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Sincerely, Kombucha – Part 3

June 18, 2010

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.

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