I first tried kombucha in a 100-level business class. A friend had recently dropped a ton of weight (bye, freshman-15!) and was sipping out of this artsy, amber-colored bottle. “What’s that?” I asked, an uncultured plebeian whose knowledge of health-food drinks had just begun to grasp the concept of putting vegetables in smoothies.
“Oh my god, it’s kombucha,” she gushed, offering me some. “I really like it and it’s a great snack.”
Tentatively, I tried some, letting the vinegary liquid spill into the back of my throat. Ah, I thought, quelling the tears that threatened to drip out of my watering eyes. Do not be the girl who spits up in the middle of class.
Fast forward to summer 2020 during dinner, my cousin Audrey invited me over to taste-test her first batch of kombucha. Apprehensively, but desperately polite, I took a tiny sip of the light yellow liquid. To my surprise, it was mellow and sweet, not unlike soda, but tangy in a way that was both refreshing and satisfying. I was hooked.
Undeterred by the suspicious-looking scoby floating at the top of the jar, I began my own kombucha brewing process. I was surprised by how easy this drink was to make, and how much it helped me, The Girl With Stomach Issues. (see WTF - What the FODMAPS?)
I think there’s something therapeutic in brewing the kombucha. By pouring in love, thoughtfulness, and time, I’m in turn creating something that will love and support my body. It’s a reciprocal process. Brew ‘booch, brew love.