substantial presence in the mouth, and the thyme and sage suggest a turkey dinner. Whether you call it stuffing or dressing, this can be a gluten-free option to stuff poultry or to eat alongside as a dressing.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
Cool, bright, and lively, this is a summery-tasting variation on the Celery “Stuffing” recipe above. Serve on its own or add to a mixed-green salad.
Follow the Celery “Stuffing” recipe, adding the scallions and mint to the celery before adding the salt.
Celery, onions, and carrots make up the “holy trinity” known as mirepoix. They’re used as the flavoring base for many French dishes. The French-inspired Creole cuisine of Louisiana replaces the carrot with bell pepper; celery, onion, and garlic are the basis for much Italian, Portuguese, and Spanish cookery. Each of these vegetables ferments delightfully. Try fermenting these celebrated triads alone or with herbs and spices.
Pickle whole celery sticks in the Basic Brine (1⁄2 cup unrefined sea salt to 1 gallon unchlorinated water) with or without spices. If you keep the stalks intact, be sure to remove the strings — otherwise it’s like eating fermented dental floss.
Have a huge crop of chard and want to preserve it? We can help you with the stems, but sorry, the leaves on their own just don’t shine.
Our goal is to help you bring each vegetable to new flavor heights, not to ferment everything. If you’d like to add a few leaves of chard to a cabbage-based combination in the crock, be sure to chop them fine and treat them like an herb.
Chard stems taste, well, like pickled stems, but they take on the flavors of any herb you ferment with them, and with the rainbow of color options — ruby, fuchsia, orange, yellow, and white — they look delightful in a jar. Use your favorite pickling flavors and follow the directions for brine pickling.
Some people love cilantro. Some don’t. If you dislike it intensely — okay, you loathe it — just skip to collard greens. If you’re in the I-love-cilantro camp, keep reading.
In the grocery store, you’ll usually find cilantro next to its cousin parsley. The herb is more tender than parsley, and that’s evident in that it doesn’t last as long at home in the crisper. Select bunches that show bright leaves with no signs of yellow or wilting. To make it last a bit longer, store it like a bouquet, with the stems submerged in a glass of water.
In the United States, the dried seeds are called coriander. You’ll find them both ground and whole in the spice section. Coriander is indispensable in a pickling spice mix.
We like to ferment green coriander seeds, an ingredient for which you’ll probably need a garden or a planter box, as you most likely won’t find it in stores. To harvest, pluck the seeds before they develop fully, when they’re still green. The flavor is somewhere between the coriander it’s becoming and the cilantro that it was. The seeds are in this magical state for only a few days.
yield: about 1⁄2 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 pint
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
These tiny green pickles are delicious, and the size of your batch is a testament to your patience. The best way we have found to bring some efficiency to the task of removing the small round seeds from the stalk of the seedhead is to use a pair of scissors. You will not need to make much brine, so if it’s possible to time it with another pickle project you can just take a little brine for your itty-bitty coriander pickles.
As a gardener, I’m always sad when the cilantro plants begin to bolt. The leaves are sparse as the plant reaches up to flower and go to seed, and they’re no longer available for snipping and adding to recipes at will. When the plants are producing well, there are extra leaves that I could preserve, but the sensitive aromatic oils that give cilantro its flavor disappear when dried.
One summer I decided to try fermenting the green coriander seeds and leaves. It was astonishing — and thrilling — how well it worked. This was the beginning of my journey down the path of fermented flavor bases and pastes.
yield: about 1⁄2 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 pint
technique used: Whole-Leaf Ferments
Fermented cilantro is slightly salty with a touch of lemon flavor and is powerful, pure, concentrated cilantro. This recipe uses the leaf whole, which when finished can be chopped and used for a garnish, as you would the fresh leaf. You can also make a cilantro paste by putting the leaves and stems through a food processor, following the steps for making pastes and bases in chapter 5.
As is the case with many aromatic herbs, cilantro has several medicinal properties. Incorporating foods-as-medicine into meals is a wonderful way to support your family’s health.
Cilantro is said to cleanse the body of heavy metals. Its compounds bind to heavy metals, such as mercury, and release it from tissues.
yield: about 1 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 pint
technique used: Pastes and Bases
This condiment adds interest to wraps and stir-fries. Peanuts, peanut oil, and sugar are added post-ferment so it’s not a long keeper, but try it for a zippy change of pace.
Fermented collards are somewhat chewy, though not so much that they are unpleasant. Just be aware they don’t soften the way cooked collards do. We like to ferment these greens with aromatic and pungent spices.
Collards are available year-round, but in cold climates they’re best in the winter months, when they’re sweet and juicy. During the heat of summer, they tend to be tough and slightly bitter. Select leaves that are deep green and pliable; they’ll be more tender than leaves that feel brittle.
We were on the road with seven hours of driving ahead of us and the morning was already blazing at 110°F. When we stopped at a small farmers’ market at a rest area to get provisions for lunch, the vegetables and flowers were as wilted as the farmers who grew them.
At one stand, a woman was preparing Eritrean food. (It’s similar to Ethiopian food, but lighter.) Many of the meals are based on a spongy fermented teff flatbread called injera, with spicy sauces and stews poured over it. On her menu that day was a meal with three sauces and collard greens as the foundation.
We explained we were traveling. “Oh,” she said, smiling. “Well, you don’t have to worry about it spoiling in this heat. We don’t have refrigerators in Africa. The spices will do the work and keep it good.”
Hours later, the food was indeed delicious, perfect for that sweltering day.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
In Ethiopian cuisine there’s a stewed collard dish known as gomen. There are variations on the herbs that flavor it, so we played with the quantities and came up with this recipe.
It’s a spicy ferment, and in Ethiopia it might be served with buttermilk curds or yogurt and a flatbread to temper the heat. At our table, it’s a strongly flavored side dish to serve with a lentil or lamb stew.
Our “next-door” neighbors (a mile of wooded ridge separates our farms) John and Frances have a big open stand along the highway sporting a sign year-round that announces CORN, a sad reminder that for ten months it’s not sweet-corn season. Their stand comes alive with the vegetables of early summer. Then one day you’ll see a single ear of corn wired to the sign and you know it’s on.
Fresh sweet corn has such a fleeting season, the season of long lazy days and golden sunshine — perhaps that is why it’s a national favorite for fresh eating and preserving. The usual choices for capturing this bit of summer are freezing and canning. In our experience lacto-fermented corn relish also stretches the season but isn’t a long keeper. We have learned, however, that you can use frozen sweet corn to ferment any time of year.
Since there are over 200 varieties of sweet corn, let’s just assume your local farmer is growing the best variety for your region. Your job is to make sure you choose fresh ears. Start with the husks — you want green, not dry, papery, or brown. The silk should be pale and a bit sticky. The good ears will feel plump when you pick them up. The next step (which may not be appreciated by the grower) is to peek at the kernels inside. The corn is fresh when the kernel has a milky juice. That is the sweet sign of tender corn, and this sugary juice happens to be turning into starch as soon as the corn’s been picked. So the sooner you eat that corn (or get it fermenting), the less tough it will be.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
This tangy relish has a Tex-Mex flavor that goes well atop nachos or in a chimichanga. The short fermentation time retains the sweetness of the corn but does not allow for long-term storage; over time, the sweet notes will be replaced by the sour.
For a different flavor, omit the cilantro and chile and sprinkle in 1⁄2 teaspoon of celery seed.
In our research we’ve found many old-school preservation references to crocks of cobs floating in salt brine — pickled corn on the cob! We have yet to conduct this culinary experiment, but if you’re up to the challenge: the cobs are cleaned and cut crosswise into halves or quarters and then submerged in Basic Brine. Remember the mantra: Submerge in brine and all will be fine.
Light, water, salt, bread,
dill and mustard seed:
Our cucumber has gingerly
matured into a pickle.
It has absorbed the elements.
The child of nature and of art.
—“Xenia,” by György Petri, Translated by Robert Austerlitz, from Contemporary East European Poetry: An Anthology, 1983
Pickled cucumbers appeared on the culinary scene around 4,000 years ago in India. Modern Indian cuisine boasts hundreds of pickles and chutneys, and many recipes call for cukes to be cooked in oil and suspended in vinegar, with antimicrobial herbs and spices. We suspect these pickles were born from a lactic-acid process.
The most difficult aspect of making traditional lacto-fermented dill pickles might be finding the cucumbers. Although you can pickle any cucumber, pickling cucumbers are best. They’re smaller and more uniform in size, and they have a thicker skin that’s less likely to be bitter and is never waxed.
They’re a challenge to find in a grocery store, but if you happen on some, inspect them carefully. They must be firm and crisp: in a word, fresh. Pickling cucumbers last only a few days before they show signs of age; dull, wrinkly skin is a sure sign that they were picked too long ago. Don’t buy ones that have yellowed, either; they’ve been left too long on the vine.
The best place to find pickling cucumbers is at the farmers’ market. They should be available for a few weeks in late summer. Ask farmers early in the season if they’ll have them. Because they require daily picking, have a brief shelf life, and are a specialty crop, many growers don’t want to take the risk that they’ll be tossing them onto the compost pile.
Cucumbers pickle quickly because the juice contains certain elements that encourage the growth of Lactobacillus plantarum.
One year we worked with a cucumber called the White Wonder. Our neighbor Josh, an organic farmer, introduced us to this ivory-white-skinned variety. We thought it was a brand-new hybrid. It was brand-new all right — in 1893, when it was introduced. It’s an open-pollinated heirloom acquired by the seedsman W. Atlee Burpee from a customer in western New York State. We’ve made a lot of pickles, but we were impressed with the way it holds a sweet flavor and a crisp texture.
If you don’t have the garden space, grow your own White Wonders, or one of the many other compact varieties, in pots.
Cucumbers can be bitter, and pickling doesn’t solve the problem. All cucurbits (members of the gourd family, such as squash) produce bitter organic compounds called cucurbitacins. They hang out in the leaves, but if the plant is stressed (by, for example, deep fluctuations in temperature, uneven watering, or extreme heat) they enter the fruit. Unfortunately, once a plant starts to produce bitter fruit, it will continue to do so.
Commonly, cucumbers are left whole for pickling, so how do you know if they’re bitter? Just taste one or two; that should tell you if you have a bitter batch. Occasionally the bitterness is in just the ends of the cucumber. If that’s the case, slice them off and you’re good to go. If a cuke is bitter, don’t try to ferment it anyway — you’ll be very disappointed.
In this country, the archetype for the lacto-fermented cucumber pickle is the kosher dill —the cool, crisp, garlicky deli dills that came out of a barrel and were sold in New York as “full-sours” and “half-sours.” Often the first business an immigrant from Eastern European could start was that of a pushcart vendor. Pushcarts were cheap to rent and mobile, and the market for pickles was good. Many of these vendors eventually bought their own carts, then stores. In New York, these were concentrated in Manhattan’s Lower East Side and the area became known as the pickle district. Most of these shops are long gone.
That said, salt-brine pickling came from Europe much earlier. Dutch settlers in the seventeenth century pickled Brooklyn cucumbers, which they sold in Manhattan.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or four 1-quart jars
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
When the cucumber matures to a pickle, the white interior flesh turns a waxy and translucent color as the air is forced from the cells. The half-sours usually look mottled: the translucent flesh of the pickle mixes with the fresh white flesh of the cucumber. Full-sours are fully translucent inside.
yield: 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or four 1-quart jars
If you have fresh hops, which bloom, conveniently, when the cucumbers are on, use those. They impart a lovely floral flavor, one not as evident in dried hops. Dried, however, will still give you an IPA Pickle.
Look for hops in the local health-food store, in the herb section, and at brewing-supply stores.
A student of ours gave us the idea for this recipe. We came up with these effervescent and hoppy pickles.
Follow the directions for New York Deli–Style Pickles.
Here in the Northwest, many people grow hops for the shade they provide. We have a few vines on the south side of our house. In the spring they may grow more than 12 inches a day, and by the time it’s hot, we have a pretty green wall where the house gets the most direct sunlight. In the late summer, the smell is entrancing.
As the days chill, the vines die back. We then cut them down and toss into the compost, and the winter sun is free to warm the house.
Some cucumbers are too big and a few are too soft (Armenian cucumbers, for example) to ferment whole. The solution? Preserve slices! Just make sure the cukes aren’t so big that the seeds are large and well developed, as the seeds (like the blossom end) also contain enzymes that will soften the slices.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
This recipe is all about the garlic, but you can certainly add dill, dried hot peppers, curry — use your imagination. Slice cucumbers crosswise for rounds, lengthwise for spears, depending on the shape and size of the jars. Spears require uniformity in length, so that you can fit them tightly in a jar.
Cucumbers make the quintessential pickle. They have a few nuances not associated with the other vegetables. One is that they require a higher-salinity brine. If you follow the recipes, you’ll have delicious, crispy pickles every time. But read on for an explanation of some typical cucumber pickle problems.
Mature lemon cucumbers are too seedy for pickles, but when you’re overwhelmed by the amount you have in the garden, you can pickle the babies. Trim off the stems and make sure to scrub off the blossom ends, as they contain enzymes that will soften the pickles. Use the seasonings for New York Deli–Style Pickles or whatever pickling spices strike your fancy.
I was commissioned to ferment a 10-gallon crock of dill pickles for the grand opening of an artisanal butcher shop. To source the local cucumbers I had responded to an online post for organic pickling cucumbers. They had been picked that morning and were firm, crunchy, and sweet — they were not a pickling variety, but immature slicers instead.
A week later when I opened the crock I found pickles that were incredibly tasty, as expected, but many were flat, squishy, and limp. Not in a rotten way, just in an unattractive way. They certainly couldn’t be seen in public. That’s when I learned: small cucumber ≠ pickling cucumber.
