2 posts tagged with “homemade vinegar”

  • Vinegar Vitae: Listen to your mother — Rose hip vinegar Part 2

    Rose hip vinegar with a mother | eatingniagara.com

    My mom is about to fall off her chair if she’s reading this.

    I believe you should always listen to your mother.

    My mom is now about to be disappointed because I don’t mean her. I mean a vinegar mother.

    Five weeks ago, I threw some foraged rose hips into a mason jar with a bottle of wine and a gelatinous glob, and called it vinegar in the making.

    The gooey substance (aka the glob) was really quite beautiful. It was the mother from an unpasteurized cider vinegar, that stayed suspended in the wine, like a jelly fish frozen in time. Despite its sedentary ways, it was meant to move my concoction along nicely from wine and rose hips to the fermentation finish line where it would become vinegar.

    Three weeks passed. That’s the minimum time my research led me to believe I’d have to wait for the mixture to go from boozy to biting. I started to think my mother would need months to work her magic. The fruity liquid still tasted like wine, albeit really, really bad wine.

    So I ignored her. Stopped peeking every few days into the dark, warm cupboard where I had set my mother to work with the wine and rose hips. And then I cracked the cupboard door while going stir crazy while sick last week. Shocked by what I saw, I pulled it back all the way and stared at my experiment with a furrowed brow.

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  • Peach Tree
  • The vinegar vitae: Rose hip vinegar Part 1


    There are certain ailments with which I hope I’m never afflicted. Itchy bum is one of them.

    Laugh if you must. I know I chortled when reading up on rose hips in my foraging handbook, learning that the tiny hairs inside these rosy seed pods can cause such a problem as they pass. Careful cleaning is required before eating these guys.

    In my diligent efforts to avoid what strikes me as equal parts agonizing and embarrassing, I sliced open each tiny hip and gently scraped its innards bare. The process taught me one lesson I’ve never forgotten: Rose hips are a pain in the butt.

    Still, I remained undeterred by the work ahead of me when I went foraging for the fruit last week with my friend Rowan in the Twelve Mile Creek valley. We waited patiently for a hard frost, the best time after which to start the harvest. I felt a like a kid in a candy store at the sight of the sometimes fleshy, sometimes firm orbs — think oblong cranberries — tempting me to free them from the nastiest, thorniest rose bushes of them all.

    We picked, we clipped and visions of tangy and tart rose hip creations danced in my head. Last year, I made tea, hoping to reap the benefits of all the vitamin C rose hips pack. This year, I’d try something else. Something more interesting.

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