This is one in a series about possible futures, which will be published in Booch News over the coming weeks. Episode 3 appeared last week. New episodes drop every Friday.

As we look back over the last 75 years, it’s clear that the global fermentation renaissance is a story with many chapters. They wove together multiple legacies that enabled our collective survival and enjoyment of life in the year 2100. Here are nine of those chapters.

1. The Metchnikoff Prophecy: From Nobel Prize to Planetary Transformation

The foundations of the fermentations of 2100 can be traced to a prescient insight from 1907, when Nobel laureate Élie Metchnikoff published The Prolongation of Life: Optimistic Studies. His observation that Bulgarian peasants consuming fermented milk lived remarkably long lives—and his subsequent isolation of L. bulgaricus—established the scientific foundation for what would become humanity’s biological salvation.

Metchnikoff’s prophetic words resonated across the centuries:

From time immemorial human beings have absorbed quantities of lactic microbes by consuming in the uncooked condition substances such as soured milk, kephir, sauerkraut, or salted cucumbers which have undergone lactic fermentation. By these means they have unknowingly lessened the evil consequences of intestinal putrefaction.

By 2075, his “intestinal putrefaction” theory had become the foundational framework of the Global Microbiome Crisis—a recognition that industrial food had systematically destroyed humanity’s internal ecosystem.

2. The Wolfe Revolution: Mapping Humanity’s Microbial Heritage

Dr. Benjamin Wolfe II’s 2089 breakthrough at the Tufts Planetary Fermentation Institute was directly traced to his grandfather’s 2020s research, which analyzed 500 sourdough starters across four continents. The older Wolfe discovered that household fermentation cultures contained vastly more microbial diversity than commercial operations. This insight became crucial when climate change destroyed industrial food systems.

The younger Wolfe’s research titled the “Global Fermentation Genome Project” expanded his grandfather’s Medford research to catalog over 2.3 million distinct fermentation cultures from every inhabited region on Earth, creating humanity’s most precious database. When traditional agriculture collapsed, these preserved microbial libraries became the genetic foundation for survival. Communities could resurrect ancient fermentation practices using Wolfe’s genomic blueprints, ensuring that local food cultures survived even when their original ecosystems disappeared.

Wolfe’s research proved that fermentation diversity directly correlated with human resilience. Populations with access to diverse fermented foods showed superior adaptation to climate stress, disease resistance, and cognitive performance. His “Microbial Diversity Index” became the most accurate predictor of community survival in the climate-changed world.

One day at the Tufts Institute, Wolfe’s research partner, Dr. Gail Sonenshein, enters carrying emergency reports. “Ben, we have another situation. The refugee settlement in Nevada is experiencing 60% mortality within three months of arrival. Malnutrition, immune collapse, systemic organ failure.”

Wolfe does not hesitate. “What are they eating?”

“Standard industrial rations. Nutritionally complete according to FDA standards. High-calorie, protein-fortified, vitamin-supplemented.”

“And completely dead.” Benjamin pulls up the settlement’s microbiome data. The graphs are devastating: almost no bacterial diversity, compromised gut function, cascading health failures. “The industrial food is killing them faster than starvation would.”

Gail nods grimly. “We have 47 similar settlements reporting identical patterns. Millions of climate refugees are being fed ‘safe’ processed food, and they’re dying anyway. The food provides calories but destroys their microbial ecosystems.”

Benjamin accesses his grandfather’s sourdough archive, searching for cultures from the refugees’ original regions. “What if we could resurrect their traditional fermentation practices? Give them back the microbes they evolved with?”

“Using genetic data to recreate fermented foods from extinct ecosystems?” Gail considers. “That’s never been attempted at scale.”

“Because we never had to before. My grandfather cataloged this diversity, thinking it was merely academic research. Turns out he was creating a survival manual.” Benjamin begins pulling culture samples. “We start with the Nevada settlement. Identify their regional origins, match them with appropriate fermentation cultures, teach them to recreate their traditional foods.”

