Kefir connection in Bedfordshire

Gramster, Unkie, and I pull into a nondescript row house in the rural town of Eaton Bray.  I decide to leave the bottle of wine in the trunk until I have sussed out the situation.  I ring the bell.  Gramster emerges herself from the back seat of the car.  Unkie, the chauffeur, has not yet acquiesced to opening the car door for her.  Several moments pass.  Joseph, a.k.a. “Pinomanuk“, an octogenarian in his own right, opens the front door of the house.

Joseph: You must be Ay-moss!
Amos: Hello Joseph, nice to meet you.

Joseph invites us into his home.  I introduce my entourage, hoping he will eventually marry my tyrannical 89 year-old grandmother.  He is friendly and enthusiastic, clearly cherishing the company.  After perfectly acceptable pleasantries, we enter the kitchen without much ado, and Joseph explains the mysteries of his hyperactive kefir culture.

Joseph: I actually divided it this morning into two, 'cause it's ... so quickly.  It seems suddenly to have gotten very very healthy. I don't know...
Amos: How long has it been since it... uh....
Joseph: Since it last divided?  Less than two weeks.  That's fast, isn't it?
Amos: Yeah, yeah, that's... uh...  very fast!
Unkie: Oh, I see.  They don't divide that frequently?
Amos: It usually takes a month... uh...

Joseph understands my desire to get down to business.  I am here to pick up kefir grains.  My uncle has been drinking kefir from a “starter mix”.  In other words, he is not yet in “the community”.  I am eager to introduce him.  One needs kefir grains to make kefir.  All kefir grains are direct descendants of a singular ancestor kefir grain that appeared mysteriously in the Caucuses centuries ago without explanation, never to be recreated.   Joseph has been harboring and culturing one such strain of pure-bred descendant grains for 30 years.

He removes a small jar containing a milky white liquid from the dark recesses of a kitchen closet holding plates and saucers.  I hold my breath.

Joseph: I've got four or five pieces in there...
Amos: That's amazing!
Joseph: ...or three or four...
Amos: Ah, perfect!
Joseph: ...shall I take one of those out?

I am allowing him to proceed at his own pace.  But he seems to be having second-thoughts.  Why would he already be removing one of the grains from the batch he has prepared for me?

Joseph: I'll tell you what.  I'll take out that one piece I put in there this morning... just in case anything goes wrong.

This deal could go very wrong.  I must tread carefully.  Joseph opens the lid of the jar and scoops out an over-sized grain with a metal teaspoon.

Joseph: That's actually already too big isn't it?

Is he trying to discredit his own kefir as an excuse to not give me any?  A bloated milky white grain glistens in the dimness of this Bedfordshire household.  I clench my teeth.  This is certainly a healthily fed grain.  I secretly marvel at the clarity of the liquid surrounding it.

In order to seal the deal, I tell a sad story of kefir grain wantonness… of an industrious American with only store-bought kefir to satiate his fermenting appetites.  Joseph’s knees weaken, and he begins to show some signs of sympathy.

Joseph (referring to store-bought kefir): It's not the same, is it?  You're paying a lot of money, and it's not the same thing!
Amos: No, it's not the same thing!

Still, he is determined.  He is quite sharp and clearly not of the elderly sort who are so easily distracted.  He subtracts a kefir grain from my batch.

Joseph (removing one kefir grain from the batch):  I'll take that.  One goes out after all... and put it in there. 
Amos (giving positive reinforcement in order to throw the adversary off the trail): Great!
Joseph: I'll keep it for myself just in case.

Who cares.  I’ve still got at least three or four grains to go on… or so I think.  But rather than give me the container with the remaining grains, Joseph places the single extracted kefir grain into its own spice jar with a bit of milk, and hands it to me.  I am the holder of a single precious delicate pure-bred kefir grain that will probably not survive the abusive car ride home with Unkie and Gramster.  This sly old fox is no doubt betting on my killing the grain.

I put on my poker face and ask what he has been using to feed his grains so successfully.

Joseph:  I'm using semi-skim. 
Unkie and Amos (in unison):  Ah... semi-skim.
Joseph: Half-fat.
Unkie: Half-fat, okay.

The deal is done.  I ask him, quizzically, whether anyone else has ever contacting him about his kefir grains before.

Joseph: Somebody contacted me... about ten years ago. A man from Canada.

