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.
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.