Beet Kvass and a Red Kitchen
Beet kvass is the simplest thing I ferment and the one that makes the most mess. Three medium beets, about 450 g, scrubbed but not peeled, cut into 2 cm chunks. Into a 1.5-liter jar. Brine at 2 percent: 20 g of salt in 1 liter of water, poured over. A loose lid, a plate underneath, a spot on the counter away from the window. That is the entire recipe.
Day one the water went pink within an hour. Day two it was deep red and faintly fizzy when I lifted the lid. Day three a few bubbles clung to the beet chunks and the smell was earthy and slightly sour, like a cellar after rain. By day five, at a kitchen temperature of about 21 °C, it was ready: a clear, dark ruby liquid, sour, a little salty, with the earthiness of beets and something behind it that reminds me of sour cherry. I strained it into bottles, kept the beets, and put the bottles in the fridge. A small glass in the morning is my habit now. The beets themselves went into a salad and were excellent.
Now the mess. Beet juice gets everywhere. It stained a wooden spoon permanently, a tea towel permanently, the white plastic lid of the jar permanently and the grout between two tiles near the sink, which I am still working on. My hands were pink for two days. The plate under the jar caught a drip on day three and left a ring on the counter that took bleach to shift.
A second ferment on the same beets, with fresh brine, gave a paler, milder drink in about four days, still worth having. A third was thin and not worth the jar space.
Notes for the next batch: wear gloves, use a glass or steel spoon, put the jar on a dark plate and keep it well away from anything you care about. Also, start the first batch in September when the beets are sweet and cheap and the kitchen is still warm enough to move things along. In January, at 17 °C, the same recipe took nine days and tasted thinner. I do not know why the cold flattens it, but it does.