When you ferment, you want things to get funky, but not too funky. Since last time we checked in on the sauerkraut and the pineapple vinegar, each had a moment of seeming like all was lost.
With the sauerkraut, one day I checked on it and found that the water level had fallen far enough that a layer of cabbage was no longer submerged. And this layer was developing a suspicious white mold. Oh no! I carefully removed the weights and then even more carefully removed all of the bad cabbage, erring hard on the side of removing too much. Then I carefully cleaned the sides of the crock with paper towels, scrubbed the weights with soap and hot water, and added more brine. I packed it all up and set it back on the shelf, worried that the mold would re-appear and I would have to discard the whole batch. But the mold never came back, and another week later I tasted the remaining kraut. No off flavors, no sense that anything had gone wrong. Instead, just deliciously sour sauerkraut.
With the vinegar, I strained out the chunks of pineapple skin after a week, leaving a cloudy liquid. It first turned to wine (it tasted sharp and wild), then started developing lacy white foam on top. I worried this meant it was somehow infected, so I carefully skimmed it all out. Then I realized: doesn’t vinegar need to grow a “mother” to really ferment? So I stopped skimming, and sure enough it grew a leathery little layer of bacteria and yeast on top—and shortly thereafter it started tasting like—you guessed it—vinegar. Strongly pineapple-scented, wonderfully funky (in a good way) vinegar.
This was my first time making my own vinegar. I found it empowering, getting to track the process from beginning to end. Previously, vinegar was just something I found in the condiment aisle at the grocery store. Now I know how it’s made. The simple mystery (where does vinegar come from?) has been replaced by deeper mysteries (what’s really happening in there? what makes great vinegar great? what else can I transform like this?).
