Hi everyone, Quick update: I'm moving Magic Martyna Ferments over to Substack. Same me, more content — soil, fermentation, and heart-centred living — just delivered somewhere simpler for both of us, instead of buried in classrooms and modules. You'll get similar fermentation based news like here, completely free, straight to your inbox, twice a month. First post lands this Sunday. If you ever want the deeper stuff — weekly growing and homesteading posts, plus the full fermentation course as a welcome gift — there's a paid option too, but no pressure at all. The fermentation course here is live until tomorrow so if you've got gaps to fill, do it asap as the access will be cut! See you there, Martyna

So on the introduction there was a mention of a chapter 17 for recipes? Did I miss something there or is there a book I need to pick up?

Welcome — I'm so glad you're here. 💚 This is a space where traditional Polish fermentation wisdom meets modern everyday life, and where I hope you'll feel at home whether you're a complete beginner or someone who already has a few jars bubbling on the shelf. To get us started, introduce yourself below and tell me: 🧑‍🌾 Your name and where you're fermenting from 🫙 What brought you here — health, curiosity, a family tradition? 🥣 One ferment you're excited to finally get right I read every single one and I'll reply personally. If growing is part of your world too, share that — fermentation and the garden go hand in hand here. Martyna

If you're in southern England you'll have noticed a rather wild thunderstorm last night — a supercell. They form a huge dark cloud with a green glow below and bring violent thunder and lightning, followed by massive rainfall, often with hail. I was going to do some fermentation, but hearing the rumbling in the distance, I remembered: a storm is the only time it's genuinely not worth fermenting. I tried it once in Yorkshire — a ferment set earlier in the day turned rotten, not sour, by morning. This isn't folklore. Or rather — it started as folklore, and turned out to be true. People have been documenting this connection for centuries. In 1685, Flemish alchemist Franciscus Mercurius van Helmont wrote that during thunder, beer and milk would turn sour in cellars, attributing it to corruption spreading through the air. In 1800, Noah Webster — yes, the dictionary man — hypothesised that lightning curdles milk by lowering barometric pressure. By the late 19th century, European scientists were actively debating the mechanism, with theories ranging from electrically charged air molecules to atmospheric fumes. A 1937 Telegraph article was still calling it "the thunderstorm-curdled milk puzzle." The observation was consistent across centuries and cultures. The explanation kept eluding them. Until now. There are at least four overlapping mechanisms at play, and the science is catching up fast. Temperature and humidity Before a storm hits, temperature spikes and humidity surges. Lactic acid bacteria — your Lactobacillus crew — prefer stable, cooler conditions. That pre-storm warmth favours spoilage bacteria and unwanted yeasts, which multiply faster and outcompete LAB for the fermentation environment before the storm even arrives. Atmospheric pressure drop Barometric pressure drops sharply ahead of a thunderstorm. Research into fermentation under variable pressure conditions shows that even modest drops disturb the osmotic environment — the conditions bacteria use to absorb water and nutrients. It's a subtle shift, but enough to throw off a ferment in its vulnerable early stages.

This is nuts! Super excited for what this could turn out to taste like. I hate pickles but I'm willing to try these.