I sorted out the unusable ones, but the size of the pile bothered me. I didn’t want to waste this otherwise good food. I chopped the pickles in a food processor. They were still delicious, and no longer visually unappealing. I divided the batch and came up with two great recipes: a superior hot dog condiment and a sweet pickle relish.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts
Sometimes a fermentista has to do what a fermentista has to do to help along a less-than-stellar ferment, and why not a sweet pickle relish? This is a great way to use flat pickles — and you can even use perfect ones!
Why choose between relish and kraut when you can have both? Turn both hot-dog favorites into one great condiment. Simply add chopped fermented pickles to a batch of Naked Kraut after fermentation; pack in jars, tamp under the brine, and refrigerate the same as kraut.
When I was alone, I lived on eggplant, the stove-top cook’s strongest ally. I fried it and stewed it, and ate it crisp and sludgy, hot and cold. It was cheap and filling and was delicious in all manner of strange combinations. If any was left over I ate it cold the next day on bread.
—Laurie Colwin, in Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone, 2007
For at least a year, a 2-quart jar of fermented eggplant sat patiently in our refrigerator. It remained steadfastly in its place while hands reached past it for other jars — even though a 2-quart jar took up a lot of real estate in our crammed refrigerator. The kids tend to ignore unknown things in jars, as they’re wary of their mother’s experiments. Their mother also looked at this somewhat gray ferment and thought, “Maybe tomorrow.”
We’d never even tasted the lacto-fermented eggplant and the unappetizing color was a hurdle. One day Kirsten reached in the refrigerator and pulled out the patient jar of fermented eggplant and tasted it. We were all surprised — after fermentation, the texture was not mushy and it had an unexpected, pleasant lemony flavor; we liked it and hope you do, too!
Eggplant, or aubergine, is botanically a fruit (seeds inside). This member of the nightshade family is believed to have originated in India. Eggplant was brought to Europe in the Middle Ages by Spanish explorers, where it was mostly used as an ornamental, because it was thought to bring on fever or madness; the nightshade-family association with the poisonous belladonna made it difficult for it to land on the plate. When Thomas Jefferson brought the eggplant seed from Europe to his Monticello garden, it was to be decorative.
The late-summer farmers’ baskets at the market are beautiful filled with the small round, large oblong, and long slim varieties of eggplant in shades of green, white, yellow, striped, and, of course, purple. While all of these varieties can be used, for fermenting we prefer the smaller ones that contain fewer seeds.
It is also important to know that once picked the fruit degrades quickly, so make sure your eggplant is fresh. Look for smooth, shiny skin that’s free of blemishes of any kind. It is simple to detect aging fruit: the skin gets wrinkly and has a saggy quality.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
Eggplant can leave a bitter taste on the tongue. In Mediterranean dishes the eggplant is salted to remove this quality. We don’t know whether it’s the salting or the breakdown caused by the fermentation process, but there is no bitter flavor in fermented eggplant.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or two 1-quart jars
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
Dan Rosenberg and Addie Rose Holland (see Meet the Fermentistas) named these in honor of the four pairs of their dear friends who got married on four consecutive weekends in the summer of 2010. It took a brainstorming session to come up with a gift idea that would be efficient, tasty, and appreciated. As has happened on many an occasion, pickles saved the day.
The couple spent a day preparing a variety of pickled delights (including this one), and after 3 weeks of fermentation, they packaged the goodies into small mason jars and made up special labels. Some of the newlyweds claimed this was their favorite gift.
We were in deep winter, but thanks to the incredibly long growing season in the Kalahari were still getting greens out of the nethouse, albeit only escarole, and only escarole as tough as sacking. Nelson wanted it exclusively in salads nevertheless. . . . I don’t know how many times I said, “This belongs in soup, minced, with onions.” But no, we had to endure it in salads, and why exactly? Because people should eat something live and raw at every meal.
—Norman Rush, Mating, 1992
Escarole is a broad-leafed member of the chicory family that tastes like a less bitter endive. The chicories have been an important food crop for centuries; they’re native to the East Indies, spreading first to Egypt, then into Greece and the rest of Europe. Escarole makes a wonderful kimchi.
A cool-season green, escarole is best from December through April. The young plants are tender and are nice in a fresh salad; the more mature plants are perfect for fermenting. Escarole is also a great base for krauts and kimchis that are made without members of the cabbage family.
When shopping for escarole, make sure the leaves are bright green and fairly uniform in color. Pass by the escarole with yellowing outer leaves or coarse stems.
yield: about 3 quarts
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
technique used: Mastering Kimchi Basics
This brassica-free kimchi has generous amounts of garlic and chile that make it pungent and bold. We leave out the traditional ginger but if you’d like to add it, use 1 tablespoon grated. You’ll need to plan ahead for this recipe, as it requires a brining period, 6 to 8 hours or overnight.
Try different combinations of the chicory greens in kimchi. We make a medley of escarole, endive, and radicchio we affectionately call “Chic-chi.”
The fennel is beyond every other vegetable, delicious. It greatly resembles in appearance the largest size celery, perfectly white, and there is no vegetable equals it in flavour. It is eaten at dessert, crude, and with, or without dry salt, indeed I preferred it to every other vegetable, or to any fruit.
—Thomas Jefferson, in Consuming Passions, ed. Jonathan Green, 1985
A member of the parsley family (along with caraway, cumin, and dill), fennel is native to southern Europe and grows all over the continent and in the Middle East, India, and China.
According to Anglo-Saxon herbal tradition, fennel is one of the nine sacred herbs and is associated with longevity, courage, and strength, perhaps from its powerful and plentiful flavonoid antioxidants — and as a cure for hiccups.
The entire plant is edible. Snip the leaves when they’re young and add to salads and krauts. The celery-like stems are good as soon as they begin to fatten; however, when fully mature, the stalks can cause a tougher texture in a ferment. Fennel seed has a slight anise flavor, milder than that of the bulb, and somewhat nuttier.
We met the folks at Real Pickles through our daughter-in-law, Lydia. After she spent the summer working in our kraut kitchen she missed having so many fermented goodies there for the taking. When she was back at college, in Massachusetts, she found Real Pickles, based in Greenfield, Massachusetts. Lydia told us the product was great, just as fresh as ours.
When visiting the Real Pickles website and blog, we were struck by the company’s deep commitment to the region’s health and economy. Kirsten contacted Addie Rose Holland. She and Addie had a lot to talk about.
Besides a passion for a better world, we also had similar experiences with customers — especially the magic of flavor as revealed when standing by your sample tray watching someone experience a taste memory that transports them to another place and time.
“Many of our customers exclaim that our pickles (especially cucumber pickles) taste exactly like those their grandparents made,” Addie says. “One woman was moved to tears by the memories. That kind of reaction makes us proud to know we’re producing an authentic food, but also that we’re helping to preserve part of our human culture by keeping these flavors alive.”
The creation story: In 1999, Dan Rosenberg took his first fermented pickle lesson at a Northeast Organic Farming Association conference. Fermentation reinforced the very things Dan was passionate about as a young farmworker, social activist, and avid cook. Vegetable fermentation supported local agriculture and revived traditional whole foods. Because of the exciting culinary possibilities, he came home and incorporated fermented vegetables into his daily routine, and soon his kitchen was full of stimulating smells and flavors.
Dan and Addie Rose moved to western Massachusetts the next summer and discovered a community bursting with appreciation for local foods, a strong interest in organic farming, and some of the best soils in the country. Addie and Dan felt it would be ideal to start a business dependent on local farmers and local consumers. Their company has been growing ever since.
“We try to ensure that our products appeal to a wide range of palates and incomes. Our products sell in a variety of markets, from Polish delis to natural-foods stores. Our flavor combinations tend toward simplicity, partly to feature traditional flavors, but also to keep production costs and shelf prices reasonable, so more people can afford them. Some of the combinations with more complex flavors and pricier ingredients remain relegated to our home kitchen.”
yield: about 1⁄2 gallon
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
Fennel stalks finish a bit woody, but you could slice some very thin and add to the mix, if you like. This chutney goes well on turkey sandwiches, in cream cheese wraps, or as a condiment in a brunch spread.
yield: about 21⁄2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
Fennel’s flavor improves with fermentation, which makes it a simple addition to sauerkraut that imparts crispness and a complexity. Slice the bulbs very thin for this recipe, as it takes them longer to break down than the cabbage. If you don’t have enough bulbs for the proper ratio, you can mince some of the fronds to add flavor.
Follow the directions for Naked Kraut, adding fennel to the bowl with the cabbage.
There are five elements: earth, air, fire, water, and garlic.
—Louis Diat, chef of New York City’s Ritz-Carlton, 1940s
Garlic contains a substance called allyl sulfide, which has strong sterilization power. It gets credit for some of the health magic of kimchi. It also adds great flavor.
We had to restrain ourselves at first from adding garlic to every ferment, but restraint became a lot easier when we began to produce commercial-sized batches — moving from cloves to heads, a few minutes became a few hours of peeling. Now that we are making small batches again, garlic has crept its way back into our ferments; for long-term storage, flavor, and getting through winter colds, nothing beats garlic.
The word garlic comes from the Old English garleac, meaning spear leek. It is harvested in midsummer and hung to dry in barns and sheds. Fresh garlic is available year-round in most markets. Choose heads that are firm to the touch; soft cloves indicate age or spoilage.
There are an estimated 300 varietals with great names like Nootka Rose and Persian Star, but there are only two types: hard necks and soft necks. The soft necks are longer keepers and are the type you often see braided. Garlic flavors range from mild, nutty elephant garlic (closely related to the leek) to the much spicier porcelain varieties. Check with your local farmer for the Aglio Rosso di Sulmona (an Italian heirloom Creole type), as we have been told that it is pretty special when pickled.
Garlic mellows during fermentation. Fermented garlic paste is delicious. It’s curious, though: The first thing you’ll notice is that the “sauer” or acidic taste is mild and sweet. The bite, or heat, of raw garlic also disappears, but the flavor is still intense and decidedly, well, garlicky. The second thing you’ll find is that fermented garlic is a great way to eat it “raw,” because it doesn’t linger on the palate in the way raw garlic does.
yield: about 1 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 quart
technique used: Pastes and Bases
You’ll want to have this on hand year-round. When you don’t feel like peeling and mincing fresh cloves, this paste adds instant garlic flavor to any dish. Fair warning: Plan on about an hour of peeling time. It’s worth the effort, though, as the paste is invaluable as a finishing garnish for dishes that otherwise call for fresh garlic. We love it mixed with a little fresh parsley and tossed with fresh homemade oven-fries just before serving.
yield: about 1⁄2 cup
fermentation vessel: 1 pint
Use this spicy paste to add bold flavor to just about any dish. It’s especially good as a meat or vegetable rub. It’s quite salty, which is good for seasoning meat and coating roasting veggies; just add a bit of olive oil.
Follow the Garlic Paste recipe, combining all the ingredients before salting.
It’s rare that a clove of garlic turns blue or bluish-green, but it does happen. Although it looks wrong, it’s harmless and will taste normal. According to the September 2004 issue of the America’s Test Kitchen Newsletter, “Under acidic conditions, isoallin, a compound found in garlic, breaks down and reacts with amino acids to produce the blue-green color. Visually, the difference between garlic cooked with and without acid can be dramatic, but a quick taste of the blue garlic proved that the color doesn’t affect flavor.”
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
Most whole-vegetable pickles use garlic as a flavoring: several cloves swim in the brine among the rest of the vegetables. We usually dice these leftover fermented cloves and use them in salad dressings — if someone hasn’t already popped them in their mouth.
So why not make a whole jar of these useful little delicacies? Having whole pickled garlic on hand gives you a secret ingredient to dress up dishes quickly — a little mincing, and voilà! Mellow garlic goodness. Like many good things, it doesn’t come easy. Sit down with a good beverage, perhaps some music, a friend, and a pile of garlic — peeling takes time.
For a variation, add herbs or spices; try dried red peppers, whole peppercorns, or tarragon leaves.
Scapes are the flowering stalks of garlic plants. Farmers cut off these stalks with their playful curl at the top to get the largest bulb development belowground. Think of them as garlicky asparagus.
Scapes are delicious sautéed or steamed, and some cooks put them in pesto. We, of course, ferment them. They take well to the process but stay pretty crunchy. The strong flavor of scapes can be a nice substitution for garlic cloves in fermented krauts and kimchis. To ensure a seamless substitution, create a scape paste in a food processor; for a stronger taste, slice the scapes. They’ll provide nuggets of garlic flavor. Note: Scapes tend to ferment firm, so slice them thin.
One summer we convinced our eldest son and his fiancée to work in the fermentation kitchen over their break while we were covering the farmers’ markets. Since garlic scapes have a natural curl, Kirsten thought they’d look good as pickled ringlets. Honestly that’s all she shared with the kids before heading out to a market, leaving them with a pile of scapes and five cases of pint jars. When we returned to the farm 12 hours later we found 50 jars of “celtic knots” — exquisitely coiled and twisted scapes in their jars with rosemary packed in the empty spaces. Fifty jars of artistic beauty, which when you factor the labor costs was extremely unprofitable, but a joy to display at the markets.
Garlic scapes arrive at farmers’ markets and in CSA boxes in early summer. If you’ve planted garlic, cut them from your own patch early, when the curls are just poking above the leaves, to ensure tenderness.
Scapes should be firm but still flexible and free of blemishes, fading, and brown spots, which indicate age. They’ll last about a week in the fridge.
yield: about 1 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
technique used: Pastes and Bases
This is a strong, concentrated condiment, delicious as instant garlic seasoning or as a spread. It’s a triple threat: it’s easy to make, it uses a normally discarded part of the garlic plant, and it’s a great time-saving condiment. Virtue number 4? No peeling!
Pickle scapes as you would asparagus, or use them as a flourish in a medley of pickled vegetables.
Note: For another scape ferment, see Scape Kraut.
