#masonjar

Ferment Your First Jar in 5 Steps

Body copy: Because humans did this for 4,000 years before Whole Foods charged you $12 for it.

One cabbage. Two tablespoons of salt. Your hands. A mason jar. That's the whole ingredient list. No starter kit. No subscription box. No influencer code.

This is sauerkraut — the way your great-grandmother made it, and her great-grandmother before her. Osmosis does the work. You just chop, salt, squeeze, pack, and wait.

Full food science breakdown, history, and troubleshooting: Be Pro-Veggional: A Fermentation Guide 

Some introductions are more memorable than others. My introduction to home-made moonshine was such an introduction. Take care and be well.

Moonshine by p.b. wells

I thought moonshine was a myth, like honest politicians or good hangovers.

Then somebody handed me a mason jar that looked innocent enough, like something your grandmother might keep buttons in. “Sweet apple taste,” they said, “goes down easy.”

First gulp, I thought, hell, this ain’t bad. Second gulp, I thought, this might be my new religion. Third gulp, I forgot what I thought.

Next thing I know, I’m explaining the deep philosophical meaning of The Rolling Stones to the cat. he yawns. then I thank the toaster for its service and we argue about heartbreak and the American dream.

By midnight, I was half philosopher, half roadkill, contemplating the meaning of life while sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, eating a Pop-Tart with a fork.

At some point, I text an ex: “You were right about the aliens.” haven’t heard back. so I write poetry on the bathroom floor about love, regret, and the angle of tile grout.

When the sun came up, my shoes were in the bathtub, my dignity under the couch, my head drafting a resignation letter.

But hell, I’ll admit it, that apple moonshine had charm. sweet, dangerous grace. the kind that makes you think you can still dance, still sing, still matter for one wild night before it all collapses into laughter and blackout.

So yeah, I met moonshine last night. we had a thing. it was beautiful. it was stupid. and I think, if I ever see her again, I’ll probably say yes.

Or run like hell.