Bowerman, Worlds in ferment

When a phone call announced the invitation as lecturer on the stage of IG, I had no doubts on what my topic would be: fermentation. I believe a congress should offer stimuli and concepts, it should make the audience fall in love with something that would accompany them even afterwards, which is what happened to me a couple of years ago when I heard David Chang speak of his miso made with local ingredients. I had already studied the various types of fermentation available in Japanese cuisine, even the homemade one, and listening to someone who wanted to apply the same technique to a local product appeared to me as revolutionary.

On the plane I kept on reflecting on how fermentation was both ancient and modern, of how respectful it was of the product: a cabbage becomes kimchi thanks to the patient work of the cook, to the hands grinding and mixing, to the pure water and the carefully chosen salt, the temperature and the time that goes by. Giving a simple cabbage the possibility of expressing itself to its highest level by transforming into kimchi – something sparkling, bitter and sapid, full of umami, in other words something complex - was simply marvellous: it was the emblem of a symbiotic process between chef and nature.

Putting the chef as deus ex machina aside, fermentation is based on respect and collaboration between man and nature, a profound and marvellous concept. This is a respectful cuisine, though not dominated by nature. Some people have talked of chefs as mere spectators, a definition I don’t agree on. Even Harold McGee back when no one would have imagined it, was speaking of "controlled deterioration". It is the chef who, by deciding how, where and when the fermentation must happen, has a position of control and superiority.

My first approach to fermentation was with a broad bean miso. A friend had found me some rice inoculated with koji in Japan (thanks Giulia). It didn’t go that badly, but starting with miso, a very difficult and lengthy fermentation, was perhaps a little too much. The true breaking point arrived thanks to Sandor Katz and his two books, one on spontaneous fermentation, the other on the art of fermentation. As in any field, I discovered there is a conspicuous very active population of fermenters – both extremists and non-extremists. Fermentation is also very close to a slightly hippie lifestyle that reminds me of my years in Austin, Texas.

Technically speaking, it is a metabolic process, that is to say the production of energy, in absence of oxygen (anaerobic) that can last even years. Through the process of glycolysis, glucose is broken up into pyruvate which can, at this stage, be transformed into lactic acid (pure fermentation) or alcohol and carbon dioxide (please forgive any heresies: I’m not a scientist and I’m afraid I’ll never become one). Besides, a greater use of fermented products in our nourishment would stimulate our immune defence system favouring a healthy functioning of the gastro-intestinal apparatus. Another reason why I thought it was important to speak of fermentation.

The two products I brought on the stage of IG were kimchi and garum, the first chosen because it has an international value, to support the part of me that sees travelling as a true oxygen supply, and the second to thank the land that has given me birth, love and success. And how could I pay homage to it if not by referring to this product patiently drained from seafood, left to macerate for at least 48 hours at room temperature and then pressed with 10% salt? I know, the smell is not that to which we have grown accustomed, but perhaps it’s time to educate our nose to more real aromas. Besides, how can you deny the charm of the eau de perfume Anchovies N°5?