Gail considers this before asking, “And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then 60% mortality becomes 100%. But if it does work…” Benjamin presents a theoretical model illustrating how restored microbial diversity contributes to health recovery. “We might have the blueprint for saving millions.”

3. The Marco Barrier Studies: Fortifying Human Architecture

Dr. Sandra Marco’s research at UC Davis evolved from her grandmother’s work in the 2020s on sauerkraut metabolites and intestinal barrier function. Her grandmother discovered that fermented foods literally strengthened the gut lining—humanity’s internal “skin” that prevented harmful substances from entering the bloodstream while allowing beneficial nutrients to pass through.

Sandra addresses visitors to the Davis Intestinal Research Center whose motto “It’s a gut feeling” is on the sweatshirts and beanie hats sold in the college bookstore. “My grandmother discovered that fermented foods repair intestinal architecture. The food industry ignored her because healthy people don’t need pharmaceutical interventions. Sixty years later, we have a population with systematically destroyed gut barriers, dependent on medications to manage symptoms that fermentation could prevent.”

A pharmaceutical representative in the back raises his hand. “Dr. Marco, your accusations are serious. Are you claiming the food industry deliberately compromised human health?”

“I’m claiming the food industry created products that maximize profit by creating dependency,” she responds. “Whether that was deliberate or negligent doesn’t change the result, which is a population with compromised biological barriers requiring lifelong pharmaceutical intervention.”

She displays her research: before-and-after images of intestinal tissue. “This patient consumed a standard American diet for thirty years. Destroyed barrier function, chronic inflammation, autoimmune conditions, depression, cognitive decline that all stemmed from intestinal permeability.”

She advances to the next image. “Same patient, ninety days after starting the Barrier Restoration Protocol. Daily consumption of specific fermented foods in precise combinations. Complete reconstruction of intestinal architecture. All symptoms resolved.”

The pharmaceutical representative stands. “You’re suggesting fermented foods can replace medications? That’s dangerous medical advice.”

“I’m presenting data. This patient was taking twelve medications for conditions caused by poor barrier function. After barrier restoration through fermented foods, she’s taking zero medications. Her conditions needed prevention not treatment.”

She moves on to the next slide. This shows aggregate data from thousands of patients. Marco elaborates: “The Barrier Restoration Protocol works for 94% of participants. Ninety days of targeted fermentation consumption can rebuild what decades of industrial food destroyed. Some call it alternative medicine. We call it addressing root causes instead of managing symptoms.”

A student asks, “Dr. Marco, why isn’t this standard treatment?”

Sandra smiles sadly. “Because my grandmother’s research was inconvenient. Because preventing disease is less profitable than treating it. Because fermented foods can’t be patented. Pick your reason.”

The student persists: “If fermented foods rebuild intestinal barriers, why don’t doctors prescribe them?”

“Because medical schools teach pharmaceutical interventions, not nutritional reconstruction. Doctors learn to treat symptoms with medications rather than address underlying causes with dietary changes. It’s a systemic failure of medical education.”

By 2087, Marco’s team at the Intestinal Research Center had mapped the complete molecular mechanisms by which fermented foods rebuilt human biological architecture. Their research revealed that industrial food had not only eliminated beneficial bacteria but had systematically weakened the cellular barriers protecting human health. Processed foods contained compounds that deliberately compromised intestinal integrity, creating dependency on pharmaceutical interventions.

Sandra Marco’s “Barrier Restoration Protocol” became mandatory for all climate refugees entering the newly constructed vertical cities. The protocol used specific fermented food combinations to rebuild damaged intestinal architecture within 90 days, transforming malnourished, immune-compromised refugees into healthy contributors to community resilience.

4. The Spector Revolution: When Food Became Medicine

Dr. Timothy “Trey” Spector III’s 2078 longitudinal study proved what his great-grandfather had suspected in 2024: fermented foods were not just nutritious, they were humanity’s original medicine.

He unveils his findings at a heavily attended conference. The auditorium is packed with British and American journalists, researchers, and healthcare officials. Trey stands before massive screens displaying the largest nutritional study ever conducted: 63 million participants across 15 countries, tracked for fifteen years.