Most Americans in those days regarded ethnic food as a leftover from the past, eaten only by poor, simple folk who should have learned better. In the eyes of native-born Americans, tolma and grape leaf picking was shameful, unusual, a sign of desperate hunger. And there was a strong aversion to eating leaves. Anyone picking wild grape leaves from roadside vines must be in trouble, probably no better off than a homeless bum.
—Irina Petrosian, Armenian Food: Fact, Fiction & Folklore, 2006
When you use grape leaves to top crocks of krauts and pickles, they do more than keep everything under the brine: they also release tannins, which help keep the veggies crisp. If you preserve the leaves in early summer, you have them on hand to use for pickles during winter fermentation.
Those of us with well-established grapevines are in good shape. We just grab what we need. If you don’t have a vine and become a serious fermentista, you might end up planting one.
Or maybe you have a neighbor who grows grapes organically. As with all vegetables, the leaves are full of beneficial bacteria, and you don’t want to be consuming chemical pesticides. The variety of grape doesn’t matter; use whatever you can get your hands on: leaves from table grapes, Concord grapes, wine grapes.
Early-summer leaves are more tender, but you can harvest any time before their color changes, in the fall. If you’re picking late in the season, select leaves near growing points; they’re the youngest. Choose the largest ones, so that they are big enough to stuff.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or two 1-pint jars
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
Use whole leaves to make Greek dolmas (stuffed grape leaves), or to top any crock of brine pickles in the off-season, when fresh leaves are unavailable.
A worm lives in horseradish and thinks there is nowhere sweeter.
—Sholem Aleichem, A Treasury of Sholem Aleichem Children’s Stories, 1996
Preparing fresh horseradish comes with pain. If you do not like the nose-burning, eye-tearing intensity that could succeed in driving you out of the kitchen, then fresh horseradish may not be for you. If you want a good story of the sacrifices you, the food artist, make to feed people amazing food, then this is the perfect veggie.
Prepared horseradish — the kind you find in most stores — always contains vinegar or citric acid, necessary for the stabilization of the volatile oils. As soon as the cells of the root are damaged by grinding or chopping, enzymes begin breaking down these oils. The sooner the introduction of acid, the more the sharp flavor is retained. A pure lactic acid–fermented horseradish condiment has a mellower flavor than that of typical commercial preparations because when we begin the procedure, we have to wait for the biological activity to change the sugars to acid. This takes more time than simply adding vinegar.
To get around this, we acidify the horseradish ferment with a little brine from a previous ferment. Although the acid helps to stabilize the heat, this ferment will continue to mellow over time. Make small quantities — more often.
In season, you’ll find fresh roots in the produce section of the grocery store and at the farmers’ market. The outside should be a khaki-earthy color, and a bit gnarled is fine. Look for roots that are firm and free of blemishes. When you peel or slice a root, it should be creamy white. The whiter the root, the fresher it is.
If you’re a fermentista with plenty of garden space, consider a horseradish plant. The root can find its way into krauts, pickles, relishes, and chutneys. The leaves are large and flavorful, and we use them as primary followers on pickle crocks, as they contain tannins that keep ferments crispy.
To grow horseradish, choose a spot that won’t be disturbed. It needs plenty of room to sprawl: it’s a vigorous perennial that can hog an entire bed. It’s hardy and disease-resistant; when you harvest the root, even the smallest bit left in the ground will sprout a new plant.
Our horseradish clump withstood years of wet winters and hot dry summers. I wish I could recall what moved our two oldest boys, at ages 10 and 7, to harvest and grind some of the root. They didn’t even like horseradish. I do remember the squeals of both agony and delight. I do remember the evacuation. The boys, wearing swimming goggles and bandannas across their faces like bandits, and the Cuisinart full of half-ground roots were escorted out to the porch.
Horseradish is rough on big people too. At Farmhouse Culture, in Santa Cruz, gas masks are vital gear on prep days for their delicious Horseradish-Leek Kraut.
yield: about 1⁄2 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 pint
technique used: Pastes and Bases
Use this as you would any other prepared horseradish. Or make a horseradish cream sauce: add the fermented horseradish to a combination of sour cream and mayonnaise.
Note: We’ve made horseradish with salt only — that is, no brine, no lemon juice, no whey. Salt preserves the root as a condiment, but it won’t be as hot. It’s also much drier, so you’ll have to press it firmly into the bottom of the container to ferment and store.
Add 1⁄3 cup chopped dried tomatoes and 4 garlic cloves to the food processor with the horseradish.
Add fresh horseradish to a kraut after the kraut has fermented. This stabilizes the “hot” flavor; if you incorporate it early, the grated root loses its volatile oils and gets lost. To create Horseradish Kraut, add a 2- to 3-inch piece of root (peeled and grated) to every 2 to 3 pounds of Naked Kraut; to make Horseradish-Beet Kraut, add a 2- to 3-inch piece of root (peeled and grated) to 2 to 3 pounds of Simple Beet Kraut.
Many traditional Russian pickles call for slices of horseradish root; add them to the brine of a cucumber pickle so their flavor infuses the brine.
Jicama has a mild sweetness and a clean, crisp texture somewhat like that of a water chestnut, and people often eat it raw. It grows mainly in parts of the Southwest, Hawaii, and Mexico, so you probably won’t find it at a farmers’ market in most of the United States. Supermarkets generally carry it.
Sometimes as a market vendor you find yourself in a place that is absolutely wrong for your product. One such time was a Saturday morning market at a winery. People did not want wine so early in the day, and they certainly did not want to try sauerkraut. We sold only one jar of sauerkraut that cold, dreary spring morning, but we were inspired to create something new. A couple stopped by who had just come home from Mexico, where they had tried a relish of pickled beets, cauliflower, and jicama; evidently it was fiery with habanero peppers. I have no idea what they ate, but Habanero Jicama is what we crafted after hearing their story.
Select jicama roots that are firm and feel heavy for their size, but bigger doesn’t mean better. In fact, the big ones end up woody and tough and contain little moisture, which is an issue if you plan to ferment.
Jicama contributes a nice crisp texture to a variety of pickle combinations. Just peel and cut the roots into spears about the size of French fries, or dice them.
Grated and fermented, jicama retains its crispness and its light sweetness during fermentation. Because of its high starch content, the brine is usually thick and milky rather than watery.
Jicama makes a nice base for relishes and chutneys, as its mild flavor lends itself to many herb and spice combinations. To capitalize on the sweetness, add dried fruits.
To ferment it alone, follow the directions for Naked Kraut, substituting grated jicama for the cabbage.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
Use as a condiment or a salsa, or sprinkle over a green salad.
Pickle an equal amount of jicama and quarters of red onion with three or four thin slices of lime according to the process for brine pickling .
Try fermenting jicama with chocolate nibs, cinnamon, and chipotle powder. We made several attempts, but we couldn’t perfect the ratio of nibs to the other ingredients: the bitterness of the chocolate dominated. Maybe you can figure it out!
We are often asked if there are any vegetables we don’t ferment. We always chuckle, thinking about our kale experience, and say, “Yep, kale.” We have talked to a lot of people and have yet to hear a positive all-kale ferment story. There are so many vegetables that shine so much brighter in a ferment — make kale chips instead.
Our first experience with fermenting kale was in a long, wet spring several years ago in the Northwest, a La Niña year, and we had mulched with generous amounts of composted horse manure. This combination translated to amazing quantities of large kale leaves. We had recently purchased Wild Fermentation by Sandor Katz. The traditional Tibetan gundru recipe seemed to be the answer we were looking for. As seasoned fermenters we were excited by a new challenge and we didn’t have any better ideas for preserving this bounty. (It would be a few years before we discovered kale chips.)
Every horizontal surface on the furniture of our porch was draped in kale leaves. The sun shone, the leaves wilted, we rolled and pounded. We stuffed leaves into gallon jars. The green juice streamed from the once lush leaves. We sealed the jars, placed them in the window, and waited.
In a few weeks, we enthusiastically opened our gundru. We peered into the jar — no mold or scum, and it smelled fermented. Then we tasted. We like strong flavors, but this was not a flavor we could work with. Interestingly, it was also extremely salty, even though there had been no salt added. We tried to flavor soup stock with it, but it was never palatable.
About six years later, new neighbors put in a huge garden. Our neighbor told Kirsten that she and her husband made gundru a few days earlier. Kirsten’s eyebrows involuntarily rose. “Really?” she asked. “Let me know how that goes. We didn’t have the best of luck with it. Could’ve been just us.” A few weeks later, our neighbor told us she’d come home and the gundru jar had been emptied and dumped outside. Her husband hadn’t even waited for her to try it.
This is rather a bastard vegetable. It is neither turnip nor cabbage and is seldom as tender and crisp as it should be. To me it is a mystery why people really care for it.
—James Beard, James Beard’s American Cookery, 1972
Though unfermented kohlrabi is sweet, unpretentious, and delicately flavored with hints of broccoli or cabbage, the fermented version is nicely acidic and tastes very similar to its cabbage counterpart. Make it plain or dress it up with the same flavors you would cabbage.
Despite its bulbous appearance, kohlrabi is actually a swollen stem. Peak season, when the flavor is sweetest, is spring through early summer, although kohlrabi is available year-round.
Look for deep green leaves with no yellowing. (Yellow is a sign the vegetable is past its prime.) Select small kohlrabi; the skin is still thin and you can use the whole vegetable. Larger ones have an inedible woody layer that you must peel; use a paring knife, as the skin is too fibrous for a potato peeler. If the globe is enormous, it will be quite woody inside so don’t bother fermenting it.
yield: about 1⁄2 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
This is a straightforward sauerkraut à la kohlrabi. Try this recipe plain or feel free to jazz it up with any of the spices that work well in cabbage krauts.
Note: For another kohlrabi kraut, see Sauerrüben III.
I was doing errands in town when my mobile phone rang. Christopher nervously told me to call the deli where I had dropped off a 5-gallon bucket of kraut the previous week.
“They say there’s something wrong. The flavor is great but the texture is strange. You better call.”
I talked with the owner. He didn’t want it replaced. He just wanted us to know it was different, and wondered why. I talked about diversity in the local farmers’ cabbages; varieties can make a difference, and so on. But the truth is I really wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t too concerned, so I never went to look at it.
A few months passed. I wanted to bring something new to market and I knew we had a batch of straight kohlrabi kraut I’d been holding back. I couldn’t find the five-gallon bucket of shredded, fermented kohlrabi. I still didn’t make the connection. It was months later when I burst out laughing and said to Christopher, “Remember the strange-textured sauerkraut? It wasn’t cabbage at all — it was kohlrabi.”
Clearly kohlrabi makes a fine substitute for cabbage.
Leeks originated in the Mediterranean basin and are one of the oldest cultivated vegetables. Egyptian writings show leeks as a barter currency (along with oxen and beer). Despite their warm, dry beginnings, leeks are a cold-weather crop.
Leeks are an important ingredient in many Asian cuisines and especially in kimchi. For example, there are kimchi recipes that call for a lot of them, as it is believed they reduce the speed of fermentation, which can allow more time for the flavor to develop beyond just the adicity. Asian recipes tend to use small leeks, the size of a scallion.
Like other members in the onion tribe, under fermentation the harsh pungency of the raw flavor is mellowed. Use them as a substitute for onions in a recipe or highlight them for their fine flavor, as we have in the Leek–Cracked Pepper Kraut.
Leeks available at the market are sizable and well developed, but you can eat them at any stage. The white shaft is more mildly flavored than is the green, but both ferment well. The outer leaves are often tough or stringy and won’t soften enough during the ferment, so remove them and save for a stock.
Select leeks that are less than 1 inch in diameter. When pencil thin, they tend to be sweeter than scallions and make a good winter substitute for them.
As leeks grow, farmers pile soil around their bases to increase the length of the white part, and as a result soil often gets trapped between their layers. Sometimes this can pose a challenge when preparing. Remove any coarse outer leaves, and trim and discard the roots. Slice off the very darkest part of the stalk to the light green, more tender portion. Slice the stalk in half lengthwise and rinse under cold running water to remove the grit, taking care to rinse in between all the leaves.
A number of years ago our neighbor Tina and I grew a garden together. We both were determined to feed our families largely from this garden. It was a substantial undertaking, and she and I practically lived in the garden. When we were not tending it, we were in the kitchen preserving the bounty. We were beyond tripling batches; we were making salsa recipes times twenty-two, or enchilada sauce times fourteen. Our jar count, pints and quarts, was already in triple digits halfway through the summer.
At one point the leeks were ready to bolt and all of them needed to be harvested at once. We had an overflowing wheelbarrow full of leeks pushed up to the kitchen door. The question was, what does one do with so many leeks? We called the university extension’s food preservation hotline; they said jarring low-acid leeks would require cooking for 45 minutes in a pressure canner. That wouldn’t do. Finally we sliced them, sautéed them in butter, and froze this “soup base” in usable portions. It ended up being a good use, though our freezers smelled like cooked leeks for months.
If only we had thought of fermenting them.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
technique used: Pastes and Bases
Leeks hold their flavor, so they make a versatile base to enhance soups, sauces, and salads. In fact, use this ferment as you would fresh leeks in any recipe.
yield: about 11⁄2 gallons
fermentation vessel: 2 gallons or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
This kraut has more complexity than Naked Kraut, but it’s still easy to make and versatile — a family favorite.
The tyrannical Roman emperor Nero loved leeks, and he believed they’d improve his singing voice. He ate them in soups and prepared in oil, and was called by some Porophagus, the leek eater.
Leeks blend nicely with sauerkraut, and like their onion cousins, they’re versatile.
So here’s to the mushroom family
A far-flung friendly clan
For food, for fun, for poison
They are a help to man.
