On Monday night Matt and I shared one of my "in-progress" pickles. It was crisp and lovely, a refreshing and salty half-sour. I was stoked on the progress and couldn't wait to keep on trying them as the week goes on.
Oh what a difference a day makes.
Due to a combination of unseasonably warm weather (95+ degrees) and perhaps not quite enough salt, the pickles transformed overnight into slimy water-balloons in a funky, cloudy brine. I took a few bites of a half-crisp one just to confirm, and yes, they are ruined.
I expected to feel more upset about all my pickle dreams circling the drain, but I really don't mind. The crux of wild fermentation is experimentation. No batch is going to get quite the same combination of yeasts and bacteria, temperature and temperament. If for every jar of perfect ruby sauerkraut and loaf of sourdough there is a garbage bag full of spoiled cukes, I don't mind. Ain't no thing but a chicken wing.
this:
ReplyDeleteThe crux of wild fermentation is experimentation.
love it.