“My great-grandfather suspected fermented foods were humanity’s original medicine,” Trey begins. “He lacked the tools to prove it definitively. We don’t. This study represents the most comprehensive analysis of fermentation’s impact on human health ever attempted.”

He displays the core findings. “Participants consuming three portions of diverse fermented foods daily experienced 47% improvement in mood, 55% improvement in energy, and—this is the critical finding—complete rewiring of biological function toward optimal health.”

The room erupts with questions. Trey raises his hand for silence.

“Let me be clear about what we’re observing. This isn’t merely marginal improvement. Participants essentially reversed decades of industrial food damage within months. Autoimmune conditions went into remission. Cognitive function improved dramatically. Chronic pain disappeared. Depression lifted. This is biological restoration, not pharmaceutical intervention.”

A medical journal editor stands. “Dr. Spector, you’re making extraordinary claims. Fermented foods curing depression, reversing autoimmune conditions? That sounds like pseudoscience.”

Trey gestures to his slide. “It sounds like pseudoscience because we’ve been trained to believe only pharmaceuticals can produce clinical effects,” he responds. “But the data is unambiguous. Participants with major depressive disorder—diagnosed, treatment-resistant—showed complete symptom resolution at rates exceeding any antidepressant medication. Not by targeting neurotransmitters directly, but by restoring the gut-brain axis that produces those neurotransmitters naturally.”

He advances the slides to the autoimmune data. “Rheumatoid arthritis, inflammatory bowel disease, multiple sclerosis were all conditions we considered incurable. But 73% of participants experienced complete remission. Not management. Remission. Because we weren’t treating the autoimmune condition. We were restoring the intestinal barrier that prevents the immune system from attacking the body.”

Dr. Wolfe’s hologram interjects from Medford. “Dr. Spector, your findings align perfectly with the microbial diversity data. Participants consuming diverse fermented foods show exponentially increased bacterial populations. You’re restoring ecosystems, not just administering treatment.”

“Exactly,” Trey agrees. “Industrial food created monocultures inside human bodies. We’re reintroducing biodiversity. These health improvements aren’t mysterious. They’re ecological restoration.”

A pharmaceutical company representative asks the inevitable question: “If fermented foods can replace medications for millions of patients, what does that mean for the healthcare industry?”

Trey doesn’t hesitate. “It means we’ve been treating symptoms of nutritional deficiency with expensive interventions when simple dietary changes would address root causes. The healthcare industry will need to adapt to a model focused on prevention rather than perpetual treatment.”

“You’re talking about eliminating entire pharmaceutical sectors,” the representative protests.

“I’m talking about honoring the Hippocratic oath: first, do no harm. Prescribing medications for conditions caused by harmful food while ignoring that the food itself is the problem violates that oath. This study provides the evidence base for fundamental change.”

After the presentation, the media swarms Trey. One reporter asks what advice he has for ordinary people.

“Start fermenting. Find three different types. Bacterial ferments like kimchi and sauerkraut, fungal ferments like tempeh and miso, and yeast-based ferments like sourdough and kefir. Consume them daily. Your body will remember what industrial food made it forget, how to be healthy.”

By 2085, Spector’s three-pronged “Fermentation Protocol” had replaced traditional healthcare for the majority of the global population: daily consumption of fermented foods from at least three microbial families, combined with “zombie microbes”—pasteurized fermented foods whose dead bacteria still provide therapeutic postbiotic compounds.

Typical of testimonials posted to social media was this from a fan in Fargo:

“I had chronic fatigue syndrome for twelve years. Doctors said it was incurable, that I’d need to manage symptoms with medications indefinitely. Three months of eating fermented foods daily, and I have more energy than I did in my twenties. Why did it take so long for someone to study this?”