—Gary Snyder, “The Wild Mushroom,” from Look Out: A Selection of Writings, 2002
Mushrooms, contrary to our usual recommendation that fresh is best, ferment better when dried. Dehydrated, they retain the integrity of their texture, flavor, and nutrition. Dried mushrooms offer the ferementista a few advantages. The first is that the deep, fragrant, earthy flavor is intensified by dehydration, which helps the aroma stand up to fermentation. The second is that they are readily available year-round.
Don’t rehydrate mushrooms before adding to a kraut — rehydration happens in the brine and all the concentrated flavor will stay in the kraut. Be sure to check for grit before adding mushrooms to a ferment. If you find some, wash or scrape it off.
When choosing dried mushrooms at the store, make sure the package and the mushrooms inside don’t look faded. This is a sign they’ve been sitting on the shelf too long. The most widely available dried varieties are shiitakes, porcini, and chanterelles.
If you cannot find shiitakes in your regular market, check an Asian market. Look in the package (they are usually clear plastic); you want the mushrooms with thick, ridged caps and white cracks. These are grade-A mushrooms, sometimes called hana, which is Japanese for “flower.” They are more flavorful than the thinner, brown-capped shiitakes. Chanterelles have a gold-apricot color that befits their fruity flavor. Porcini mushrooms are also large, meaty mushrooms that are generally sliced before they are dried. Look for chanterelles and porcini in specialty markets.
Of course there is always the option of dehydrating your own mushrooms. Whether you stumbled across a seasonal deal at the market or have wildcrafted your own (see Foraged Vegetables), you will be guaranteed fresh quality mushrooms.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
These pickles are made with shiitake mushrooms, but the flavors in the recipe are versatile and other dried mushrooms can be substituted. When selecting dried mushrooms to brine-pickle, you want them whole. Sliced, crushed, or shriveled mushrooms could mean inferior quality and won’t brine well.
Add dried mushroom slices to a kraut that has a strong earthy flavor, such as a cabbage-fennel kraut.
Ilona was one of the first neighbors we met when we moved to our farm. She was from the Ukraine; she freely shared her time and her culture with unparalleled enthusiasm. Three times a week our two oldest sons, aged nine and six, would traipse across the narrow valley and spend the morning with Ilona learning to speak Russian and cook traditional meals. In payment the boys would bring Ilona the morning’s fresh goat milk — warm, and sweet. Sometimes I would go over later with our two younger children to eat the lunch they’d prepared, and giggle as I saw my two boys with white kerchiefs fastened around their heads and white aprons around their waists — that would never have flown at home.
Ilona gave me a book that year, The Art of Russian Cuisine, by Anne Volokh. It was the first book that I used to brine-pickle vegetables, and it is still one of my favorite cookbooks. I read these types of cookbooks carefully, extracting nuggets of wisdom that go beyond the simple recipe, and I have learned a lot from this one. Ms. Volokh shares a delightful traditional method of fermenting mushrooms by layering them in salt in an oaken barrel. I recommend finding this book for more wisdom on traditional fermentation in Russia.
Mustard greens have an ancient history. In the Himalayan region of India, it is believed people began consuming them some 5,000 years ago. Now the plant — greens, seeds, and stems — still plays a major role in the cuisine, especially in the area of the Punjab. The greens have spread to the cuisines of Italy, China, Japan, and Korea, and in more recent history Africa and the American South. In Italy they’re braised with garlic; in Asia they’re often pickled; and in the South, the greens are often slow-cooked with ham hocks.
And what about the seeds, brown and yellow? They’re a nice addition to many of our pickling-spice mixtures. We also dry-roast them to put into kraut with other spices from the Indian spice palette.
When you reach the bottom of a jar of pickles, you will have two things: the brine and all those seeds and spices, plus a clove or two of mellow garlic. Save the brine (to make Brine Crackers), and if you need a spot of mustard or a little quick condiment, “recycle” the spices and garlic by putting them in the blender with a small amount of the brine and processing to a paste consistency. Remove any stems and anything else that is woody first. If you were heavy-handed with the peppercorns, you may want to take out a few of those as well.
The season for mustard greens is generally October through March. In the produce section of the supermarket or at a farmers’ market, you’ll find many varieties — from the huge, curly, peppery leaves to the delicate and fernlike mizuna. We use them all. Mustard greens have the best flavor and mouthfeel when harvested young. Then they’re plump, crisp, and deep green. They have a stimulating, pepper-like flavor when raw and a slightly bitter taste when cooked.
Salted and fermented mustard greens make a traditional salad, called dakguadong, in Thailand. Mustard greens are also a recurring ingredient in many traditional kimchi recipes.
These greens are tastiest as an ingredient in a mixed vegetable ferment — we have yet to create a single-ingredient mustard green recipe that we love. Incorporate mustard into kimchi and kraut ferments (see Burdock Kimchi, for a recipe using these greens).
In China’s Sichuan province, lacto-fermented pickles (zha cai) are an important part of the culture and the cuisine. Traditionally, with the birth of a baby girl, her family put up zha cai in an earthen jar and continued every year until she married, when she would receive them as a gift. Twelve to fifteen pots indicated that the time had come.
Zha cai is a ferment made by salting the swollen green stem of a type of mustard, Brassica juncea var. tsatsai. (You may see it referred to as a tuber, but it’s a stem.) The stem is lumpy and knobbed and looks a little like a green Jerusalem artichoke.
To make the ferment, the stem was salted and pressed until it dehydrated. Then it was rubbed with chile paste and put into an earthen pot to ferment — for years. It was usually rinsed before cooking.
How could you not order one packet each of saltwort, sneezewort, motherwort, and Saint-John’s-wort, plus a sample of mad-dog skullcap, which the text said was once a folk remedy for rabies? At a buck a pop, how could you go wrong?
—Kristin Kimball, The Dirty Life: A Memoir of Farming, Food, and Love, 2010
Also known as land seaweed and saltwort, this succulent green is a member of the goosefoot family. Okahijiki hails from Japan, where it adapted to soils with high levels of salt, as in a salt marsh, and is one of that nation’s oldest vegetables.
In the spirit of diversifying your diet, here are some reasons to try okahijiki: It’s rich in laminin, a protein necessary to the health of virtually every type of cell. It also boasts vitamins A and K, calcium, potassium, and iron.
Despite its name, saltwort isn’t salty. (That’s because the name comes from where it grows, not from its taste.) Nor is it rubbery, like seaweed, or fibrous and dry, which is how it feels to the touch. Its taste is juicy and crisp, with a hint of mustard.
Although this nutrient-dense leaf is popular in Japan, here in North America you’ve likely never heard of it. If you live where there’s an Asian market, you may have a chance of finding it. There are farmers that grow it to sell at farmers’ markets, but you may have to sweet-talk your favorite farmer into trying a small bed of it. Otherwise, go online and find a company that sells the seeds and then grow them yourself. They grow as easily as (tumble)weeds.
yield: about 2 quarts
(fermenting vessel: 2 quarts or larger)
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
In this kraut, we wanted to evoke the flavors of Japan. It makes a great salad alongside sushi. Shiso leaves add a depth of flavor, but if you can’t find them, this kraut will still be delicious.
Tumbleweed is a cousin of okahijiki and also edible. Sometimes called Russian thistle, tumbleweed was a valuable food in the driest period in American history, when our prairies were parched almost beyond imagination and were termed the Dust Bowl. At first tumbleweeds were fermented in salt as silage for animals, but after years of drought, tumbleweed kraut became food for humans. Timothy Egan writes in The Worst Hard Time, “Ezra and Goldie Lowery came up with the idea to can thistles in brine . . . they were good for you. High in iron and chlorophyll. Cimarron County declared a Russian Thistle Week, with county officials urging people who were on relief to get out to the fields and help folks harvest tumbleweeds.”
Sternest are the guardians of Hindi: can alien okra ever taste of bhindi?
—Mukul Kesavan, Civil Lines: New Writing from India, vol. 4, 2001
Okra, a member of the mallow family, has its origins in Ethiopia, in Sudan, and along the Nile River. It’s popular in the cuisines of western and northern Africa, the Middle East, and India. It came to the Americas and the West Indies via the slave trade and took hold in the warmer climates. You’ll find it in any number of regional Southern stews as a thickener. In much of the English-speaking world, okra is known as lady’s fingers.
My grandparents on my father’s side lived on a small farm a few miles outside our farm town, but it seemed like the boonies to me. Grandpa Shockey retired from the Coca Cola bottling plant after 50 years. That’s right, he worked the same job his whole life. When they retired, Grandpa focused on his big garden, which was over an acre and grew everything, including okra. For me, okra fell into the category of vegetables that are fine as long as they are breaded and fried within an inch of their lives. I would help Grandpa pick “a mess” of okra and then run it in to Grandma in the late morning so that she could start it soaking in buttermilk from the neighbor. By lunch the heat and humidity of a Missouri summer would force Grandpa and me into their small farmhouse, where Grandma would have a pile of fried okra draining on paper towels. Through trial and error I learned to favor the small ones that would be reliably cooked through.
Select okra pods that are bright green and hefty — 2 to 3 inches long. These are immature, but also tastier than their older mates in the bin. The fruit becomes fibrous and woody as it ripens (after all, okra belongs to the same family as jute and cotton). Stay away from pods that look dry and have blemishes or black spots. Make your pickles soon after you bring them home; even in the fridge, they start to degrade in a day or two.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
The curry powder gives this brine a unique yellow cloudy quality. When the pickles are all gone, use the leftover brine to make delicious crackers.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or four 1-quart jars
Okra, with its roots in tropical soils, lends itself to heat. If you like spicy, increase the peppers in the jar. Dried cayennes work well; if you want heat and a slight smoky hint, use whole habaneros. This recipe is a variation of Curried Okra Pickles.
Follow the instructions for Curried Okra Pickles, leaving out the curry powder, and packing your okra, peppers, and other spices in a 1-gallon jar or four 1-quart jars.
An onion can make people cry but there has never been a vegetable invented to make them laugh.
—Will Rogers
Onions are often the “secret” to imparting a certain brightness to sauerkraut. In the crock for a basic cabbage kraut, they add a depth to the overall flavor without being oniony. Chunks of the bulb are a tangy component of pickled vegetable medleys as well. They not only look good in the jar but also taste great.
Onions are the only vegetable we know of that lack intrinsic lactic-acid bacteria. Combined with other vegetables in the sauerkraut crock, kimchi pot, or pickle jar, this is not a problem: the other veggies have plenty of the bacteria to jump-start the process. In onion-only relishes and chutneys, adding a little bit of sauerkraut brine is enough to inoculate the ferment, and it will acidify as well as anything else.
We have yet to meet a member of the onion clan that does not do a fantastic job in a ferment: red, yellow, white, sweet, shallots, chives, leeks, scallions, and ramps.
Most onions, especially the outer rings of the red onion, have a high supply of quercitin, a flavonoid that acts to block cancer cell formation. Some nutritionists recommend including a few ounces of raw onion in one’s diet regularly to increase cancer protection. Researchers in Canada found that fermentation increased the levels of quercitin in onions (they used red onions), which elevates the antioxidant action. Quercetin also deactivates the growth of estrogen-sensitive cells often found to cause breast cancer. “An antioxidant/bio-flavonoid called quercetin is a prime anticancer weapon,” says Terrance Leighton, a professor of biochemistry and molecular biology at the University of California at Berkeley. Leighton claims that “quercetin is one of the most potent anti-cancer agents ever discovered. It blocks cancer development and, if cancer is already present, its spread.”
I put onions in just about every dish I make. However, I also realize that some people don’t appreciate them as much as I do. The way I see it, there are two inherent problems. The first is the piquant raw onion. It is not only sharp-flavored but leaves one with strong breath and a powerful thirst the rest of the day. This is solved simply by cooking — but for some, the soft, slippery texture is not an improvement. Our son, who has an amazing ability to pick even the smallest fragment of cooked onion out of any dish, loves fermented onions. I suspect this has to do with the missing slime factor.
I have no proof, but I have read accounts of people who cannot eat raw onions at all yet can eat and enjoy fermented onions.
For the freshest onions, select bulbs that are firm and heavy. Old onions will not only be soft but will also have a potent odor. Onions store well in a cool, dark space, but sweet onions have a shorter storage life — unless you ferment them.
Make relishes and chutneys by slicing or dicing the onions; it depends on the texture you’d like. Slicing makes a more substantial condiment with a variety of applications — use in sandwiches and wraps, atop pulled pork, as a side. Dicing produces a softer, saucier texture, similar to that of a pickle relish or a salsa.
The following recipes make 1 to 2 quarts of each condiment. Don’t let that scare you off. Onion chutneys and relishes are excellent to have on hand.
yield: 1⁄2 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 pint
technique used: Whole-Leaf Ferments
Chives, the smallest of the edible members of the onion tribe, are at their best in spring; by late summer the greens can be tough. Use any amount of chives you can snip or buy for this recipe. A 4-inch-diameter bundle yields less than 1 pint. Fermented chives tend to stick together. Just separate them with a fork and sprinkle them on anything you’d garnish with fresh chives.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
For this mild relish, use only bell peppers; if you want more heat, mix them with habaneros or jalapeños and add 1 tablespoon chile pepper flakes.
Follow the directions for the Simple Onion Relish (above), adding the peppers along with the onions.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
Follow the directions for the Simple Onion Relish, adding the apples and raisins with the onions. Note: Mix the curry powder with the kraut brine before adding it; this prevents clumping.
yield: about 12 ounces
You’ll need a dehydrator to make this versatile flavoring powder. Sprinkle it on any dish that could use a little zing — just like using onion soup mix as a seasoning. Try the classic chip dip dip by adding it to sour cream.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
This recipe has its origins in Ecuador. It’s a vinegar-pickled onion. There it calls for cebolla paiteña, a smaller and spicier onion than those we get in this country. Our fermented adaptation is delicious.
