On a quiet Saturday morning near Baden-Baden, hands met cabbage, carrots, salt, and time.
On 7 February 2025, a small group gathered to learn something older than recipes and somehow newer than supermarket shelves: how to ferment vegetables.
No rush. No performance.
Just bowls, knives, laughter — and the steady rhythm of chopping and mixing.
The workshop was guided by Bettina, who has spent many years working with fermentation methods and edible wild plants. With calm clarity and encouraging words, she helped everyone let go of hesitation and trust the process: observe, experiment, allow time to do its work.
Each person prepared their own jar — shredding cabbage, adding spices and sprouts, tasting, adjusting, following their senses. From simple ingredients, something alive slowly began to emerge.
A moment of shared curiosity arose when the salt drew liquid from the vegetables and the first aroma lifted from the bowls.
And there was quiet joy when the jars were sealed. Each one different, each one personal.
Finished ferments were tasted too: sour, vibrant, surprising. The kind of flavour that makes people pause and smile.
Later, a participant wrote:
“Fermenting was huge fun and incredibly healthy.”
“Trying something new in a relaxed atmosphere with kindred spirits is simply wonderful.”
And Sabine expressed it simply:
“It really was a wonderful gathering. Everything felt just right.”
What happened that morning was not only about preserving vegetables.
It was about preserving knowledge.
About passing on simple techniques that travel from kitchen to kitchen.
About noticing how conversations change when hands are busy.
Fermentation teaches patience. It asks for trust. It reminds us that transformation happens quietly.
Jars went home filled with cabbage and possibility.
In the days that followed, their contents continued their slow work on kitchen counters and in cool cellars — gently bubbling, softening, becoming.
Something else continued too.
A sense of connection.
A new confidence: I can make this myself.
A memory linked to taste, hands, and shared laughter.
Some knowledge lives best in books.
Some lives best in the hands.
And sometimes, on an ordinary winter morning near Baden-Baden, both meet.
💛