5. The Hauptmann Heritage: Arctic Wisdom for Global Survival

Dr. Aviâja Hauptmann’s pioneering research in the 2020s into traditional Greenlandic fermentation laid the foundation for humanity’s survival in extreme climates. Her documentation of Inuit practices revealed fermentation techniques that thrived in conditions where conventional food production failed. They became known as the ‘Hauptmann Protocols.’ People still recall when they were announced in 2030.

Her Arctic research station sits on permafrost that’s been frozen for millennia but is now melting. Inside, Dr. Hauptmann teaches techniques that sustained human life in Earth’s harshest environments. These are strategies that might save humanity as climate change creates similarly extreme conditions everywhere.

An Inuit elder named Malik demonstrates traditional fermentation. “Our ancestors understood something your science is only now discovering,” Malik explains through Aviâja’s translation. “Life preserves life. The bacteria in these ferments do more than just make food safe. They make it more nutritious, more digestible, more alive.”

“When Europeans came to the Arctic, they thought our fermented foods were disgusting. Rotten, they said. They brought their ‘civilized’ food—canned, processed, dead. Then they got scurvy and died. We survived. You might ask who was civilized.”

A Mars colonization specialist representing the Musk Interplanetary Voyaging Company watches intently, recording every detail. “We’re anticipating similar challenges on Mars, where Elon and the first terraformers will face extreme cold, limited resources, and no supply chains. Traditional refrigeration requires too much energy. We need food preservation that works in hostile conditions.”

Aviâja displays her research: “Inuit fermentation thrives in conditions where conventional food systems fail. Temperatures well below freezing, no electricity, no industrial infrastructure. The techniques evolved over thousands of years to solve exactly the problems you’re facing in space colonization.”

She presents nutritional data. “The traditional Inuit diet—55% fat, 45% protein, almost no carbohydrates—sustained perfect health in the Arctic. No diabetes, no heart disease, no obesity. Because the fermentation process transforms nutrients into forms optimized for human biology.”

An Antarctic researcher from the southern hemisphere joins via video link. “Dr. Hauptmann, we’re implementing your protocols at our base. The improvement in health outcomes has been dramatic. Staff who struggled with the isolated environment are thriving now that we’ve incorporated traditional fermentation techniques.”

“Because you’re not just feeding bodies. You’re feeding the microbial ecosystems that make those bodies function,” Aviâja responds. “Industrial food treats humans as machines requiring fuel. Traditional fermentation treats humans as ecosystems requiring symbiotic partners.”

The Mars specialist asks the crucial question: “Can these techniques scale? Elon is planning colonies of thousands, eventually millions. Can traditional fermentation support that?”

Malik laughs. “Our techniques sustained populations for 4,000 years without failure. Your question isn’t whether they can scale. It’s whether you can remember. Traditional knowledge isn’t primitive. Traditional knowledge has been proven down the centuries. You’re relearning what we never forgot.”

Aviâja adds context: “The Hauptmann Protocols don’t just enable survival in extreme environments. They provide a blueprint for thriving. Every Mars colony, every Antarctic base, every settlement in regions made uninhabitable by climate change can use these techniques. Traditional knowledge becomes cutting-edge survival science.”

By 2090, the “Hauptmann Protocols” enabled human colonies in Antarctica, the Sahara, and eventually Mars to maintain complete nutrition through fermentation of animal proteins and the “evolutionary eating” of intestinal contents containing pre-fermented nutrients. The 55% fat, 45% protein diet that sustained Inuit communities for millennia became the template for extreme-environment survival around the world and across the final frontier: Space!

6. The Luzmore Legacy: Molecular Gastronomy Becomes Survival Science

The revolutionary cuisine of 2090 traced its origins to chef Andrew Luzmore’s experiments at Blue Hill restaurant in Brooklyn during the 2020s. His breakthrough discovery—that Neurospora fungus could transform stale bread into substances resembling and tasting like cheese—became the template for survival cooking when dairy systems collapsed due to climate change.