Follow the directions for the Simple Onion Relish, though this variation is even simpler as there are no spices to add. Add the lime juice in place of the sauerkraut brine. To increase lime flavor, include the zest.
Note: For a delicious onion kraut variation, see the Juniper-Onion Kraut recipe.
Pickle thick wedges of onion in a salt brine. You can prepare them plain or — much more interesting — as a component of the seasoning for a vegetable medley. Thick slices or wedges stay firm and crisp. (Onions cut thin will be too soft and sort of lifeless.)
This Asian green, a member of the vast cabbage clan, is a staple in kimchi. Whether of the large or “baby” variety, pak choi can be sliced into a kimchi as a replacement for, or supplement to, the napa cabbage. Note: The larger variety, with its succulent stalks, can cause the brine to take on a bit of a gelatinous quality. The fermentation process overcomes this with time, so if you find yourself with a gelatinous ferment, just tuck it back in for a little more curing time.
The commonly available pak choi has glossy, deep green leaves atop succulent, spoon-shaped white stems. It’s compact, with a somewhat vertical habit, similar to that of celery. What’s marketed as baby pak choi has short, chunky pale green stalks and is much smaller. It’s also more supple and tender and has a milder flavor. Both varieties can be fermented. Choose pak choi that has bright glossy green leaves, with no yellowing and no bruising in the stalks.
Used in many Southeast Asian cuisines, galangal root is becoming more widely available in specialty markets. This rhizome looks similar to ginger, but it is plumper and its pale orange-red skin is more translucent. Galangal has a distinctive flavor that lies somewhere between citrus and ginger, with a hint of eucalyptus. It adds wonderful notes to your ferments; use as you would ginger.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
technique used: Mastering Kimchi Basics
Use the small “baby” variety of pak choi for this recipe. The heads remain whole and the remaining ingredients are made into a paste that is stuffed between the stalks. Serve one head as a side dish. You’ll need to plan ahead for this recipe, as it requires a brining period, 6 to 8 hours or overnight.
Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there,
she once was a true love of mine.
—Traditional English ballad
Parsley, another Mediterranean health food, is a strong source of vitamins K, C, and A and has folate, iron, and a whole host of good volatile oils. Parsley was used curatively prior to its use as a culinary herb. The ancient Greeks thought parsley sacred and, like us, used it as a garnish — though they garnished athletic champions and tombs of their departed with this herb.
While there are many varieties of parsley, the two common types you’ll recognize are the curly-leafed and the Italian flat-leaf parsley. The flat-leaf variety is thought to be less bitter and more fragrant. Either is successful in fermentation, so use your favorite. Add minced parsley to any kraut or relish, and use the whole stems with leaves to enhance brine pickles.
Choose parsley that is not wilted. It should be deep green with no signs of yellowing.
Root parsley is a variety of parsley grown for its large taproot instead of its greens. Despite their physical resemblance (like a humble, pale carrot), root parsley and parsnips are not alike. Parsnips are sweet; root parsley is not.
You’ll find it under a variety of names, among them parsley root, Hamburg parsley, and Dutch parsley. It adds a mild parsley flavor to ferments and does not oxidize, so the white color is preserved during fermentation. Use it as you might a carrot. Add it to any ferment — kraut, kimchi, condiments, or pickles — sliced or shredded.
yield: about 1 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 pint or larger
technique used: Pastes and Bases
This is our take on a traditional Argentinian condiment. In the original, the distinctive tang comes from wine vinegar; in our version, the lactic acid imparts the tang.
Before the potato there was the parsnip. Before sugar there were parsnips. In Europe, the parsnip was used as the starch of choice before the introduction of the potato. Parsnips also had an important role in dessert: before sugar was widely available in Europe, this pale tuber was used to sweeten cakes and puddings.
During our first year as commercial fermentistas we sold our ferments in a roadside farm store. The owner of the farm store, Mary, had a surplus of parsnips. She talked me into trying to find a fermented outlet for parsnips. We decided to try some test batches: parsnip kimchi, parsnip-carrot pickles, and parsnip-carrot kraut. (Mary also had an abundance of carrots.)
We didn’t care for the kraut, the pickles were decent, and the kimchi was our favorite, though it got off to a rocky start.
We let the kimchi age for three weeks. When we opened the crock it tasted good, yet the brine was viscous. That is a nice way of saying it was gooey and slimy; however, it wasn’t the least bit rotten. We know now that it wasn’t quite done, and that gooeyness is just a stage in the progression of the process. We hadn’t had the good fortune to experience this in any of the fermenting we had done thus far. We suspected the parsnips.
My mother, who works with Chinese herbs, suggested schisandra berries. Her reasoning was that medicinally schisandra works against mucous buildup and the flavor would complement the sweetness. Christopher and I looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. “Why not?”
We put the kimchi into a large bowl, tossed in some schisandra berries, and put it all back into a crock. A week later, our kimchi was delicious, and the texture perfect. We made a few more batches that winter, always adding schisandra. Later we realized these herbal berries had nothing to do with the consistency, but that didn’t matter; they were now part of the recipe.
Parsnips look like carrots with a creamy complexion. They’re a cool-season crop, sweetest after a hard frost. For fermentation, you must take into consideration the high amount of sugar, so combine with an equal amount of other veggies.
Shop for parsnips as you would for carrots: select firm, medium-sized roots; large roots often have a woody core.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon or larger
technique used: Mastering Kimchi Basics
Dried schisandra berries impart complex flavors; parsnips contribute sweetness. This ferment has a two-step process that requires a brining time of 6 to 8 hours, and the kimchi spends a little more time curing than most of our ferments.
Schisandra berries are native to northern China, where they grow on a vine called magnolia vine. They have been used traditionally in China, Korea, and Japan for their tangy flavor as well as in medicinal preparations and tonics. They are also called “five flavors berries.” We encourage you to try a dried berry on its own, but also warn you these berries are not for a faint palate. If you are up for the challenge, bite into the berry and allow the flavors to move through your palate. You will taste sweet, sour, bitter, pungent (spicy), and salty.
This quality makes schisandra uniquely flavorful in a ferment, but the berries can quickly overpower it. Use this spice sparingly. Crush lightly to release the flavor. Dried berries can be found at herbal stores. If you shop online make sure you find a reputable source (See the resources).
Four hundred years ago, if you had a single pea in your hand, you would have called it a pease. That old form of the word can still be heard in a children’s rhyme: “Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold, pease porridge in the pot, nine days old.”
—Mark Morton, Cupboard Love 2: A Dictionary of Culinary Curiosities, 2004.
English peas are the ones from the pods you “unzip” by snapping the top and pulling the string, thus revealing the treasures: small, round, and sweet. If you’ve ever grown these, it takes a lot of snapping and pulling to get any significant quantity. For this reason, we haven’t tried.
Sugar snap peas and snow peas, however, have an edible skin, and we’ve found that fermentation is a great way to preserve their crisp freshness far beyond their short growing season. Snow peas are flat with petite seeds hardly visible through the pods. Sugar snap pods are plump, with noticeable peas.
Ferment either with other vegetables to provide the brine. The flavor will have depth, and the peas will stay pleasantly crisp.
Choose peas that are emerald green. They should have smooth skin and be firm to the touch, and when bent they should feel rubbery but will still snap. Stay away from peas that are much longer than 3 inches, as they are likely overgrown and tough.
Both of these varieties of pea have a string. To remove, nip the tip of each snow or snap pea and pull the string that runs along the edge.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
Make this as the weather warms and you see the pea season coming to an end. This ferment is a tasty way to preserve this spring treat and enjoy peas as a summer condiment. The carrots are added to create enough brine to cover the peas, which don’t release enough on their own.
Jalapeno Hal was a rough, tough cowboy. He was tough as a boot. He was tough as nails. He was tough as a horned toad’s hide in summer. His heart was made of stone, and he was proud of it. . . . He was mean and had mean breath . . . scorching-hot breath. This was because Jalapeno Hal ate so many jalapeno peppers.
—Jo Harper, Jalapeno Hal, 1997
We roasted, seeded, and peeled whole green chiles; loaded them in half-pint jars; and pressure-canned them for 35 minutes (the requirement for this low-acid vegetable). They looked beautiful as they waited to become stuffed chiles relleños in the winter. Then it was time, and that’s when we discovered that even though they looked right, inside they were so mushy they disintegrated when touched. Lesson learned. We still roast and peel whole green chiles at harvest season, but now we freeze them instead of canning them. All others are fermented.
Fermented chiles — now there’s the triumph in the preservation canon! The process not only keeps the integrity of their flavor; it also enhances it. Peppers and chiles in fermentation are versatile. You can make them into pastes, salsas, sauces, pickles. They’ll add another layer of flavor to kraut and kimchi. Most fermented peppers do soften, not to mush, but they don’t retain the crisp clean crunch of a fresh pepper, which is why we don’t preserve them whole for relleños.
Ferments containing a lot of peppers usually develop a bloom of Kahm yeast. Pepper pastes, in particular, are susceptible. You may think the ferment isn’t working, but rest assured, the yeast is harmless, and as long as there’s enough brine, the peppers will be safe and tasty beneath the yeast.
What makes chiles hot and spicy is capsaicin. All peppers have it, to varying degrees, except the bell pepper.
The level of capsaicin, or what the mouth feels as heat or fire, depends on a number of factors, among them the climate in which a chile grew, how much water it got, its age, and the number of seeds. Capsaicin oil is in the white pith and in the tissue around the seeds. It can cause a reaction even when you touch it.
This is important to you, the fermentista. Because capsaicin is an oil, it’s not easy to wash off. Before you cut any of the hot chiles, put on a pair of thin protective gloves or rub a small amount of cooking oil on your hands; either acts as a barrier. When you’ve finished handling the chiles, wash your hands in hot water with dishwashing liquid or an oil-cutting soap. If there’s still a problem, rinse your fingers in lemon juice or rubbing alcohol, then rub in a little aloe vera or milk. The casein in milk, and in products made from it, such as buttermilk and yogurt, neutralizes the capsaicin.
The lungs are even more vulnerable. Airborne capsaicin irritates the mucous membranes, and inhaling this compound can cause breathing problems. You’ll feel it as a tightening in the lungs or you’ll start to cough. Use caution if you suffer from any breathing problems, particularly asthma. Be sure to seed, chop, or grind raw chiles in a well-ventilated area. Capsaicin is also active during cleanup.
Sweet peppers are not spicy hot even though they’re botanically the same species (Capsicum annuum) as their spicy chile siblings. These sweet, often bell-shaped peppers contain a recessive gene that excludes the capsaicin. (See Handling Hot Peppers at left.)
The most common sweet peppers are the red and green bell peppers, but there is a color out there for everyone — yellow, orange, purple, brown, and even black. Don’t let the purple, brown, or black lure you, as these three colors don’t hold their pigment in fermentation — for vivid exquisite ferments, stick to yellow, orange, and the reds.
Jalapeños and other hot chiles add complexity of flavor and striking color to any ferment. Use a small amount to create depth; use more for eye-watering fire. Hot chiles are an important crayon in the ferment art box. They are, well, not to use the word lightly, exquisite when you ferment them.
Whether you are working with chiles or sweets, choose peppers that are fresh. They will be firm with taut, glossy skin, and no wrinkles.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart
technique used: Pastes and Bases
In addition to its visual appeal and the taste, the beauty of this paste is its simplicity.
We make a gallon of it every year. If the family ate this freely, it would never last, but we save it in small jars and dole it out. The bonus: It gets better over time. You can easily scale up this recipe to make a gallon-size batch.
Use whatever type of chile you have. Our favorite is the fire-engine red Fresno, in part because its color is so appealing. It’s similar to a jalapeño but is usually hotter.
Note: For a long-term ferment, use a water-seal crock to help control the growth of yeast.
To make a Tabasco-style hot sauce, strain the paste through cheesecloth to remove some of the brine. Splash a bit of raw apple cider vinegar into the brine and voilà! — hot sauce. The brine mixture makes a tangy flavoring to add to anything from refried beans to guacamole.
Return the paste to the jar, tamp it down to keep it moist, cover with a small sheet of plastic, and screw on the lid.
yield: about 1 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 pint
technique used: Pastes and Bases
Sambal is Southeast Asia’s version of pepper paste. Traditionally, and at its simplest, it consists of chile peppers and salt ground with a mortar and pestle. Each region, however, has its variation: chiles may be cayenne, Thai bird’s eye, or Spanish; recipes may call for lime juice or lemongrass, shrimp paste or molasses. What they have in common is that they’re always hot!
This recipe comes from Auguste Wattimena Huwaë, who was born and raised on the Maluku Islands (the Moluccas) of Indonesia, famous for cloves, nutmeg, and mace — hence their nickname, the Spice Islands. The use of bouillon in the traditional recipe probably reflects the influence of several European cultures, from the Portuguese, to the Spanish and the Dutch.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
Under the name Pepper Solamente, this was one of the products we brought to market. It’s all peppers, but it makes a perfect fermented salsa, with all the color and tang of a tomato salsa without tomatoes. This salsa is delightful as is, or use it as a tomato-salsa starter kit: just before serving, add diced fresh tomatoes and a little minced cilantro to the pepper mixture.
If you see it, it’s so nice. If you eat it, it’s paradise, the radicchio of Treviso.
—Clifford A. Wright, A Mediterranean Feast, 1999
Radicchio, a member of the chicory family, is a beautiful salad green with white-veined maroon leaves. Even though it’s often grown as an annual, it’s actually a perennial, which means you can harvest leaves year-round. In Italy, cooks sauté or grill them in olive oil. Here we eat radicchio raw in salads. Try them fermented: you’re in for a treat.
Commonly available is radicchio di Chioggia, which looks like a grapefruit-size head of red cabbage, but the texture is more like iceberg lettuce.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
In this recipe we use radicchio di Chioggia. This ferment makes a great simple condiment, or use it to create Radicchio Tapenade.
