Pickled eggs and explosive bacteria

Bacteria, fungi, and enzymes: Fermentation is one of the oldest techniques for preserving food or changing its taste. «Fermentation Stories» is an evening event that invites visitors to experience how artists use this technique as a means of social interaction. 

By Milena Giordano
Pictures Taiga Nakazaki

An hour and a half ago, I didn't know any of these two dozen people. Now our bare hands are reaching into large bowls of chopped vegetables, stuffing the produce into jars, and busily exchanging our own microbes. It is a Wednesday evening just before Christmas. We are sitting in the large room of a former industrial building now housing the ReCreaZZ repair workshop. Next to us, young women are restitching clothes, a boy is tinkering with a solar bot, and further back a man is fiddling with a wood-milling machine. Maya Minder, Corinna Mattner, and Anne-Laure Franchette from the collective BadLab (see box) are leading us through an evening event titled «Fermentation Stories».

The six large wooden tables in the room are covered with carrot slices and cauliflower florets, while the remaining spaces are occupied by cutting boards, knives, and empty preserving jars. Between them stand drinking bottles filled with green, yellow, and purple liquids, as well as spice jars with ground turmeric root, peppercorns, and dried lemongrass. The participants — students, early- and middle-aged women, and men — are working in small groups at the wooden tables, eagerly leafing through their recipe booklets with wet fingers. A woman with a short pony tail pops a piece of carrot into her neighbour’s mouth. They both laugh.

Every group tries out a different recipe. Mine is making brine to pickle mixed pickles. While I add some more lemongrass to my vegetable jar, my group members are making sauerkraut, eggplant sottolio and kimchi. The supposedly — and still perplexing — new technique is one of the oldest methods for preserving food: fermenting.

Microbiomes and food waste
Maya Minder, a tall woman wearing a colorful silk-like two-piece suit, talks about her childhood with her Korean mother, who taught her at an early age to eat and love fermented foods, especially kimchi. A fermentista, artist, and cook, she uses fermentation as a means of fostering social interactions and building community. Over the course of the evening, we discuss where our food comes from and explore our relationship with it. We consider the value we attach to food, broach topics such as food waste and reuse — and question how we appreciate our daily food.

As we journey through cultures, time and history, Maya tells us about the health benefits of fermented foods. These, she says, are partly more digestible than in their raw state and genuinely enhance flavor. «The lactic acid bacteria are very much alive, provide numerous vitamins, and strengthen our microbiome and immune system,» Maya points out.

Cuddling «Hoshigaki»
At the front of the room, bright-orange persimmons have been stacked pyramid-like on another large wooden table. In Japan, Maya explains, thousands of persimmons are hung on strings to air-dry in the fall. The fruits are not simply left to dry on their own, but are massaged daily with great care. This dissolves the tannins and properly distributes the sugar content of the whole fruit. Maya hands us fruit that Anne-Laure, Corinna, and she had already hung out to dry two weeks ago. The surface feels leathery and sturdy yet also soft; when pressed, one can feel the soft interior. The fruits already have the right consistency, but are only perfect when a whitish layer stretches over the outer skin — not mold but caramelized sugar. Called «Hoshigaki», the dried fruits are served as a delicacy with tea in the land of the rising sun.

We are now allowed to take one of these «fruits of the gods» and return to our seats. The atmosphere resembles a magic show: Tension and expectation fill the air. How do we transform our fruit into a «Hoshigaki»? Maya guides us through the process: We peel the fruit and tie a string around the top leaves and stem. «It's important that we build a relationship with our food, that we approach it with care, and show our appreciation for it», she explains. Uttering these words, she immediately proves that she is not just preaching water: She is delighted by how pretty the persimmon peels lying all over the place look when they curl. Without further ado, she fetches a bucket in which we collect the peels and store them for later. What will she them turn them into?

The persimmon mutates into a small, needy creature: We must now carefully carry it home, hang it in a dry, warm place, and massage it devotedly over and over for the next two weeks, preferably every day. I imagine myself fondling my «Hoshigaki» and hear Maya say, «Making our own food, especially fermenting it, also has a lot to do with care and care work; there are definitely parallels.»