The Luzmore Institute for Molecular Fermentation, located on the 200th floor of the tallest of Manhattan’s vertical agricultural towers, offered menus that would have been unimaginable in the era of industrial food. The kitchen is headed by Andrew Luzmore’s granddaughter, Hope. She has honed her grandfather’s Blue Hill innovations by studying with David Zilber, who travels the world teaching the nuances of fermentation. The new Blue Hill / Luzmore Institute signature dishes include:

A “Memory Cheese” Collection: Using Luzmore’s original Neurospora techniques, Hope created dairy-identical flavors from fermented plant materials. The “Aged Cheddar Illusion” used fermented cashew proteins, while “Camembert Dreams” emerged from controlled fungal fermentation of sunflower seed proteins. A favorite among expat Englishmen was “Borcetshire Blue.” This recalled the complex fermented interplay of sharp, salty, and tangy flavors with a rich, creamy, and crumbly texture of a Stilton, characterized by its distinctive blue-green mold veins. It evoked memories among men of a certain age of the cheese served at The Bull in Ambridge at the start of the Century.

The “Phoenix Proteins”: Following Luzmore’s enzyme discovery, the restaurant began serving “steaks” created from fermented mycelium that provided complete amino acid profiles while tasting identical to traditional meat. The “Wagyu Mushroom” became the most requested dish among former carnivores.

“Resurrection Breads”: Chefs revived ancient grain varieties through extended fermentation, creating sourdoughs that provided complete nutrition from long-extinct wheat species preserved in Wolfe’s genetic libraries.

A food critic from The New York Times arrives for a review, notebook ready. “Chef Luzmore, your menu tonight includes ‘Memory Cheese’ that contains no dairy and ‘Phoenix Proteins’ that replicate meat using fungi. How is this not elaborate fakery?”

Hope leads him to the fermentation chambers. “Look at this,” she says. “Neurospora fungus transforms plant proteins into substances molecularly identical to aged cheddar. Not similar—identical. We’re not faking cheese. We’re using microorganisms to create the same compounds through different pathways.”

She shows him a petri dish where fungi grow on bread. “My grandfather accidentally discovered that stale bread with Neurospora tasted like cheese. He thought it was a curiosity. We turned it into a foundation for survival cuisine. When dairy farms in Cheshire, Wisconsin, and Schleswig-Holstein collapsed due to climate change, this technique kept cheese culture alive.”

The critic tastes a sample. His expression transforms from skepticism to wonder. “This is… this is actually cheese. The texture, the funk, the complexity. How?”

“Because cheese isn’t dairy—it’s fermentation,” Hope explains. “The proteins, fats, and fermentation processes create the flavors and textures we recognize as cheese. Source material matters less than transformation. We’re replicating the transformation with different ingredients.”

The final course that evening is presented as “Climate Memory Plates”. These are samples of preserved flavors from ecosystems destroyed by climate change, maintained through fermentation cultures that survived when their source environments didn’t.

“This tastes like a forest I visited as a child,” an elderly diner says, tears forming. “But that forest is gone now, consumed by wildfires.”

“The forest is gone, but the microorganisms remember,” Hope responds. “We preserved fermentation cultures from that region before it burned. Those microorganisms carry chemical signatures of the forest ecosystem—the specific terpenes, phenols, and organic compounds that create flavor. When we ferment using those cultures, we reconstruct the forest’s taste profile. You’re experiencing microbial memory.”

The critic sets down his pen. “I came prepared to write about clever molecular tricks. But this is something else entirely. Hope, you are to be congratulated on creating cuisine as conservation biology, fermentation as cultural preservation, and food as living history. You have, if I might be so bold, brought hope to mankind!”

“That’s what my grandfather understood,” Hope says. “Fermentation isn’t just transformation. It’s transcendence. We’re creating food that connects us to ecosystems that no longer exist, using techniques that might save the remaining ecosystems we have.”

7. The Zilber Philosophy: Fermentation as Natural Understanding

David Zilber’s vision, developed at the famed Noma Restaurant in Copenhagen, that “fermentation is a porthole to a wider understanding of nature,” became the philosophical foundation for restaurant culture of the 2060s and beyond. His teaching that “we have a future in the past” inspired the Global Fermentation Renaissance that saved human civilization.

