Sincerely, Kombucha – Part 3
Enter Andrea Potter and Radha.
This past Wednesday, decked out in cycling gear, I trudged my way up the stairs to Radha’s dining and yoga space and asked to buy a scoby.
Several minutes later, a small jar in hand, Andrea came out to greet me.
After a few words she asked, “Have you brewed before?” noting the slightly scared look on my face as I peered at the ugly lump of white and brown in the jar she’d handed me.
“Nope,” I replied, considering that perhaps I’d gotten myself into more than I could stomach. Could I just slink away and leave it there? Could I change my mind?
“Well, good luck!” she said as she turned back to the kitchen.
I handed over my $3.15, I marched down the stairs, stowed my scoby in my pannier, and biked home.
Before the mister saw what I pulled out of my bag, I quickly palmed the jar and stuffed it into the fridge and out of sight.
I hoped he would stick to his usual routine and not poke around the fridge too much.
Then, I made my plan. I found my jar, bought my sugar, picked out my tea, and tonight I got down to brewing.
Atop my stove sits four liters of black tea. I suspect it will take until after midnight to cool.
I peer down into the amber depths of the pot and note to myself not to buy bulk sugar again. I reach for a spoon to scoop out a wayward sunflower seed that somehow made it into my bag of sugar at the store. Looking again, I frown at the pair of sesame seeds that dance around in the eddies of hot water at the bottom of the pot.
Worried thoughts of a moldy scoby and ruined batch of tea float through my mind.
Then I see tiny bits of black tea have escaped the teabags and settled as sediment in the bottom of the pot. I frown more.
Already I have questions.