The Sun Rose Today

A week ago, our school was talking seriously about the possibility of shutting the building.  Last Tuesday, we trained our students in the online platform we would use for remote learning.  On Wednesday, my 8th grade actors and I, who were preparing to open "Newsies" for April 1st, held our last rehearsal before the closure. Every time anyone discussed future plans, even as proximate as the following day, I would hesitate before uttering the word "tomorrow," grimly thinking to myself "If there is a tomorrow..."  I mean, of course there will be a tomorrow, but for the first time in my life, I genuinely didn't know what to expect each day.  We were told to bring everything home every night in case of an overnight announcement. The growing sense of uncertainty we've all been feeling over the last few weeks was surreal.  I remember turning to the pianist Wednesday evening, shrugging, and saying, "Well, we're here today."  We smiled, and we went on singing, dancing, complaining about how much our feet hurt, and pretending that everything was "normal".

Thursday was our last day in the building.

Now I'm socially distancing (I love this expression and will use it for the rest of my days) with everyone else, and I am actively experiencing a massive sense of gratitude that I am one of the lucky few who are able to work from home.  I am blessed to have a loving human and two furry friends in the apartment with me.  It's spring, and the weather is warming.  My plants are sprouting, and my fermentations are brewing in the kitchen.

We're here today.

Today the sun rose.  It will rise again tomorrow.  Tomorrow is miles away (sorry, Annie) and we can cross that bridge when we come to it.  We're here today, and the sun rose.

As long as the sun rises each day, I feel it is my civic duty as a citizen of planet Earth to salute it.  I invite anyone who would like to practice said salutations (and a few more poses) with me to practice along; I'll be making some follow-along yoga videos to help encourage others to develop an at-home practice for all of us with a little extra at-home time on our hands.

Please enjoy Asana Terra's YouTube debut:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kzhzSnLV-Xg&feature=youtu.be

Sauerkraut!

Maybe it's my love affair with sour and salty foods (I keep the pickle juice in my fridge after I've eaten the pickles just to take sips from the jar), or maybe it's my love affair with probiotics and fermentation (oh, hey, did you see my post about kombucha?) or maybe it's my German heritage, but I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't love sauerkraut.

Maybe you love sauerkraut, and maybe you don't yet know how different homemade sauerkraut tastes compared to commercially-made sauerkraut.  Even the 'best' store-bought krauts don't compare to what you can create in your own kitchen, and it's easier to pull off a successful batch than you (probably) think.

A good kraut starts, as all good things in life do, with a head of cabbage.  Fresher is better; older cabbage can come with hidden mold, which may wreck your whole batch, leading to sorrow.

You can use green cabbage or red cabbage.  I, personally, have found that the red cabbages are slightly less moist inside, which means a greater likelihood of supplementing your batch with some salt brine, but this is not a hard and fast rule, and it shouldn't stop you from enjoying the magic of a red kraut.  I'm actually going to turn this cabbage red at the end of this post, using the magic of beets.  But for now, it's a lovely green cabbage.  Time to slice it to shreds!

I use a standard chef's knife for this.  I find that mandoline slicers make a big mess of cabbage (though I do use one for the beets) and shred it a little too fine, anyhow.  This is far from the most labor-intensive part of the process (that's the smashing, and it's loads of fun).

Next, add salt.

Any salt will work, but I'm a salt snob, so only the Frenchest brand for me and my kraut will do.

I'm not a big one for measuring, so I just pour it until I feel like it's a good amount.  If you want a "recipe", this is a good one.  Don't skimp on the salt.  You can always rinse the kraut later (I recommend it, actually) before you move it to the fridge.

Next, comes the "fun" part.  The smashing.  I use a smasher that came with this nice fermentation kit for use with ball jars. 

Much like muddling (for all you bartenders out there), you just take the big stick and smash the dickens out of the cabbage.  This is a great way to get out your aggressions.  The cabbage will start to break down and release its juices (this is the secret to great kraut).  Eventually, you'll have to switch from smashing to smooshing.

You gotta really get in there and squeeze the heck out of the cabbage, getting as much brine out as you can.  The juicier, the better.

If you don't have enough brine to fill up and cover the cabbage when you go to put it in the jar, you can supplement with some homemade brine (basically, just boil some filtered water and add in a handful of salt.  Let cool until it's room temperature).

That's the basis of a sauerkraut, and these are the only ingredients necessary:  cabbage, salt, and smashing.

Because I'm fancy, I add a few more things (varies depending on my mood and the alignment of the planets).  In this case, I added capers, dill, and caraway seeds.

And shredded beets!

Mix everything together, and then, use the big smashing stick to really cram it in tight in a quart-sized ball jar (or 2, depending on the quantity of cabbage you started with).  Pour the brine in until it covers the cabbage fully.  I then use a glass weight to make sure the cabbage doesn't expand (it likes to do this).  

Finally, cap off your jar with an air-locking lid (I like the little silicone ones that come with the aforementioned kit) so that carbon dioxide can escape, but oxygen won't enter.  

kraut with beets

kraut without beets

Final step:  Let it sit in a cool, darkish place for three weeks.  Check periodically to make sure the brine hasn't evaporated (I keep a jar of salt water in my fridge to top off drying krauts).

After 3 weeks, I strain and rinse the kraut, move it to the fridge (in a new container) and then eat it literally EVERY DAY because I love it so.

A few things can cause kraut tragedy, and it happens to the best of us, but if you're conscientious, you can avoid a lot of problems by watching out for the following:

Mold.  If you see mold forming on the surface of your kraut, it *might* be okay--just scrape off the top and hopefully it doesn't spread throughout the batch.  Some people consider this a death knell, but I've salvaged a few moldy batches (and lost a few, too).

Oxidation.  If you don't have a good airlock on your jar, oxygen can get in to your batch and make it brown and icky.  Get a good airlock system.

Heat.  Kraut-making is traditionally an autumnal activity (cabbages are harvested in fall in northern climates).  It's most successful in temps of about 65-75 degrees.  In summer, I place ice packs around the jars to keep them from overheating.

Dehumidification.  Sometimes the brine will evaporate a bit, and that leaves exposed leaves on the top.  This can lead to oxidation and mold.  Keeping the entirety of your cabbage submerged in brine is the best way to keep problems at bay.

Is this the easiest thing in the world to do?  No.  But it's easy enough that it's worth it; I'm ruined for commercial kraut anymore.  It takes me about an hour to make a batch that lasts me 2-3 weeks, and I'm telling you, I eat a cup a day.  It's a small price to pay for the best fermented vegetables on the planet.

Happy kraut-making!