The Zilber School of Living Cuisine, located in Copenhagen’s offshore dining and entertainment district, trains chefs to create ecological systems rather than rely on industrial processes. Their restaurants function as living laboratories where diners experience “evolutionary coming together” through carefully orchestrated fermentation tastings.

In 2065, Zilber, now in his eighties but still vigorous, addresses a classroom of culinary students who’ve traveled from around the world to study with him. It’s one of countless workshops he has hosted since appearing at the first Stanford Fermented Food Conference in 2025.

“Fermentation is not a technique,” he begins, his voice carrying the authority of decades. “It’s a lens through which we understand our relationship with nature. When you ferment, you’re collaborating with organisms that have been perfecting their craft for billions of years. Your role is humble: to provide conditions, step back, allow transformation.”

He gestures to fermentation crocks lining the walls, each containing experiments in progress. “These vessels hold time made tangible. The microorganisms inside are rewriting the chemical structure of ingredients, creating complexity that no factory can manufacture and no recipe can prescribe. This is why I’ve always said we have a future in the past. These ancient techniques outperform modern food technology.”

A student from Shanghai raises her hand. “Master Zilber, how do we balance traditional fermentation with contemporary culinary expectations? Diners want consistency, reliability.”

“They want dead food made predictable,” David corrects gently. “Your job is teaching them to appreciate living food’s unpredictability. Every batch is unique because living systems respond to conditions. That’s not a flaw. That’s the point. You’re not producing products. You’re cultivating relationships.”

Hope from the Luzmore Institute has come from New York to deliver a guest lecture and tasting experience. She and David embrace warmly. “The master and the student, together again,” she declares.

“You were my best student because you understood that fermentation is philosophy, not process,” David tells her. “Show them what you’ve built.”

Hope presents her Climate Memory Plates concept to the students. “David taught me that fermentation is a portal to understanding nature. I extended that idea: what if fermentation could preserve nature that no longer exists? What if microorganisms could carry cultural memory?”

She displays preservation work from extinct ecosystems. “We collect fermentation cultures from regions before they’re destroyed by climate change. Those cultures contain the chemical signatures—the terroir—of their source environments. When we ferment using those cultures, we resurrect flavors from ecosystems that don’t exist anymore.”

David nods approvingly. “This is what I meant by ‘evolutionary coming together.’ You might think Hope is just preserving microorganisms. But she’s preserving relationships between microorganisms and their environments. Her fermented foods carry history.”

That evening, the school’s restaurant serves a “Time Telescope” menu, a progressive series of courses compressing millions of years of fermentation evolution into a single meal. Diners experience humanity’s co-evolution with beneficial microorganisms through taste.

First course: Simple lactobacillus fermentation of vegetables, representing humanity’s first preservation experiments 10,000 years ago.

Middle courses: Increasingly complex fermentations, including fungal tempeh, mixed-culture kimchi, and elaborate kombuchas with multiple bacterial species cooperating.

Final course: the famous “Microbial Symphony,” where dozens of fermentation cultures create flavor harmonies impossible in nature, representing humanity’s current mastery of fermentation as collaborative art.

A diner asks Zilber, “Are we really tasting evolution?”

“You’re tasting relationship,” David responds. “Each course represents a different stage in humanity’s partnership with microorganisms. Early fermentations were accidents. Spoilage that tasted good. Modern fermentations are collaborations where we understand what the microbes do and create conditions for excellence. You’re experiencing that journey compressed into hours.”

“What about the future?” another diner asks.

David smiles. “The future is remembering that we’re not separate from nature. We’re made of it. Our bodies contain trillions of microorganisms. The fermented foods we eat contain billions more beneficial bacteria. When you consume fermented food, you’re joining a biological community that’s been evolving for eons. That understanding could save our species.”

The New York Times Food Section carries a feature on the Noma / Blue Hill 2065 Menu Concepts.

First: “Time Telescopes.” Multi-course experiences compressing millions of years of fermentation evolution into single meals. Diners consumed progressively complex fermented foods, experiencing humanity’s co-evolution with beneficial microorganisms through taste.

