The cloud in my kimchi - glut management and organic farming balance
Late October, Humus Farm. There is a battle unfolding.
Potbellied slugs, gluttonous snails, and feral caterpillars munch waxy cabbage leaves. Each chew pockmarks their chosen home.
Hiding in plain sight, a shot by Hweech
Morning dew pools, then glides off the leaf. The balance of each plant adjusts for the slow slime of this relentless battalion.
Caffeinated and gloved, the WWOOFERS (that’s us) arrive. Commanded to expel these greedy inhabitants of the garden, each leaf is turned, rudely disrupting the morning chomp.
It's a long process. Slowly we come to know the ways of the toscana (cavalo nero), curly kale, cauliflower - where all the best hiding places are, how high to strip the damaged foliage. Then the plants can spread their leaves, finding the sun and the water that they need.
Snail racing, taken by Hweech
And so we move from our battlefield to glut management.
It’s a funny word. Add “-ton” to “glut” and you’re over-indulging (like our snail friends). When it comes to produce, excessive abundance brings with it a creativity and a panic. The blessing in disguise of successful organic farming.
Having read about the meals-to-write-Google-reviews-about prepared for Humus Farm’s guests, I wanted a piece of the pie. Not to mention that after a month bikepacking and living on one-hob-meals gulped down with baguettes bent by pannier bungee chords, it was time to be scrubbing the sandy Portuguese soil off of still land-warm fruit and veg.
Almost ten kilos of the farm's best brassicas though, did feel a little overwhelming.
We collect the haul early in the morning, big green crates that fill surprisingly quickly with toscana (cavalo nero), and red and purple curly kale.
Piled by the deep ceramic sink in the kitchen ready for washing and stem-stripping, the odd snail, often with a small translucent shell, crawls quickly along the non-resistant marble worktop. They're popped into a bucket with kitchen scraps for the chickens.
The plan? ‘Something like sauerkraut' and 'another, maybe like kimchi'. We find lemons, hot red peppers, black turnip and beetroot from the garden, and pop out to find more salt at the only shop in Fernando Po. We're going to need it.
Hot red peppers
The overwhelm eases off, and we're left with simple processes. Wash, strip, chop, pour salt, massage, rest, grate, mix, taste, jar.
I turn off my music.
For once, there is silence, no soundtrack of a cooker fan working overtime. I can feel the process more clearly. The taut kale leaves softening as the salt breaks down its defences. The resistance of a lemon being peeled. The chilli burn working its way into the crevices of my hands (this took an evening to wear off).
The toscana (top) and the green and red kales (bottom) before jarring
It's a good reminder of being part of a bigger cycle. Instead of looking to conquer the garden, we learn to work with it. Walter, our patient and insightful guide, teaches us about symbiotic agroforestry. This intuitive, though deeply technical, approach to land management allows trees and agriculture to thrive together.
As the green liquid of massaged cavalo nero dribbles up my forearms, I am reminded of Thich Nach Hahn's teachings.
See the cloud in your tea.
This briney cabbage won't make the tastiest tea, but it is possible to find the cloud in our kimchi. Chasing snails, grating turnip, even just taking a beat before eating, is a reminder of everything that has come together in that moment. The circular, symbiotic nature of organic farming.
We started with a battle against the beasts of the vegetable patch.
What is bottled is not a battle. Clouds in a jar wait instead, ready to ferment and be enjoyed (I hope) by future guests.
A snail works its way towards the hole in my glove. Photo by the fabulous Hweech.
For all of the ferments we used about 2% salt to the weight of vegetable.
The cavalo nero we paired with strips of lemon rind.
The kales we jarred with grated and squeezed black turnip or beetroot, sliced chili, and diced garlic.
Massaging these all together creates the fermenting liquid, which we let rest for half an hour or so before bottling, ensuring that the vegetables remained below the level of the liquid.
These we burped regularly, and then popped into the fridge.