There are some oligarchs that make me want to bite them just as one crunches into a carrot or a radish.
—Eva Perón
Most people think of kimchi as synonymous with fermented napa cabbage. In Korea, the radish is an equally important ingredient in kimchi. Radishes come in many varieties, and each has its place in the different styles of kimchi. In fact, it may be the fermented radish that gives kimchi its, um, distinctive fragrance. We used to think that the odor some people find difficult came from the ginger and garlic, but radishes can pack a scented punch. Don’t let that scare you away.
Fermented radishes lose their tangy bite, so if you’re wary of their spiciness, this process may help you grow to love these pretty red globes.
Radishes aren’t just for kimchi. In ancient times, they were a conventional crop in Greece and the Roman Empire. Nowadays, in Bavaria, the radish is one of the symbols of the city of Munich, where salted radishes are consumed with pretzels and beer. Throughout Europe, grain-based meals often include them. In Japan, a drink is made from carrots and daikon radishes that’s useful to cleanse the body. Practitioners of traditional Chinese medicine advise people to eat radishes in the spring to rid the body of winter stagnation. They contain the enzyme diastase, which helps the body digest starches. They also help clear phlegm from the body and are chock-full of vitamins. That’s a lot of good from so small a veg.
The many varieties of radish offer an abundance of potential for the artist of the crock. They come in many sizes, shapes, and colors. Leave ’em whole, grate ’em, slice ’em, dice ’em. Small varieties such as the common Cherry Belle, Champion, Plum Purple, and French Breakfast are some of the first vegetables to appear in temperate-climate gardens and fields, and in the market. They make beautiful spring pickles.
At market you may see them bundled as Easter egg radishes. Select the ones that are bright and firm; soft or woody radishes are old and don’t ferment well. The leaves give a hint about freshness: young, they’ll have a little fuzz on them. When you get them home, remove the leaves and the radishes will last longer.
The larger varieties appear later in the season. Common to our North American markets are the Black Spanish, daikon radish, and the colorful Watermelon. Without cutting into one, it’s difficult to determine if the root is woody. Again, look for firm, unblemished flesh. At home, toss onto the compost heap any with a hole in the interior, which indicates age.
For radish kraut, grate them, salt lightly, and ferment. There will be a sulfurous odor that might dishearten the fermentista (or the fermentista’s family). Don’t worry; the odor will eventually become innocuous and the kraut will be mild flavored. If someone in your household has a sensitive snout, she’ll thank you if you ferment this in the closet.
Radishes are a great way to save a dry cabbage. Can’t get enough brine from a cabbage? Adding a bit of shredded or julienned daikon will save the process.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessels: 2 quarts or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
This recipe will work with any radish you choose. The result is especially dramatic with red or Watermelon radishes. Daikon radishes also render a lovely ferment, in both taste and texture.
yield: 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
The chiles provide additional color and spice. They’re optional, but they do give the pickles some nice punch.
Treat rapini in the crock as you would its cousin mustard (they’re members of the venerable crucifer clan). Despite the “broccoli” in the common name (the Andy Boy company dubbed it that in 1964 and actually owns the name), it behaves well in the crock. Rapini is Italian for “little turnip” and reflects that it’s a descendant of the wild turnip.
Rapini is a cool-weather crop, and it’s much sweeter after a hard frost. Look for deep green leaves and stems; yellow leaves and blemishes are signs of age. Raw rapini has a short shelf life, so ferment it as soon as possible; the vegetable’s bitter quality intensifies with age.
yield: about 1 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
technique used: Mastering Kimchi Basics
This green, though somewhat bitter when cooked, isn’t dominant when fermented. But this is a strong-flavored kimchi, so serve it as a condiment. It pairs nicely with white foods such as cream cheese, chicken, fish, or white beans.
While I still live, and before I die,
I want another piece of that rhubarb pie.
Now I’ve had pie of about every kind,
gooseberry, raspberry, and even lemon rind.
I’ve been privileged to sample pie over the years,
but gooseberry is sour and brings me to tears.
Now, some people’s favorite two pies are hot and cold.
But mine is rhubarb, even if it’s two weeks old.
—David Hovious, All My Life is Poetry, 2008
Rhubarb is complicated. The leaf will kill you, the root is a powerful medicinal, and the stalk lies in the realm of the culinary. Most people don’t know it can be eaten raw. The flavor of pickled rhubarb is unexpected, with a less sour bite than cooked rhubarb.
Most people think of rhubarb as an unusual member of the fruit family, because we know it as an ingredient in strawberry-rhubarb pie. It is often referred to as “pie plant.” It is, however, a vegetable.
Rhubarb is a cool-season perennial that sends up shoots in the spring; as summer temperatures climb, this plant slows its growth, sometimes to the point of dormancy. Look for long, fleshy, firm stalks in the spring and early summer.
yield: about 1 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 quart
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
When we decided to try fermenting rhubarb, the first thought was of sweetener. Adding honey or sugar would encourage alcohol development, so we added dried fruit and then a touch of honey at the end of the ferment. It turns out the honey isn’t necessary at all. After playing around with chutney flavors — onions, curry, and the like — the rosemary shone above the rest.
yield: about 1 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 quart
Follow the same procedure as Rhubarb Relish, adding the ginger and cardamom to the rhubarb with the salt.
Golden berries, also called Incan berries, Cape gooseberries, and Peruvian ground cherries, are becoming widely available as they enjoy the status of “superfood,” meaning they are nutritionally loaded with vitamins and antioxidants. They are from the mountains of Peru, where the Incan Empire traditionally cultivated them. They grow in a pod and are closely related to the tomatillo. They are available in health food stores and online. They are a delightful addition to ferments, adding a bit of sweetness and citrus. Use in relishes and chutneys.
I love it when mothers get so mad they can’t remember your name. “Come here, Roy, er, Rupert, er, Rutabaga . . . what is your name, boy? And don’t lie to me, because you live here, and I’ll find out who you are.”
—Bill Cosby
Despite its nutritional punch, I only remember rutabaga landing in my grocery cart a handful of times. When our third son, Dmitri, was three, he said he really wanted “wootabaga.” I didn’t know where it came from, but I thought, cool. I handed him a sizable specimen with a deep purple blush on the top. He held it all the way home. We cooked it. He didn’t say much. Next time we were in the store, he said he did not want a “wootabaga.” It was not the beginning of a trend.
Somehow or other, a wild cabbage and a turnip got together and produced the rutabaga. Perhaps the marriage took place in Sweden, whence the name comes. There are references to it in Europe during the Middle Ages, though as animal fodder as well as people food, which is a hint to its association with poverty. Though seemingly similar, rutabagas are not turnips. Turnips have a light radish flavor, whereas when eaten raw, the rutabaga has a crisp, sweet flavor. Once fermented, rutabaga tastes similar to its brassica cousins, yet stands out with a touch more sweetness and a nice pale orange-yellow hue. Rutabagas also have a little less water content and so produce less brine.
Rutabagas should be heavy, but not overly large, as these can be overgrown and woody or pithy inside. You want them firm and blemish-free — no large cracks or deep pits. Sometimes rutabagas come waxed, to keep them fresher longer; do a thorough job of peeling those.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
Why not rutabaga kraut? After all, rutabagas are in the crucifer family, another cabbage cousin. Keep it plain, or dress it up with any of the herbs or spices that complement this root, such as rosemary or dried orange zest. Serve it any time you would serve sauerkraut.
Note: For another rutabaga kraut, see Sauerrüben III.
My father liked stalks of green onions with sweet, white, bulbous roots. They sat in a plate in water, like celery; before a meal he’d pick and eat them like fruit, especially before meals containing turnip or collard greens. He would say he was laying down a bed of straw before the cows and pigs — the rest of the meal — came home.
—Dexter Scott King, Growing Up King, 2003
Scallions, also called green onions, are a staple in many types of kimchi. They’re rich in vitamins A and C (in the green tops). Feel free to use scallions in just about any kimchi or kraut recipe. Slice them into 1- to 2-inch pieces. Note: The green part does get soft. If that’s unappealing, slice them paper thin. That way you’ll get the taste and the health benefits, without the larger limp pieces. Use the white bulbs in brine pickle medleys.
Supermarkets usually carry two types of scallion: one is the immature root bulb of an onion; the other is the Welsh onion, which never develops a large bulb. Most consumers will never know the difference. That’s okay, because for the purposes of fermenting, either works well.
In Korea, the wakegi onion is the scallion of choice. It stays firmer through the pickling process, so if you’re a serious kimchi maker and a gardener, try growing this variety.
yield: 1 pint to 1 quart, depending on the size of the onions
fermentation vessel: 1 quart
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
Feasting is a significant part of the celebration of Tet, the Vietnamese New Year. Even if a family is poor and hungry all year long, everyone gets full during Tet. The rich, meat-centric meals often cause people to feel ill, however, and this is why hanh muoi, the dish this ferment is based on, is an indispensable part of the menu. The onions create balance and aid in digestion.
This pickle employs a double ferment, which means you’ll be adding ingredients partway through the curing period.
Shiso, or perilla (Perilla frutescens), is in the mint family, a close relative of basil. Its culinary history in Japan, Korea, China, southern Asia, Vietnam, and Laos indicates that it’s as important in that part of the world as basil is in the Mediterranean basin. In addition to its culinary uses, it’s medicinal.
If you’ve seen this leaf before, it was likely in umeboshi plums (pickled), to which it contributes the brick-red color and its own aroma. The leaves are added to ume vinegar, which is the salted brine from the plums, at the last step of the process, during which the dry, wrinkled plum transforms into a complex condiment.
Shiso is rich in vitamins and minerals. It’s considered a warming herb and has anti-inflammatory properties. It also stimulates the immune system, aids digestion, and perhaps helps kill unwanted bacteria in other foods. For example, in Japan it helps in the preservation of raw fish (sashimi).
Traditionally whole shiso leaves were preserved in salt. They have many uses, including as a substitute for the nori in a sushi hand roll. The concentration of essential oils makes for a strong taste described as anything from fennel to mint to cinnamon. I can’t say that any of those fit my reaction to the flavor, but I suppose our individual chemistry may react differently. I can say that I do not care for it fresh; however, I love the change that comes over it with fermentation. The best description I have is a strong floral perfume briefly fills the mouth before biting into the leaf. I recommend experimenting with this herb.
It’s a challenge to find fresh leaves at the supermarket. Try the farmers’ market or grow them yourself (look in specialty seed catalogs) in the garden or in pots on a windowsill. Nip off the flower buds as soon as they appear; this promotes bushy growth, and therefore more leaves. Plants come with red leaves or green, with a dry, paperlike quality. Both ferment well.
yield: less than 1 pint
fermentation vessel: 1 pint
technique used: Whole-Leaf Ferments
Fermentation does alter the flavor of this herb and not in a bad way. The process brings out a salty sweetness with floral notes. These leaves are wonderful little condiments to put on a cheese plate, in a sandwich, or, more traditionally, with sushi rolls. If you can find them, the leaves come in bundles. Pick up at least three bunches.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
Both shiso and sauerkraut are digestive stimulants, so this kraut does double duty. That shouldn’t be your only motivation, though; this kraut has a wonderful subtly floral flavor. The leaves turn a dark and nondescript color, but beautiful pink halos the leaves in the kraut. It is the same hue of pink that normally would be a bad color for the kraut, but in this case it’s not. Don’t be alarmed — enjoy.
Add 1 bunch (4 ounces) shiso leaves to a batch of Naked Kraut, adding them to the cabbage when salting. Note: Because it’s such a small quantity of leaves, the salt amount likely won’t change, but taste it anyway before packing, in case you need a sprinkle more to achieve the proper saltiness.
yield: 3⁄4 cup
Gomashio is a Japanese seasoning powder made of sesame seeds and salt. If you’re looking for a flavor substitute in the saltshaker, give this a try. High in protein and calcium, sesame seeds combined with the digestive aid of the shiso leaf to make this a healthy sprinkle that tastes great. The concentrated salty, floral flavor of the shiso blends wonderfully with the roasted sesame seeds. Sprinkle on greens, broccoli, hash browns, or anything that you would dress up with salt. Note: You’ll need a dehydrator for this recipe.
Shiso leaves, or a stalk of the plant, can be added when packing whole vegetables in pickle brine.
Sea vegetables, a.k.a. seaweed, are loaded with bio-available minerals and sodium. Adding seaweed to fermented vegetables is a good way to maximize the benefits of this vegetable.
Dulse (Palmaria palmata) comes from the culinary heritage of northern Europe. It’s readily available as a coarse powder and is a favorite to sprinkle into a crock of kraut or kimchi. Dulse is a good gateway seaweed as it adds pretty purple-red flecks to the ferment and the mild flavor may go unnoticed. See the Sea-Chi recipe.
Hijiki (Sargassum fusiforme) is a coarse-textured seaweed with a strong ocean flavor, but it presents the opportunity to work with another color in the fermentista’s palette. It’s a glistening black and provides quite an aesthetic contrast to a kraut or a kimchi.
Arame (Eisenia bicyclis) is one of the most popular seaweeds in Japanese cuisine. It’s a different variety than hijiki but interacts with a ferment very similarly and with a milder flavor.
Kombu (Saccharina japonica) is nice to add to any vegetable pickle brine, like you would a sprig of dill, but kombu contributes its own salt as well as nutrients and iodine. (You may want to cut the added salt in your brine solution by 1⁄4 teaspoon for every few ribbons of dried kombu.) This seaweed will double in size when rehydrated and will change the aroma of your ferment. The enhanced flavor will be that of the ocean’s briny essence. Add strips of kombu to any vegetable pickle combination. It’s especially good with added garlic, ginger, and chile pepper flakes.