Second: “Microbial Symphonies.”Dishes where multiple fermentation cultures created flavor harmonies impossible in nature. Chefs conducted bacterial orchestras to produce specific emotional and cognitive effects through targeted neurotransmitter production.

Third: “Climate Memory Plates.”Meals preserving the flavors of extinct ecosystems through fermentation cultures that survived climate change. Diners could taste pre-industrial forests, pristine oceanic environments, and vanished agricultural landscapes through carefully preserved microbial communities.

8. Basque Gastronomy at Mugaritz

Meanwhile, in the independent Basque region of Western Europe—which, together with Catalonia to the east, had been granted independence from Spain in 2052—the chefs at Mugaritz offered menu choices remarkably similar to those created by Andoni Luis Aduriz and Ramón Perisé Moré in the 2020s. However, rather than appearing shocking or unusual, they had become the new normal in the post-modern, fermented world of 2100. While in 2025 Mugaritz was seen as ahead of its time, by 2100 its creations were commonplace. All dishes are based on a fundamental understanding of the importance of fermentation:

The Mugaritz Menu of 2100 features two classic dishes of 75 years earlier.

One. The “Noble Rot” Apple: Based on the discovery by a 16th-century Hungarian that the botrytis fungus imparted exceptional taste to grapes, encouraging higher sugar concentration. This dish represents “the beauty and the taboos surrounding fermented and rotten things.”

Two. “The Navel of the World” (“El Ombligo del Mundo”): A breast-shaped mound made with coffee, milk, and gelatin. Inside a “nipple,” there is an infusion of hay in sheep’s milk, which the diner draws out by sucking rather than biting, delivering an interactive, sensory experience. Described as “a disturbing whitish mass” wrapped in a napkin, the diner is instructed to lick it before discovering what it is: kefir serum with walnut oil. The idea is to provoke curiosity, play with expectations, and, dare we say, arouse.

9. World Ferment Day

Dr. Jo Webster’s simple vision of “getting fermented foods into more hands” evolved into one of humanity’s most important cultural celebrations. World Ferment Day, celebrated February 1st, became the planetary holiday when communities shared their ancestral fermentation knowledge, creating the genetic and cultural diversity that enabled human survival in the warming world of the latter half of the 21st Century. On World Ferment Day 2075, the planet transformed into a living banquet where every community contributed its unique fermentation traditions.

The day begins at dawn in New Zealand, where Māori communities perform traditional fermentation ceremonies with preserved cultures handed down through generations. The celebration moves west with the sun, creating a wave of biological abundance circling the planet.

In a small village in New Zealand, an elder named Anahera teaches children to cultivate fermented hangi preparations using techniques perfected over centuries.

“On World Ferment Day, we don’t just eat fermented foods,” she explains. “We honor the partnership between humans and microorganisms. Every culture we maintain connects us to our ancestors and to the land.”

The children carefully tend fermentation vessels, learning patience and respect for living processes.

As morning breaks across Asia, tens of millions participate in synchronized fermentation ceremonies. In Seoul, families share kimchi strains preserved for generations. In Tokyo, miso workshops fill community centers. In Shanghai, vinegar masters demonstrate Chishui techniques from the Ming Dynasty.

Jo Webster, now in her late seventies, watches the global celebration from her home in the West of England via holographic feeds from around the world. This was her vision twenty-five years ago—starting with the simple aim of getting fermented foods into more hands. Now it’s become humanity’s most important holiday.

“I never imagined this,” she says to her granddaughter watching beside her. “It came out of conversations I had with my good friend Caroline sitting in her kitchen in her dressing gown. Twenty-five years ago, Caroline and I taught small fermentation workshops in Clifton. A dozen people learning to make sauerkraut, brew kombucha, or turn milk into kefir. Today, billions of people participate in World Ferment Day. It’s doing my head in.”

“You started something that transcended its origins,” her granddaughter responds. “World Ferment Day isn’t just about food anymore. It’s about cultural preservation, biological diversity, community resilience. You gave humanity a framework for survival.”

