You would, wouldn't you.

I have periodically been mistaken for a hippie. No, no dreadlocks to speak of, I abhor patchouli, and it's been over a decade since I was anything close to a practicing vegetarian - but still somehow the misconception tends to crop up. Is it my flower child middle name (something to do with songs made by the wind, ahem), the fact that I majored first in Women's Studies and then in Peace and Conflict Studies (at Cal, for gods sake!) or perhaps my penchant for Birkenstock sandles and not much make-up? I don't know, but somehow it's an assignation that I can't seem to shake.

If you know me, though, you tend to realize pretty quick that I'm generally not so much in the realm of the typical hippie spectrum. (I think I am too mean, frankly, to ever be accepted in the group hug, plus I'm really big on daily showers and I find overzealous commitment to anything extremely annoying - not that I am generalizing, or anything).

So if you know me, you might think that I would not subscribe to weird food concoctions, health supplements, vitamin regiments, etc. You would think that I would not participate in things like Raw Food and Veganism and wheat grass juice and tonics (unless it's the tonic that goes into my Sapphire GT, ow!). And for the most part you would be right. Therefor, you would think that I would roll my eyes in disgust at the apparent nastiness that is Kombucha, the so-called latest and greatest in rejuvenating, restorative, revitalizing, replenishing, regenerating health tea.



Jojo once asked me if I knew of and/or liked this Kombucha stuff (pronounced kom-BOO-cha). I replied with a vehement "Blech, God, NO!" having recently had the disgusting experience of purchasing what I thought was a light, sweet, refreshing juice beverage, and taking a swig of what appeared to be a rotten and expired version of the anticipated light, sweet, refreshing juice beverage. I was SO pissed. I thought for sure it was another case of my once beloved New Seasons (like Andronico's bred with Whole Foods but cheaper and with fewer evil hillside bitches making clucking noises at you in the checkout line for wearing your pajamas to the market) selling something a bit too close to it's expiration date. Only later did I read about the whole fermentation process, the enzymes, the live cultures, and other details that served to further gross me out. All I knew was that it tasted like the bottle of grapefruit juice you bought to make your friend her stupid Madras drink for your cocktail party that she didn't show up to and which you thought didn't get opened, but really it did, so a few days later after you've finally gotten all the party mess cleaned up and you are too poor to go buy a better mixer for your remaining vodka, you think "Hmmm, maybe a Greyhound" and you open it and take a swig of the now-rotted, pruney, near-carbonated juice and then gag in the sink before cursing the jackass party attendee who opened the bottle for no reason, didn't use a drop and then didn't put it in the fridge. My kombucha "juice" was vile. A small swig put me in a foul mood for several hours.

So I vehemently, adamantly, cursedly claimed my utter disgust for the stuff, never even asking if Joj liked it (obviously she'd brought it up for a reason, right?). Even if she had sung it's praises on high, it never would have occurred to me to ever pick up another bottle again, even though I continued to be mildly attracted to all the pretty colored bottles and new delightful sounding flavors that appeared on the shelves (I mean how can you resist something called Passionberry Bliss or Cosmic Cranberry? I managed.).

Well, I'm over thirty now. And I can't even begin to describe what that magic number seems to be responsible for creating in my rapidly aging body (good times, real fun, let me tell you). So I read about Kombucha in a women's health book and was convinced by the nurse practitioner author to give the swill another shot.

It is a miracle from the depths of all things disgustingly fermented for food, beverage and health purposes. Knowing that I was going to be swallowing something that had the effervescence of expired fruit matter, I was prepared to give it an honest evaluation, and my god, it's amazing. The first Cosmic Cranberry, I'm certain, got me mildly drunk, which was a nice bonus (it does say .05% alcohol by volume is a possibility, right on the side of the bottle, so look out you lightweights). But it also seems to have fulfilled all the promises also on the side of the bottle: aids in digestion, metabolism, immune system, appetite control, liver function (this one is hard to assess, but I feel less toxic, so I'm going with it in the yes column), body alkalinity (man this is a big deal these days - more on that later), anti-aging (jury is still out here, though my skin feels better, but my crows feet have not flown away or anything), cell integrity (hm, sure, why not) and healthy skin and hair (totally!).

I don't mean to shill for a company that might just be peddling promo material instead of a nutrient-rich elixir as advertised, but it is the fabulousness of my life right now. If you can avoid the slimy, egg-whitey strands of live cultures floating around like loogies in the bottle (cause you WILL gag when you start to suck a string down, I assure you), these crisp, tangy, sparkling, fruity beverages are awesome for, oh hell, I'll just steal from the label already: restoring balance and vitality.

Namaste, kids, may the 'boocha be with you.