The Vilniaus Universitetas‘ Department of Biochemistry and Biophysics has a tantalizing array of Lithuanian traditional food recipes.

Solid foods notwithstanding, the recipes are highly manageable by unskilled labor.  Mead, beer, kvass, and herbal teas are standard fare. But fermented tree saps covered in sprouted oats, poppy milk, hemp seed milk, beet pudding, acorn coffee, and carrot coffee deserve further investigation.  Baltic soups, including sauerkraut soup, sorrel soup, pickled beet soup, blood soup, and the rest represent all that is good in life.

Birch sap kefir

I have been fermenting birch sap using milk kefir grains the past few days, and it is very delicious – the most palatable non-dairy fermented drink so far.  The grains transitioned relatively smoothly to a non-dairy environment.  Will have to try a tree sap yeast fermentation with sprouted oats as soon as I come across a food grade plastic container in which to do it.

Shortly before Olives, the most amazing Russian supermarket ever to glimpse the balmy shores of Brooklyn, went out of business, I had purchased a compote that I believe contained peaches among other fruits.  It turned out to be mildly fermented, probably due having sat neglected on Olives’ overstocked shelves for too long (supermarkets and Russians mix as well as oil and water without an emulsifier).  It was the most delicious drink I’ve ever had.  More experiments in that direction to come.

Homemade pie fillings at Olives

Having passed up the oversized jars of pickled green tomatoes in brine and bought a 3 liter birch juice container instead to use in fermenting the kombucha colony I picked up from a woman spotted sitting on a sidewalk in Brighton Beach by eagle-eyed Nina , the birch juice has been relegated to a series of reusable plastic containers in the fridge.

Returning home from Ossining late last night, Nina came over to pick up her dues, payable in home-brewed kefir (which I had left in the fridge for a slow growth).  And we sampled the kombucha 3 days into its ferment – a bit early, but late enough to give us an idea of its progression.  Nina has clear ideas on how a kombucha should taste, and is very adamant about a certain sweetness and the strength of the tea.  The colony had sunk to the bottom of the jar upon initial insert into the black lychee tea, but was now floating near the top.  The taste was great, not too acidic yet tart, semi-sweet with a hint of carbonation, and a strong but not overbearing smooth tea flavor.  It will presumably be even more delicious in a few days.

We also sampled the kefir, which has already proven itself to be a high-quality culture sustained through the years by Joseph of Bedfordshire, UK.  It produces a smooth-textured, mild-flavored product that thickens quickly, acidifies slowly, and has the one flaw that that it ends up a bit gooey.  One day’s ferment will leave it mild and yogurty.  Two days will give you a strong tang and slight separation of whey and curd, although still smooth.  Unfortunately, I have forgotten one of my two kefir grains up in Westchester, where I traveled with it in tow, and where hopefully its new caretakers will take care.

After Nina left, I popped open a birch juice container and downed a few gulps.  Delicious.  Very subtle.  So subtle that the first time I encountered birch juice sitting on a store shelf, I didn’t understand why anyone would spend money on it.  Crazy Russians with their sweet toothes.  It tasted like dilute sugar water.  But by persevering through the entire bottle, I came to appreciate its very mild, slightly sour palate, and I have enjoyed it regularly ever since.

Judging by the bottled vinegar that passes for a popular kombucha in Whole Foods, the kefir that is actually sterile yogurt, and the birch juice that doesn’t even exist in this country despite the abundance of birch trees, it must be that Americans feel the need to punish and deny themselves such simple unrefined pleasures.

Kombucha in birch juice container