• 1 part clover or orange blossom honey
• 1/2 part Lychee syrup , or the mash of several lychees (4 if making 3 qts)
• 3.5 parts water
• cloves (~2 if making 3qts)
• tea or raisins (a small handful of raisins or 1/4 cup strong brewed tea if 3qts)

  Boil the water with a slow roll, and add the honey and lychee once it begins boiling. Let it boil at the lowest heat possible for a few minutes before killing the heat.

  Let it cool near a breeze -- the wild yeasts in your air will find their way to it, and you can transfer it and the remaining ingredients to a container that's covered with a towel that's rubberbanded-on, or fitted with an airlock. It will likely do absolutely nothing for almost a week, and you'll think it's a dud, before it froths up all over and is clearly reacting. It's ready to drink after another week or two, but the longer it sits (inside a few months) the better. If nothing happens, add a few pebbles of Champagne yeast.

Here's a list of questions I'm frequently asked about the food and drink experiments on this site. While they're pretty reasonable fears or concerns, there's a far more reasonable explanation for why you shouldn't be concerned for explosions or getting sick. For more information on the history and some interesting recipes, check out Sacred and Healing Herbal Beers or for some hard science, get Fermentation and Food Safety.

I'll update it frequently, as more come in. Feel free to send in questions.

Q1. Is it dangerous? Can things explode, make me blind, invoke the wrath of God or a koala, etc?

In Egypt, slaves had Bouza more than 4000 years ago. In Russia, Kvass has been drunk by proletariats under Stalin. Each of these cases is a poor people with neither advanced technology nor access to a knowledge repository like the internet.

So, why does every article on homebrewing seem to imply that making wine is akin to rocket science?

Before moving across the country, I left a gallon of kiwi wine fermenting back in New York. Now, after about 4 months it's about ready and very clear (without using tarpon bladder, bone meal or any other disgusting clarifiers and "finings,") and so I thought it would be good to document (as best I can from memory) what went into it.

Ginger Champagne, a tart, sharp but subtle wine is something I started when I moved into a place larger than a shoebox. It started with the following recipe, but after almost a year of aging, I'm sampling the finished product and evaluating how it should change. I'll list changes after the recipe:

Note, this might change if I realize I'm remembering this all wrong.