An easy introduction to modern fermenting

By Diana Henry   –   The Telegraph

If a man ever asks you to try his “new greens”, I’d advise you to take him up on the offer. That was the invitation I received from pickling and fermenting expert Nick Vadasz. A week later I’m standing in an industrial unit in Hackney peering into a big plastic bucket. Murky brown liquid, flecked with chili, garlic and herbs, surrounds a mass of bright green cucumbers curling in upon themselves like snakes.

“New greens” are what these are called in New York’s Jewish delis. Vadasz fishes one out with extra-long tongs. I bite into it. It’s crispy, sour, garlicky, spicy – I immediately want to take the whole bucket home. And I’m not alone: we British are developing a taste for the sour and Vadasz is one of a growing number of producers selling fermented foods and teaching others how to pickle, too.

“My Hungarian dad passed on two skills to me. One was the ability to swear brilliantly in Hungarian, the other was to make great pickles,” Vadasz laughs. “I started fermenting because it’s part of my heritage. It seemed like an ethical and sensible way to deal with foods that were plentiful, too. I also realized there were lots of Eastern Europeans living here who couldn’t get the sour pickles and krauts they ate back home, so I spotted a gap in the market.”

Think fermentation is just a foodie trend? Stay with me. You already eat lots of fermented foods – including wine, vinegar, cheese, yogurt, sourdough and salami – all made using the mysterious power of microbes. More distant cultures consume them in greater quantities: kefir, slightly sour fermented milk, is drunk in the Caucasus; labneh is a staple of the Middle East; fermented pickles are offered at every meal in Japan; kimchi, spiced fermented cabbage, is a staple in Korea.

To ferment vegetables all you need is salt. To make your own yogurt you just need some live yogurt. To ferment milk or water you need to get kefir grains (you can find them online). It might seem mysterious at first, but pickling isn’t difficult and it’s a great kitchen adventure.

“The way fermentation transforms foods is quite magical,” agrees Vadasz. “Shred and pound some cabbage. Add salt to create a brine. Within that brine you have natural sugars that are activated by the yeasts in the vegetables and in the air. You don’t add sugar or vinegar. The cabbage sours and keeps because of lactic acid fermentation. All you have to do is keep the cabbage submerged and observe the changes in flavor.”

Some people are interested in fermented foods for health reasons – they are said to improve gut health – but I’m interested because of taste. During a recent trip to the United States (where pickling evangelist Sandor Katz kick-started the trend with his 2003 book Wild Fermentation) the best meal I had was at Bar Tartine in San Francisco. It was brunch, but there was no French toast with maple syrup; just home-made yogurt, fermented vegetables and kefir butter.

At first I groaned – I even tweeted a picture of the menu because it was so achingly hip – but it turned out to be a meal of startling flavours. There was sourness – from the fermented elements – and a real earthiness. This meal and Vadasz’s “new greens” are the most persuasive argument I’ve encountered for fermenting at home.

But how do we know what we’re creating in our own kitchens is the product of good bacteria and isn’t just food rotting? Food writerCharlotte Pike’s new book, Fermented, should help you embark on experiments confidently. Her recipe for Kombucha – fermented tea – is simplicity itself. It tastes like tart apple juice with a dash of cider vinegar and, chilled, is addictive.

“Darling, my kefir has died,” reads the opening line of an email I receive from a friend living not in fermentation haven California but Dublin. It’s easy to laugh at the obsessiveness of food lovers, but she has my sympathy. Now that I’ve dipped my toes into the pickle barrel I’m fired up with enthusiasm. In fact, I’m waiting impatiently for my own kefir grains to ferment the cream I’m going to turn into butter.