Across Africa, communities share fermentation knowledge that sustained populations through climate disruptions. Ethiopian injera techniques merge with Nigerian ogi preparation methods. South African amasi cultures are exchanged with Kenyan mursik fermented milk traditions. The continent that birthed humanity becomes the library of fermentation diversity.

In Europe, the celebration highlights the resurrection of nearly lost techniques. Scandinavian surströmming masters teach controlled fish fermentation. Alpine cheesemakers share bacterial cultures preserved through centuries. The Basque region hosts massive fermentation festivals where Mugaritz’s provocative dishes—once shocking, now mainstream—demonstrate how fermentation transformed cuisine.

The Americas showcase indigenous fermentation techniques that sustained populations for millennia. Amazonian chicha ceremonies honor ancient brewing traditions. North American First Nations share pemmican and yup’ik fermented salmon techniques. Throughout the hemisphere, communities demonstrate that traditional knowledge enabled survival before industrial agriculture and will continue to do so after it.

As sunset approaches Hawaii, the final ceremonies begin. Midnight SCOBY blessing rituals close the 24-hour planetary celebration. Participants hold their fermentation cultures toward the night sky, acknowledging the microscopic organisms that made human civilization possible.

In coordination centers, researchers document the day’s impact. Dr. Benjamin Wolfe II reviews data from millions of participants.

“Look at this,” he says to colleagues. “Synchronized consumption of diverse fermented foods across the planet. We’re measuring real-time improvement in global microbiome diversity. World Ferment Day is symbolic for some, therapeutic for others. The entire human population is simultaneously strengthening their microbial ecosystems.”

“This is what saved us,” a colleague observes. “Not a single breakthrough, not one technology. A planet-wide commitment to biological partnership. World Ferment Day is humanity practicing what it finally learned, that we’re ecosystems, not machines.”

Dr. Sandra Marco, joining via video from UC Davis, adds her perspective: “Every participant today is strengthening their gut barrier without realizing it. Consuming diverse fermented foods from multiple microbial families. We’re watching preventive medicine happen at planetary scale.”

Dr. Trey Spector appears on another screen: “The mood improvement data is already visible. Synchronized fermentation consumption creates measurable neurochemical changes. We’re literally making humanity happier through synchronized biology.”

As the Hawaiian ceremonies conclude, Jo offers final words broadcast globally:

“Thank you for making fermentation not just normal, but celebrated. Thank you for remembering that the oldest technologies are often the most sophisticated. And thank you for understanding that we are not separate from nature. We are nature, and nature is us. Tomorrow, we continue fermenting. But today, we honored it. That matters.”

By 2075, the preserved fermentation knowledge had proven its value beyond doubt. But preservation of knowledge wasn’t enough. As climate refugees flooded into cities, as traditional agriculture collapsed across continents, as food security became humanity’s most pressing crisis, a new problem emerged: the legal system itself had become an obstacle to survival.

Agribusiness interests had crafted laws that criminalized the very practices that humanity now needed. Regulations designed to protect corporate interests now prevented communities from fermenting food for themselves. Health codes written by beverage industry lobbyists made traditional fermentation techniques illegal. Food safety laws crafted to eliminate competition now threatened to eliminate survival.

However, knowledge had been preserved. The microbial libraries were intact. The traditional practices were documented. But they were all illegal. What humanity had learned to preserve, it now needed to fight for the right to practice.

The Fermentation Reformation was about to begin—and it would require more than scientific knowledge. It would demand political courage, legal innovation, and the willingness of ordinary people to risk arrest for the revolutionary act of feeding themselves.

Tune in next Friday when ‘Our Fermented Future’ continues and we hear about a time when survival becomes illegal and civil disobedience becomes necessary.

Disclaimer

This is a work of speculative fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, assisted by generative A.I. References to real brands and organizations are used in a wholly imaginative context and are not intended to reflect any actual facts or opinions related to them. No assertions or statements in this post should be interpreted as true or factual.

Audio

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