Nori (Porphyra spp.) is high in protein and vitamin B12. You may know it in the sheet form for sushi rolls, but in its whole dried state, it’s a translucent greenish-purple. Slice it into a kraut or kimchi for some subtle beauty. It is a mild-flavored seaweed and will not add an overwhelming flavor. This seaweed is commonly available in most grocery stores.
Sea Palm (Postelsia palmaeformis), also called American arame, has a mild flavor and when rehydrated in kimchi or other ferment retains a nice crunch. It is one of our favorite fermentation friends. See the Sea-Chi recipe.
Wakame (Undaria pinnatifida) is a sweet, mild, and tender seaweed, though there’s a lot of variation in what you can buy. It’s one of the most popular of all the sea vegetables. Its texture is slippery, so cut it into small pieces for a kraut or kimchi. It’s not suitable for brine pickling. For a different flavor, carefully toast wakame in a dry skillet and then crumble into a powder to add to a ferment.
I like to eat only things with well-defined shapes that the intelligence can grasp. I detest spinach because of its utterly amorphous character, so much so that I am firmly convinced, and do not hesitate for a moment to maintain, that the only good, noble and edible thing to be found in that sordid nourishment is the sand.
—Salvador Dalí, The Secret Life of Salvador Dalí, 1942
We’ll be honest. The only reason we tried fermenting spinach was for this book. Cooked spinach has texture issues for some people, and we imagined fermented spinach as a dark green slimy goo — like overcooked spinach might be.
The day had come. We looked at the beautiful fresh spinach and thought, how can we be doing this? At this moment we did not trust the process at all. Kirsten forged ahead and thought about all the ways cooked spinach is tasty. Quiche Lorraine and spanakópita came to mind. Since she didn’t think that fermenting spinach with bacon would work, she went with the spanakópita flavor: oregano, lemon, and sweet onions. This was part of the backup plan as well: if the ferment texture wasn’t appetizing, then we could cook it between layers of buttered phyllo with a lot of feta. Turned out not to be a problem; the spinach was delicious fermented. The texture was not at all what we expected. It had some crunch, similar to a wilted spinach salad.
Since we had spent so much time imagining the melted feta and flaky pastry, we made our spanakópita anyway and the recipe (Kraut-a-kópita) is here.
Many dark leafy greens, among them red orach, chard, and parsley, contain oxalic acid, which is the sour taste in wood sorrel and rhubarb and the woolly feeling on your teeth after you eat spinach. The good news is that fermentation breaks down this compound.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
With cabbage and most other ferments, you manhandle the veggies to release brine. Not so with spinach. Here, use your lightest touch — you want the leaves bruise-free.
Orach, also called mountain spinach and purple passion spinach, belongs to the goosefoot family, whose members include common beets, chard, and, yes, spinach. It’s a common green in Europe, where it’s been in cultivation for thousands of years — longer than spinach — in the Mediterranean countries. In Italy, cooks use it to color pastas.
Use orach as you would spinach. Red orach is a vibrant fuchsia that makes it stand out in the produce section of the supermarket, at the farmers’ market, and, most important, on your plate.
Ferment orach on its own like spinach, or add a bundle of chopped red orach to Naked Kraut. It’ll turn the batch a beautiful, soft pink.
Alex Hozven is one of the “elders” in the renaissance of fermented veggies, but not because of age; in the late 1990s, she was one of the first to push the culinary potential of vegetables by creating new flavors with this very old tradition. And she is a master.
Her creativity, her palate, and her passion for the art are evident. Alex and her husband Kevin Farley own Cultured Pickle Shop in Berkeley, California, and produce a line of ten krauts available in Bay Area stores. The regular income fuels their true passion — the creativity that comes from working with the local farmers to generate imaginative seasonal products based on the variability of that year’s harvest.
Their desire to both break the boundaries of what Americans define as a pickle and operate within the local foodshed comes together poetically in their line of tsukemono pickles tsukemono pickles. Tsukemono is the Japanese word for “pickled things.” Alex and Kevin ferment a few varieties of traditional Japanese pickles including kasu-zuke, in which fresh vegetable are pressed in salt for two days and then buried in a paste made from the “microbially charged” lees or dregs of the sake-making process (basically the leftover rice mash). Luckily, a sake producer is only a few blocks away. After anywhere from three months to a year, the pickles emerge; they are drier, since they are not cured in a brine, and have a unique multifaceted flavor with hints of sake.
Cultured Pickle Shop feels like a huge family kitchen rather than a production facility. Many vessels contain vegetables, herbs, or flowers brewing and bubbling. We asked Alex how she views the changes that have taken place around the art of fermentation.
“In the 15 years we have been fermenting vegetables professionally we have seen a tremendous increase in interest in these products,” she said. Products is perhaps not even the most accurate term, as every jar that comes out of our shop is more process than product. By that I mean that it is still in process. We have bottled or jarred it at a particular point in time, but every jar is its own ever-evolving ecosystem, an amazing and diverse world that we have the honor to work with, and only a narrow human lens to seek to understand.
“Even with the increased interest, I think because our culture has become accustomed to a stagnant, uniform, industrial means of food preservation, there is often misunderstanding of how living foods operate — ever growing, ever breathing. That said, we continue, because enough people in our fabulous northern California bioregion love what we do.”
These edible tubers are also known as Jerusalem artichokes, earth apples, topinambur, or sun roots. A perennial member of the sunflower clan, indigenous to the eastern United States, sunchokes can be found in the wild, in the supermarket, and in many gardens. They are in a group of vegetables that contain larger amounts of nondigestible carbohydrates called prebiotics: when these vegetables are consumed, they promote increased levels and activity of beneficial gut bacteria. Other vegetables in this group include asparagus, garlic, onions, and jicama.
Sunchokes are deliciously crisp when eaten raw; they have a sweet, nutty flavor that holds up nicely in fermentation. Like many roots they are sweeter in the fall and winter, which is also when they are freshest.
Scorzonera hispanica, or black salsify, also a member of the sunflower family, has quite a few folk names; two of the more colorful are viper’s grass and goatsbeard. Having sons, we saw viper’s grass as an opportunity to entice the boys with a fermented creation — how about some Viper Kraut?
These roots are black, sticky, usually dirty, and a bit gnarled, so as a food, at first glance, unappetizing. When you clean and peel this root, your hands will turn sticky and black. The good news — it easily washes off.
Black salsify stays firm when you handle or cook it. Raw, it’s crunchy, with a texture almost like coconut. That same crunch and texture make it an excellent candidate for fermentation. You can make a tasty, pure scorzonera ferment, but because of the small size of the roots, it’s a lot of work for a small return. Instead, add this root to other ferments as you would burdock.
You want the sunchokes to be firm, with smooth brown skin. Well, relatively smooth; there are all the bumps after all. Avoid any with bruises, which will feel like soft spots. Also avoid any with sprouts. Peeling sunchokes is a matter of personal preference. We always peel the skins. If you prefer not to peel, scrub them well, paying attention to any grit that might hide in the folds.
yield: about 6 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 gallons or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
Every major culture that has survived owes its survival to the sweet potato, including the South after the War Between the States.
—Lyniece North Talmadge, The Sweet Potato Lover’s Cookbook, 2010
Sweet potatoes or yams? Most tubers in the grocery stores in this country are indeed sweet potatoes, even when labeled yams. True yams (in the family Dioscoreaceae) are grown in Africa and in the Caribbean, and very few ever end up in our grocery stores — especially not in rural southern Oregon. If you happen to find true yams, you will know it: they are larger than sweet potatoes, they have rounded ends, their skin is tough — almost bark-like — and the flesh is sticky.
So why all the confusion? It is believed that when orange-fleshed, softer-textured sweet potatoes (in the family Convolvulaceae) were introduced in the southern United States, growers wanted to differentiate them from the more traditional white-fleshed types. The African word nyami was used by the slaves to describe the Southern sweet potato, as it reminded them of the starchy, edible root from the lily family of plants that they knew from their homeland. The name nyami was adopted as yam for these softer Southern sweet potatoes, which incidentally are in the morning glory family and most likely native to the Americas.
Sweet potatoes are considered the world’s seventh most important food crop. A study was conducted in India to determine whether a lactic-acid sweet potato pickle would be viable for small-scale industries. The study concluded that sweet potatoes could be pickled as such and that the flavor was pleasing. We are going to say the flavor is more than pleasing — it is amazing.
The authors of the India study, done in 2006, were interested not only in the nutritional benefits of sweet potato fermentation but also in the “hygienic” potential because it is a safe way to process food. S. H. Panda, M. Parmanick, and R. C. Ray deemed lactic-acid fermentation “an important technology” in developing nations. “Lactic-acid fermentation also has some other distinct advantages, e.g., the food becomes resistant to microbial spoilage and to development of toxins (Kalantzopoulos 1997). Sweet potato, in tropical regions, is consumed in the households of small farmers and poor people. Night blindness is a major physiological disorder among these people due to vitamin A deficiency, which can be alleviated by regular consumption of orange-flesh (ß-carotene-rich) sweet potato either fresh, boiled . . . or as lacto-pickles.”
Sweet potatoes are available year-round in most stores; however, as with most crops, the harvest is in the fall. This is when you will find the freshest tubers. At any time, you want to purchase tubers that are firm (not soft or wrinkly) and blemish free.
The most common varieties are the more mealy, pale-fleshed potatoes (colors range from creamy beige to yellow or pink), such as Jersey or the Japanese varieties. The types with deep copper-toned and orange flesh are sweeter, moister varieties, such as Beauregard, Jewel, and Garnett. And new to the scene is Stokes Purple, with deep purple-magenta flesh. These potatoes have a rich, dense texture and a sweet flavor that lies somewhere between that of the pale-fleshed varieties and the sweet dark orange.
Use sweet potatoes as you would carrots. They respond and look quite similar in a ferment.
yield: about 3 quarts
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
In this ferment there is no shredding. Instead we are slicing the sweet potatoes quite fine. This is best done with the slicer side of a grater or the slicing blade in your food processor.
Tomatillos are a staple of Mexican cuisine and have been for a long time. They are from Mexico and were cultivated originally by the Aztecs. The conquering Spaniards then introduced them to a broader audience by bringing them back to Spain. While tomatillos look like green tomatoes, they should not be confused with green tomatoes. They are more closely related to ground cherries, which are native to the Americas; a variation is the golden berry. These fruits all have a papery husk that grows first. The small fruit develops until it fills the space inside the husk.
When shopping for tomatillos, you want the husk and the fruit inside to be bright green. This will ensure your tomatillo has a crisp tart flavor. As it continues to ripen, the husk turns yellow to brown and the fruit turns a pale yellow. For fermentation it is best to stick with the brighter green fruit.
While it is always best to use the freshest vegetables, tomatillos will last a week or two in the refrigerator. If you know you will be storing them for a few days, remove the husk first.
Tomatillo skins are often sticky; this coating, soapy with bitter saponins, should be washed off before preparing the fruits.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 1 quart or larger
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
“This is hands-down my favorite one of your ferments. If they all tasted like this, I would eat more of them,” one of our offspring told us. Is that a compliment?
This recipe is delicious as a quick condiment that you ferment over a few days and eat within a few weeks. It can also be a great summery salsa to eat over the course of a full winter. For a more developed acidic flavor with a wonderful lemon-vinegar quality, allow this salsa to ferment for 3 or more weeks.
There are only two things that money can’t buy, and that’s true love and homegrown tomatoes.
—Guy Clark, “Homegrown Tomatoes”
Is not the homegrown tomato the aspiration of every gardener? From the cheery sweet cherry tomatoes growing in pots at lofty heights on a city balcony to the small patch of fat tomatoes in Grandpa’s garden, gardeners measure their summer calendar by when the first red (or almost red) tomato is brought to the table with great pomp.
As the summer progresses, tomatoes are in everything. Turns out, planting 18 heirloom varieties in tomato-starved May was too much. By late September, fresh pico de gallo, Greek salads, and chilled tomato gazpachos have lost their charm. Sauces, juices, and ketchup have been canned by the quart, and the lovely red orbs still hang on the vine. The gardener secretly thinks about how nice a surprise killing frost would be.
What else can be done? Despite our efforts, not too much in the fermenting world, and why? Sugar — that sweetness we love — wants to become alcohol. Tomato wine might be a better option.
In our test kitchen we have tried many different ways to make a fresh salsa, which always ends up tasting like old salsa — like the stuff that you forgot in the back of the refrigerator. You get it out and it tastes a bit fizzy and a bit composted, and you throw it out. Despite the flavor, technically the pH is on target and nothing is “bad.” We are aware that many people do make quick ripe-tomato ferments that are meant for immediate consumption.
One compromise to get your tomatoes and probiotics too is to ferment a salsa starter. Find your favorite fresh salsa recipe and ferment all of the ingredients except the tomatoes. Keep this in your refrigerator and add fresh ripe tomatoes when you are ready to serve.
Green tomatoes can be fermented, sliced, and brined. Follow the instructions for New York Deli–Style Pickles.
There are recipes for making a ketchup by fermenting tomato paste with whey; this works but won’t require the quantity you’ll need when trying to preserve the harvest.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
Choose tomatoes that are not fully mature, any color from yellowish green to red, but firm. If the green ones are still quite green and firm, leave them on the vine; they will not lose their bitterness as they ferment. Don’t use tomatoes more than 21⁄2 inches in diameter; they become little effervescent bombs. There is no doubt that this food is alive.
You can also make a variation using dill, horseradish, and more parsley instead of basil.
Each spice has a special day to it. For turmeric it is Sunday, when light drips fat and butter-colored into the bins to be soaked up glowing, when you pray to the nine planets for love and luck.