Tough shell, tingly insides
We chop, season, taste, and fill our canning jars. We talk about taste buds and childhood memories, about how our grandmothers made sauerkraut or when we first drank kombucha. Maya or Anne-Laure keep returning to our tables, revealing new delicacies. I open a jar of garlic cloves pickled in soy sauce and mirin: Japanese rice wine. They taste refreshingly acidic, slightly sweet, with a subtle hint of caramel, and have lost the outrageous pungency of raw garlic. Next, a tomato-mango chili sauce is passed around: It is really fiery and tastes slightly lemony. At the next table, there are pickled Brussels sprouts and cherry tomatoes. People are getting up, wandering around the tables to sample all the delicacies being served. Biting into a fermented tomato, my taste buds explode: The skin is a bit tough, but the inside bursts into life in my mouth. Next to me, a woman opens a bottle filled with yellow liquid: Plop … a bubbling something pours over her hands, the table, and the floor. «There you see the power of bacteria: They’re alive. One time, a whole bottle exploded,» Maya says, laughing. The yellow liquid is kombucha with turmeric. 

Between a flat-sharing party and a chemistry class
After most of the participants have filled their glasses, the small groups break up. Chilled beer and fermented wine stand ready to be tasted at the large table at the front of the room. Anne-Laure, Maya, and Corinna mingle with the participants, answer questions and give tips, while everyone continues to cook diligently. It is like in a witch's kitchen: Three women are dipping hard-boiled eggs in dark red and yellow liquid, an Indian exchange student is standing at the gas stove, a bowl of beer batter in front of her, deep-frying fresh zucchini blossoms. I feel somewhere between a flat-sharing party and a chemistry class. I draw a glass from a large gallon of pink liquid and take a sip.

My appetite is amply whetted by the constant tasting, and the stove emits a smell of freshly sautéed onions. Maya, Anne-Laure, and Corinna serve steaming plates of wholewheat spaghetti, barba di frate (monk's beard), zucchini flowers deep-fried in beer batter, and a racy kimchi topping to finish off the dish. «Preparing food together, perceiving and tasting it together, establishes social relations and builds identity,» Maya tells us. She calls sharing her knowledge of preparation methods and food experiences «social fermentation.» Can this collective fermenting also have an impact on society? «Yes,» says Maya. «We are highlighting the importance of traditional techniques and local resources, and promoting an appreciation for handmade food.»

Officially, time is up but no one seems bothered. Exuberantly, people continue chatting, getting second helpings and refilling their wine glasses. They thank each other for the enriching evening, fill their backpacks with their homemade jars, and carefully carry their «Hoshigaki» on a piece of string through the dark night. Like them, I make my way home, riding the streetcar through pre-Christmas Zurich, my stomach filled with happy microorganisms. In my kitchen, I hang up my persimmons and place the preserving jars on a shelf. I am excited about the fermentation process that is about to begin and enter tomorrow's massage appointment for «Hoshigaki» in my diary.

Maya Minder, Corinna Mattner, and Anne-Laure Franchette have made their recipes available as an open source document (see PDF below): Why not try out and share the recipes? What about a little experiment? Invite a group of people who don't know each other to your home and try the social fermentation process

  • Badlab
    BadLab is a collective laboratory for interdisciplinary ideas and practices around experiential biological knowledge, biodiversity, sustainability, and resilience. BadLab activities include artistic installations, performances, and food events dealing with social transformation, care practices, and DIY strategies.

  • (Social) Fermentation
    Fermentation is a biological process in which microorganisms such as yeasts and bacteria convert the natural sugars and starches contained in food into alcohol, lactic acid, carbon dioxide, or other substances. This process is used to preserve foods and to add flavor, texture, and nutritional value. Examples of fermented foods include bread, cheese, beer, sausage, pickles, kimchi, sour sauerkraut, and yogurt. Fermentation can also be used to make medicines and enzymes. In biotechnology, it is applied to produce proteins and other biological compounds.

    Social fermentation refers to the process of using microorganisms (such as yeasts and bacteria) to nurture social interactions and create a sense of community. This can be achieved through activities such as fermenting food together, sharing knowledge and experiences, and creating spaces and opportunities for meetings and interactions. Social fermentation can also help foster an appreciation for handmade foods and traditional techniques, as well as the ability to work together to solve problems and share resources.