The airport security worker eyed my three-once bottles with suspicion. I feigned indifference and fought off the urge to speak. A jar of home-made nut butter had been confiscated from me after I had explained what it was. So I thought it best not to expound upon fermentation and the revitalization of local food traditions. Instead I simply prayed that the sourdough starter might pass for shampoo. What the blood-red beverage of fermented beets might be taken for I dared not imagine.
