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Eater
12-06-2025
- General
- Eater
Kanji Season Is Short — Savor Every Sip
If you're the kind of person who finishes a jar of pickles and finds yourself tipping it to sip the last of the juice, kanji is the drink you didn't know you were waiting for. Popular throughout India, it's like a brine you can drink by the glassful: fiery, sour, and the same deep purple as Barney the Dinosaur or the name of a legendary rock band. Kanji, which shares a name with the fermented rice dish, dates back to the Indus Valley Civilization between 3300 and 1300 BCE, is a seasonal drink in India, where it appears only for a few weeks each year as spring leans into summer, when the sun is warm enough to coax a ferment but winter vegetables like black carrots and beets haven't yet disappeared from the markets. Made with carrots, beets, crushed mustard seeds, pink salt, and sometimes a whisper of pungent chaat masala, kanji is what you get when a pickle becomes a cooler. Electrolyte-rich and teeming with gut-friendly bacteria, it's as energizing as it is tart. Another way to think of it is like homemade Gatorade, if Gatorade had soul. When I was growing up in India, kanji was one of those drinks that arrived without ceremony but marked time. It meant spring was giving way to summer; the season of ferments had begun. A cousin would bring a bottle over. An aunt would drop off a batch. In certain neighborhoods, 'kanji aunties' sold their homemade versions in reused glass bottles and jars of all sizes. I remember my first sip of kanji clearly. I hated it. The mustard hit like a slap. I panicked as my mouth turned an alarming purple while my mother laughed, unfazed. It was not the taste of childhood treats, not mangoes or candy—this was an adult flavor, as unapologetic as raw garlic or blue cheese. Years later, when I tried to explain kombucha to my mother, she shrugged. 'Oh,' she said, 'so it's fancy kanji with tea?' But unlike kombucha, which requires a SCOBY (Symbiotic Culture of Bacteria and Yeast), thick and strange like a jellyfish pressed between glass, kanji ferments with what's already there. No starter, no cellulose mat, no mother. Just water, salt, and time. In kombucha, the SCOBY feeds on sugar in the tea, converting it into acids, carbon dioxide, and a trace amount of alcohol through a careful choreography of yeast and lactic acid bacteria. Kanji does this too, in its own unruly way: the sugars from carrots and beets become food for wild microbes, and the crushed, antimicrobial mustard seeds help shape the flavor, keeping the funk clean, not rotten. In Delhi this March, I drank it by the glassful. The beets painted my lips a gothic red, the mustard warmed the back of my throat, and the drink's brightness spoiled me for soda. After five days fermenting in the sun, kanji comes to life, animated with the memory of heat. I wondered why I'd spent so much money on Kombucha over the years and never tried making kanji instead. The process is simple. In India, black carrots are traditional, their color a deep, bruised purple, but I used a mix of purple beets and orange carrots since they're easier to find. I peeled and cut them into batons and dropped them into a sterilized, half-gallon Mason glass jar. Next, I crushed two tablespoons of mustard seeds until they bloomed yellow under the pestle, and stirred them into the jar with three tablespoons of pink salt and two teaspoons each of chaat masala and red chile powder. I topped the jar with eight cups of room temperature water, sealed the lid, and left it on the windowsill to catch the spring light. (If you're not sure that the glass container you're using is airtight, secure it with a cheesecloth tied around the rim with a rubber band.) At first, nothing happened. But then, as the days passed, the jar came alive with bubbles that floated to the lid. It's not like a controlled fermentation with a starter, but a feral one guided more by the right microbial conditions and sunlight. In warmer months, the process can take as little as two days; during the winter, it can take up to a week. On the fifth day, I heard a pop from another room, the lid buckling from the pressure. I cracked it open slowly, letting the gas escape in short bursts. The drink smelled sharp and earthy and tasted sour rather than just salty, meaning that fermentation had occurred. Once the kanji is fermented, you can leave the pickled vegetables in the jar, letting them tumble into each glass like a chaser, or strain them out, which is less traditional, but tidier. I save the pickled beets and carrots for sandwiches, grain bowls, anything that could use a slap of brightness. Served ice-cold, kanji is a revelation. I like to rim the glass with chaat masala and salt (Tajín works in a pinch) and dilute the drink with seltzer and lemon juice. Sometimes, I add a glug of gin or vodka. Other times, I freeze it into ice pops whose color stains tongues and napkins. But even in its simplest form, kanji is enough. A marvel of sunlight and time. You don't forget your first glass of kanji — and by your second, you're already waiting for spring to come around again.
