There I was with a jar of some strange circular mold that I thought of as the "mother", but I would learn was the SCOBY. My colleague had given me some instructions, and I had watched a bunch of videos about the methods of making Kombucha, all of them narrated by fanatics. I quickly ascertained that making Kombucha might involve a little more precision than I was willing to commit.
I considered bailing altogether, but decided at the last minute that I should at least make an attempt on the recipe, perhaps I could just wing it. I'll just cut to the chase and tell you that my batch was a total failure. One sip made the acid in my stomach rise like the tide.
I left the Scoby in a jar in my fridge, as well as a small jar of "juice". As the jar sat there, the Scoby continued to grow. Even the juice jar grew a small "oyster" of Scoby. The longer it stayed in the fridge, the bigger it became. I would know someone rummaging through the fridge had uncovered it when they would pause and then exclaim in horror, "What the hell is in this jar?"
I started to become a little afraid of it. How was I going to get rid of it? I imagined it exploding out of the jar and gnawing on a forgotten cauliflower behind a carton of orange juice. Or what if I added it to the compost pile and instead of assisting with the biological breakdown of the pile it instead fermented into some new form of intelligent life?
I chose to ignore it for four or five months.
|Shortly before burial.|
It has been working great ever since.
|Future drain cleaner.|