—Chitra Banerjee Divkuruni, The Mistress of Spices, 1997
Turmeric has a long history with culinary and medicinal purposes in India, Indonesia, and China. Medically it is a food that has received a lot of attention in the Western world in recent years for its anti-inflammatory and cancer-fighting qualities, and many studies are focusing on turmeric’s effect on other ailments such as arthritis, Alzheimer’s, liver damage, and various digestive issues. The active ingredient, curcumin, is a powerful antioxidant. Interestingly, when turmeric and black pepper are consumed together, the active ingredient in the pepper, piperine, boosts our bodies’ ability to take in and use the curcumin.
If you want color, this is your ingredient. With varying amounts of fresh or dry turmeric, you will be able to turn your ferments anything from chartreuse yellow to a deep gold. Most people know turmeric as the dried spice that adds the classic gold color to yellow mustard or the ocher of Indian curries.
The recipes here use fresh turmeric root. It is a brown-skinned rhizome with a deep orange flesh akin to ginger in its appearance. The flavor has a warm but almost astringent or bitter flavor. Some people find the flavor musty or earthy. Its aroma is decidedly Eastern and unusual for some palates, but it is worth exploring this flavor in your creations.
yield: about 1⁄2 pint
fermentation vessel: 1⁄2 pint
technique used: Pastes and Bases
This paste has a very strong presence. A little goes a long way in adding flavor to sauces and steamed or sautéed vegetables. Make this paste when fresh turmeric is available. Because this is a seasoning that won’t be eaten straight, you may increase the salt content by about one-third to enhance flavoring qualities, though it’s not necessary for the fermentation process.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts or larger
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
This cheery yellow kraut looks like sunshine in a jar and has a bright flavor to match. If you’re looking for a little warmth on a gray morning, try this sunny kraut as a complement to sunny-side-up eggs.
This spice is versatile and colorful and can be strong. Shred small amounts of fresh turmeric root into sliced cucumber and onion pickles for that classic electric green color.
Diocles praises the turnip plant, declaring that it stimulates the amorous propensities. So too does Dionysius, who adds that its effects are even stronger when eaten with rocket.
—Pliny the Elder, ancient Roman author and naturalist
As the manuscript of this book neared completion, we realized we had forgotten to complete the turnip section. As our friend Melissa quipped, “That’s how it is with turnips. Everybody forgets turnips.” She and her husband grow some of the prettiest turnips in the valley, with names like purple top and white globe turnips, pink and white salad turnips, and golden turnips.
Melissa’s observations are not new; they lie deep in Western cultural fabric. Throughout much of European history turnips were poor-people food and animal fodder. While a humble root, turnips are nutritionally power packed. They have high levels of antioxidants, phytonutrients, and glucosinolates (which help the liver process toxins). Among other healthful properties, turnips are anti-inflammatory and support the digestive system and bone health. So remember the turnips!
The tastiest turnips are found in the springtime or during the second crop in the fall, when they are still small and sweet. Select small- to average-sized turnips; the smallest turnips can look like spring radishes. These smallish turnips should feel heavy for their size — this is a sign of freshness because of the high water content (good for producing brine). To that end, avoid lightweight, soft, or shriveled tubers. Young turnips with blemish-free smooth skin do not need to be peeled; older turnips can have tough skin that should be peeled.
Lesser known than sauerkraut are “soured turnips,” or sauerrüben. We have included three variations on the theme.
In his book Around the Roman Table: Food and Feasting in Ancient Rome (1994), Patrick Faas quotes Roman agricultural writer Lucius Junius Moderatus Columella, who lived at the beginning of the last millennium, on the pickling of turnips:
“Take the roundest turnips you can find and scrape them clean if they are dirty. Peel them with a sharp knife. Then, with an iron sickle, make an incision in the shape of an X, as picklers do, but be careful not to cut all the way through. Then sprinkle the incisions with salt, not especially fine. Place the turnips on a basket or in a trough, with a little extra salt, and allow the moisture to dry out for three days. After three days a piece from the inside of one turnip should be tasted, to tell whether the salt has penetrated through. If it has been absorbed, remove the turnips and wash them in their own moisture. If not enough moisture has been secreted, add some salt liquor and wash them in that.
“Then place them in a square wicker basket, not too tightly woven, but strongly made with thick wicker. Then place a board on the turnips that can be pressed down within the opening of the basket if necessary. When the board is in place, put heavy weights on it and leave the turnips to dry overnight. Then place them in a jug treated with resin, or in a glazed pot, and pour vinegar with mustard over it, so they are submerged. You can use them after thirteen days.”
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 2 gallons
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
In this kraut the turnips are shredded. This is the most traditional style of sauerrüben.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 2 gallons
In this kraut the turnips are sliced. This texture variation makes the sauerrüben seem more like a salad than a kraut.
We have added generous amounts of fresh black pepper, which is wonderful if you love black pepper. Feel free to use less and taste as you go.
This is a variation on Sauerrüben I (at left). Use the same method, but slice the turnips instead of grating and add the black pepper with the salt.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 2 gallons
In this kraut there are three roots: the turnips are joined by rutabagas and kohlrabi. We slice the roots for this sauerrüben, but feel free to shred; the process is the same.
This is another variation on Sauerrüben I. Use the same method, but include a mixture of sliced turnips, rutabagas, and kohlrabi. Add the caraway seeds with the salt.
It is a fact that seventy-five per cent of our make-up is the same as a pumpkin. Although we like to think we are special, our genes bring us down to earth.
—Monise Durrani
We began squash trials not because one of us woke up one morning and thought, Wow, we need to ferment winter squash — after all, everyone knows it stores for months, and why preserve something that is perfectly stable? Nope, it was buckets and buckets of orange squash chunks inundating our commercial kitchen.
Okay, we should back up. Our neighbors are seed farmers and to harvest the seeds they have to get to said seeds. This means laying out huge clean tarps, lifting the squash overhead, and throwing it to the ground with (hopefully) shattering force. Following a squash-smashing session there are two piles: buckets with the seeds still tangled in their stringy nest and an imposing stack of squash, perfectly good food that is the by-product.
We can’t see good organic local food go to waste, so there it was: buckets and buckets of squash. This was early in our experimentation of fermenting vegetables other than crucifers. We didn’t yet know how well all veggies can be fermented. We did extensive searches on the Internet, most of which were posts to the effect of: Why worry about it? Squash stores well. At that time there were no recipes and no shared experiences. We didn’t read anywhere that it would kill us, so we thought, Why not?
We weren’t sure what to expect, or even where to start, so we tried every combination and process we could think of. Only one trial did not make the cut — a batch of cubed pieces that were pickled in an added brine solution. These “pickles” were mushy and unappealing. Luckily they were not the first trial. Shredded squash alone came out dense with minimal brine — perfect for a chutney-like condiment. Thinly sliced and brined in its own salted juices, the squash did not get mushy and the texture and flavor worked great as a fermented salad. Our preferred method became mixing the squash 50/50 with cabbage, where the cabbage provides a little fresh crunch to the squash. Chipotle Squash Kraut (right) was hands-down the winner.
Winter squash contains a broad, colorful group of varietals, some of which are considered squash and others pumpkins. Some of the common varieties of the more dense, sweet-meat types of squash that behave best in the crock are acorn, butternut, Hubbard, kabocha, and turban squashes, and for pumpkins we like Cinderella, Rouge Vif d’Etampes, and Red Kuri.
Winter squashes have rich, thick, sweet golden to orange flesh enclosed and protected by tough outer shells. They grow through the summer. Hardening off at first frost, they store well through a better part of the winter, hence the name. If you grow your own squash, ferment them early in the storage cycle, as they will continue to soften even in cool dark storage. If you wait until late winter to use them, you may be disappointed in the texture of your kraut. You have more flexibility in the overwintered commercial crops, as they have been stored under refrigeration.
yield: about 1 gallon
fermentation vessel: 2 gallons
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
This recipe produces a mild kraut that is not very sour. The chipotle powder gives it an earthy-smoky spiciness, making it a perfect substitute for fresh tomato salsa in the wintertime. Occasionally we had a person at our market stand boldly proclaim, “I don’t like kraut.” These same people usually left our booth with a jar of this kraut, smiling and declaring that they were going to put it on fish tacos that night.
Peeling hard squash can be difficult because of the density of the vegetable. The best way is to make sure your paring knife is very sharp and that you have the squash pieces stabilized; use the knife to peel downward toward the cutting board. You can also use a carbon steel vegetable peeler with a very sharp blade or a Vietnamese cai bao knife. Do not use a ceramic peeler; we tried it, but the sturdy squash skin won, and we no longer have that peeler.
Note: If the chipotle mellows too much for your liking during fermentation, you can toss in a bit more before transferring the kraut into storage jars.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 1 gallon
The base of this sauerkraut is exactly the same as the above Chipotle Squash Kraut; however, its temperament is completely different. This kraut is lively and has whole cranberry pickles mixed throughout, which lavishly burst cranberry and spice into your mouth. Little jars of this kraut, polka-dotted with red berries, look festive on the table.
For this variation on Chipotle Squash Kraut, leave out the chipotle powder. Add the cranberries when you transfer the finished kraut to smaller jars for storage.
yield: about 1 quart
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts
technique used: Relishes, Chutneys, Salsas, and Fermented Salads
This condiment is wonderfully thick, both sweet and sour, and its bright orange hue adds a spark to any plate.
In one of my experimental moods I had this big idea that spaghetti squash would be great fermented. I imagined cutting it in half and forking out the meat into little strings ready to salt. That was not what happened. It turns out that the strings do not freely come out until the squash is cooked. Raw spaghetti squash is a mess. There will be no spaghetti squash kraut in our house.
Winter squash is also good in a ferment when sliced very thinly, as in the recipe for West African Sweet Potato Ferment. Winter squash is versatile, and its mood can completely alter the mood of your ferment . . . have fun with it.
Try these blends or make up your own:
Zucchini’s terrific, like bunnies prolific.
—Unknown
Despite the obvious Italian name, and being a stalwart ingredient of Mediterranean cuisine, zucchini-type squash is native to the Americas, as are all variations of summer and winter squashes. Seeds were brought back to Europe by explorers; what we know as zucchini was then developed in Italy, and it is thought that it did not hit the cuisine scene until the late 19th century.
Anyone who has grown even one zucchini plant knows the point in the summer when you wake up at dawn to clandestinely leave extra zucchinis on the neighbors’ doorsteps, in their unlocked cars, in their mailboxes, or with their goats. When we teach our late-summer pickling classes, we bring a lot of joy to people when we tell them that they can solve this problem by making an abundance of wee little pickles that they can enjoy in February, when summer squash is just a distant dream.
Summer squash is different from winter squash only in that the ideal time to harvest and eat it is when it’s immature — meaning that the skin has not hardened, nor have the seeds developed. There are many beautiful varieties of zucchini and summer squash; there is not much difference nutritionally in the varieties and most of the nutrients are right under the skin, so it’s best not to peel them. When choosing squash at the market, make sure the sensitive skin is glossy and undamaged.
Whatever variety you have, use the small ones to make whole pickles (see Summer Squash Basil Pickles). For these, choose squash that are less than 11⁄4 inches in diameter. If you are getting your squash from the farmers’ market, you may want to make a request to your favorite farm that they pick you a batch of extra-small ones. They can never be too small; some of our favorite “baby” pickles have come from tiny squash with unopened blossom ends. For squash that is slightly larger than ideal, cut into rounds to sink in brine. Make sure the center is still intact. These are softer, but they can still make a nice addition to a vegetable medley.
If you are a gardener with a plant or two, you will have many opportunities to ferment different sizes. At the market they are generally around 8 inches long. When selecting your zucchini or other summer squash to ferment, there are a few things to keep in mind: You can use the larger ones but not the baseball bat–sized ones for kraut. Bigger is not better. If the inside is developing seeds and the consistency of the center flesh is beginning to have a more spongy quality, it is too large.
Use fresh squash; they begin to degrade in the refrigerator after about three days. This will begin to show itself as pockmarks on the thin skin of the fruit. Squash that are no longer fresh will have a shorter fermented shelf life as well.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts
technique used: Mastering Sauerkraut
This is a soft kraut, but not so soft that it would be described as mushy. Instead it is delicate with a texture similar to shredded zucchini. It is also delicate once fermented, lasting only about 2 months under refrigeration. You’ll see there is a wide salt range in this recipe. We have found that salting shredded zucchini is a balancing act. It absorbs the salt and can quickly taste quite salty; however, since it is a tender vegetable, fermenting zucchini requires a brine that has a higher salt percentage, more like the 3 percent salt concentration in a cucumber pickling brine. What that means is that in this recipe, when you taste for salt, you want it to be saltier than a kraut — like a salty potato chip.
Interestingly, although there is a lot of brine (this vegetable is 95 percent water), it stays incorporated in the ferment, keeping the zucchini suspended in the brine.
This one ferments rather quickly; in our fermentation cave, where is stays 60 to 65°F, it’s done in 3 to 4 days, though we often let it go 5 days. It is a matter of taste and tang preference.
yield: about 2 quarts
fermentation vessel: 2 quarts
technique used: Mastering Brine Pickling
Allow your inner fermentista to have fun with these whole baby-squash pickles, arranging them to stand regally in special jars. Any variety of summer squash — zucchini, pattypan, crookneck — makes amazing pickles. If you truly have abundance, you can pickle the small ones with the blossoms — either unopened or recently bloomed, but pluck off any ragged, tired blossoms. The blossoms hold up to the brining. The effect is striking and has a taste to match. Something to awe your friends at a potluck — if you are willing to share, that is. You can also use dill pickle spices in this recipe instead of basil.
Note: Zucchini can be anywhere from the size of your pinky finger to about 5 inches long and 1 inch in diameter. It is best if all the vegetables in one jar are similarly sized.
The mild flavor of Zucchini Kraut lends itself to many combinations of herbs and spices. Use zucchini as a base for blends. Think about texture and what you want your final product to be. Do you want it to be congruent with the gentle nature of the zucchini, or would you prefer to add vegetables that will increase the crunch in the crock?