Metro
10-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Metro
My date with a famous rapper ended with his startling dinosaur confession
'Wait…you 'believe' in dinosaurs?' he said, leaning forward, eyes peeking out over the top of his sunglasses. How did I end up on a date with one of the UK's most well-known rappers (at the time, anyway) discussing the existence of dinosaurs, you ask? Well, let me take you back in time. The year was 2011. I was working as a vocalist, doing session work and gigging, and signed to a small label myself. I often socialised and worked with other UK artists, so it wasn't unusual for famous figures in the industry to slide into my DMs, except back then, it was Facebook Chat. My Blackberry pinged (remember those? Remember that sound?) and I opened a message from a rapper. He said we had briefly met a few years back when I was in a girlband performing at the same event, and was I interested in doing some vocals for his new music? Our chat soon turned into flirty banter, and he asked if I fancied meeting for a drink. Now, I knew that mixing business with pleasure, especially in the music industry, was a bad, bad idea. But I did really fancy him, and I was single. What was the worst that could happen, right? Love reading juicy stories like this? Need some tips for how to spice things up in the bedroom? Sign up to The Hook-Up and we'll slide into your inbox every week with all the latest sex and dating stories from Metro. We can't wait for you to join us! 'Come to The Savoy on Friday, I'm staying here, let's have some wine, talk about music, it will be fun,' he messaged. My eyes rolled. Ah, a date-in-your-hotel-room kind of vibes. Nice try buddy, but I didn't just fall off the turnip truck. I suggested somewhere a bit more communal. He said he didn't like 'meeting girls for a date in public' because the paps would take photos and it always got out of hand, and asked if we could meet somewhere more private, like the hotel bar. My heart was saying don't do it… but I was in my era of running on dreams and bad decisions. Friday rolled around. I got to the hotel bar and he was sitting in a booth with sunglasses on at 9pm at night in low lighting. I did wonder if he could actually see me. He stood up and pulled out a chair with a beaming smile. He was instantly very likeable, and chatty. We talked for a good two hours or so over some wine; he played his new unreleased music for me through headphones, and asked for my thoughts, and he listened to my new stuff, too. Then he asked if I wanted a shot of vodka. 'Sure!' I thought to myself, 'let's carry on making bad decisions!' There was a TV screen on in the bar, and an advert for a toy Barney the Dinosaur came on. I don't know why. I've tried to remember why this would have been airing at such a time and place, but facts are facts. So, How Did It Go? is a weekly series that will make you cringe with second-hand embarrassment or ooze with jealousy as people share their worst and best date stories. Want to spill the beans about your own awkward encounter or love story? Contact He glanced up at it, and said 'I used to love that show as a kid. Made me think they were real, ha!' I giggled. 'Aww you thought Barney was real? That's cute!' 'Nah,' he said laughing, 'I mean, the show made me think dinosaurs were real as a kid, so funny, right?'. I was so perplexed. Was he trying to tell me they never existed at all? 'You know…' he carried on. 'like when you used to believe in Father Christmas, I thought dinosaurs actually existed, too'. I paused. 'But I mean…they…did…?' I said slowly, nervously giggling, thinking he must be having me on. 'You believe in dinosaurs, babe?!' he said, with a questioning, serious look on his face now. I found myself questioning my sanity. Had I had too much to drink? Was I completely out of touch with reality? Was I being Punk'd? It was like one of those dreams where nothing makes sense. 'I don't 'believe' in them…' I finally said. 'There's historical evidence they existed on earth before us. Bones. Fossilised footprints…' Surely, now, he was going to tell me he was just joking. 'You're SO funny babe!' he said, rubbing my leg and sighing, like I was a ditzy airhead. This was going to be a long night. I was going to need another shot of vodka. 'So, question…' OK. OK. This was my last attempt to convince him. 'You've never been to the Natural History Museum? And seen dinosaur bones and all the evidence?' 'I mean, yeah,' he said, waving his hand dramatically 'but it's not REAL , is it?!' It was time to give up, although I couldn't stop laughing (to myself, on the inside). More Trending The rest of the date was lighthearted and fun – he was a really nice guy: Charming, chivalrous, and funny without realising how funny he was. I did fancy him. But I knew nothing serious would come of this interaction, nor did I presume it would when he had a sea of girls pining after him constantly. But he was harmless, and interesting. We did see each other again, quite a few times, and I always enjoyed my time with him. But if I ever hear his old songs come on when I'm out in a bar, or on the radio, I always have a little chuckle and remember the night when I was laughed at for 'believing' in the existence of dinosaurs. Do you have a story you'd like to share? Get in touch by emailing Share your views in the comments below. MORE: I'm a human cash machine for my kids – I'm completely to blame MORE: A nice woman rented my room – then I discovered her boyfriend's identity MORE: I was enjoying shower sex with my date – until he looked down