A Canadian had written to Joseph, asking him whether he would ship all of his grains to Canada so the Canadian could start a kefir business. Joseph had spent 15 pounds delivering the goods overseas, only to have the Canadian spurn him and never repay or even acknowledge his efforts.  Joseph was left feeling used and abused, angry at the world…. for the last 10 years.

He talks openly and sensitively about the anger:

Joseph: Fortunately, I've gotten over my anger... which is why I didn't...
Amos: Really!
Joseph:  ...sort of... start yelling at you.

I feign empathy.  He doesn’t seem to notice.

Joseph: ...even if he hadn't sent me the money, if he'd just acknowledged it.  I mean, I'd gone through all that trouble...

Apparently, I’m not as bad as the “man from Canada”. 

He seems to have come around. After all, we’re compañeros facing a common enemy.

Joseph: ...and normally, in "the community", I think we're all pretty friendly.

I’m in!  Unkie, forever in need of authoritative guidance, asks about fermentation times.

Joseph:  Twenty-four hours is a minimum normally...
Unkie: Oh, right. Okay.
Joseph:  Fourty-eight hours is a maximum.
Unkie: Forty-eight...

I push the party towards the exit.  Hoping to escape with the grain while we still can.  Along the way, Joseph begins to tell us how he was introduced to kefir by a Korean sitting next to him on a flight from the far east thirty years ago.  From what I am able to infer, this Korean had given him a kefir grain on board the plane, which he has maintained ever since, along with a paper pamplet outlining the facts about kefir, which he began to show us.

Joseph (now holding a yellowing piece of paper): Believe it or not, that's the original one I was given thirty years ago.

He begins to read from the pamphlet given to him so long ago.

Joseph (mockingly): "The [...] Russian professor Nikimoto... Nikikowo devoted her entire life to exploring the secrets of the kefir fungus."   So... I thought, "that was a bit weird... a bit far out."  So I did it again.

Unkie can’t help himself. He inquires about cooking with kefir, a subject which Joseph is all too eager to discuss.

Joseph:  I do cook a lot of curries.  And I find it's wonderful for curries.  Instead of using water, I use kefir.
Unkie:  Oh, really!

Really.  As a way of concluding our rendezvous, I request an official photo of the kefir hand-off.  He seems as excited about this as I am.  In good humor now, Joseph jokes that we should say “Kefir” (you get it?  … instead of “Cheese”) as the photo is being taken by Unkie.

Joseph (gripping the kefir bottle tightly): Now say, "Kefir"!
Amos (pulling up on the kefir bottle): Kefir!
Unkie (fiddling with the iPhone camera): Well, I've gotta... I've gotta get a... I can't really get a...

Click!  Unkie accidentally takes a photo, which thought slightly blurry, clearly shows the kefir hand-off in all its drama and glory.

I run to the car, and retrieve a bottle of fine wine, which I present to Joseph in appreciation of his 30 year of effort maintaining the kefir grans to which I now lay a claim.

Joseph (graciously accepting the bottle of wine): I have to take it because I've been told I have to be gracious in accepting gifts.   I have great problem in accepting gifts!

But I have chosen well.  He has no problem in accepting this gift.

Before going, we are invited to sit down in the living room, an offer we can’t now refuse.  My grandmother, who has been uncharacteristically quiet up until now, let’s go what she has been thinking.

Gramster (admiring the modern sculptures and Asian furnishings situated in the living room): What is your background.  I mean, you are obviously an interesting personality.

He concurs, jokingly.

Joseph: I am!  I interest myself quite a lot!

Joseph tells us about his career in shipping marketing. A vocation which led him to live for five years in Hong Kong, and several years in Switzerland, followed by a few years spent enjoying the sour dough in San Francisco that Unkie holds so dear. 

Joseph:  I lived in Hong Kong... I was traveling all around the Far East. I lived in Hong Kong for five years.  I lived in Switzerland for several years.  And I lived in West Coast USA for a while...

A man of the world. Joseph is clearly a connoisseur of fine art, oriental furniture, and a man of refined tastes and eccentric habits.

Joseph: I've done so much in my life, and I've moved around so much that I've picked up things wherever I've been.

We leave Pinomanuk’s house thoroughly enchanted and, of course, in possession of the primordial grain in a bath of milk. Joseph is ecstatic about giving the gift of kefir to a total stranger.

Joseph: I feel I ought to be giving you a bottle of wine because I'm so delighted... I get so much pleasure from giving the kefir that I feel I'm not justified in receiving anything back!

He’s a charmer, all right.

Joseph: If anything goes wrong with it, there's plenty more.