Fermentation, Grief, and a Miso Workshop Invitation

In July of 2023, I signed up for a miso-making workshop. 

I had never made miso before, but I have been sipping it since I was a kid, and ladling it, blending it, stirring it, and making yummy recipes with it for most of my adult life. Growing up in the ‘80s, my mom always had some in the fridge. As soon as anyone in my family came down with something or had a tummy ache, it was miso soup to the rescue. That, along with RW Knudsen organic apple juice, and weirdly enough, peppermint patties, were the only things I ever wanted when I was sick. It does seem strange that a white family in the middle of New Mexico would have a constant supply of miso in their fridge in the ‘80s, but then again, my favorite childhood breakfast was millet with rice milk, I snacked on sprouts, beans were a staple, and my mom often traded apricots from our tree for kale from the neighbors garden. The miso fit right in. 

My sister, Kirstie, holding me in our backyard

My first miso-making experience

Fast forward to the morning of the miso workshop. I was excited to learn how to make this plant-based staple. I went to the Jodo Mission where the workshop was being held, and I found a seat. Supplies were handed out, greetings were exchanged, and we met our miso instructor, Yuko. I immediately recognized her from one of the local farmer’s markets where she sells her homemade mochi on Saturday mornings. She was all smiles and sunshine, and I knew it would be a good class. 

At the time of this workshop, my sister, Kirstie, was very sick with late-stage breast cancer. I’d just gotten back from visiting her in Idaho a few weeks earlier. She had become so frail and thin my stomach flipped and flopped when I saw her. It was painfully obvious that my beautiful sister, not even 60 years old, only had a handful of months left to live.

Listen to this special podcast episode: 89: My Sister, Kirstie, Makes an Appearance to Say Thank You for Your Support as She Battles Stage 4 Cancer. This was recorded when I was in Idaho with her.

Infusing miso with love

Back in Hawaii, when our miso instructor walked us through the miso-making process, she talked about how each of our batches would come out differently because each person has a different energy, and this energy would transfer to our miso. As we mashed the chickpeas, koji, and salt in a bowl with our hands, she told us to visualize something or someone we loved—a person, a pet, an object—and infuse that love into our miso. I closed my eyes, working the mixture, and thought of my sister. Her sparkling blue eyes, her dark curly hair, her big beautiful smile, her laugh, her inquisitive nature, her smell, her hands, how she was always genuinely curious about my life. Oh, how I loved her. And I put all that love into my miso. 

Kirstie (right) and I in June 2023

The workshop wrapped up, I said goodbye to the instructor and to my miso-making neighbors, and I got into my car, sister-love-infused miso in tow. Before I drove home, I checked my phone and saw my niece had tried to call during the workshop. As I listened to her message, my heart sank. She was calling to tell me that it was time for my sister to be moved to hospice. In truth, this could have happened earlier, but my sister was one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever known, and she was going to fight until the bitter end. That end was fast approaching. My niece asked if I would tell the rest of our family and get everyone on a plane as quickly as possible. I had known this was coming, but nothing could have prepared me for it. I drove home, put my miso in the cupboard, and called my family together to tell them the news. My sister passed away 2 weeks later.

Time, fermentation, and grief

My miso sat in the cupboard fermenting and time marched on, as it must. Sometimes joyfully, sometimes heartbreakingly—sometimes both. My miso fermented. I grieved. Both needed time, and nothing else. 

After a couple months, my miso was ready. It had fermented successfully, and I was eager to try it. It was the best miso I’ve ever had. It lasted a whole year, and every time I used some, I thought of my sister. Her sparkling blue eyes, her dark curly hair, her big beautiful smile, her laugh, her inquisitive nature, her smell, her hands, how she was always genuinely curious about my life. Oh, how I will always miss her. 

An invitation to make miso together

I also miss having homemade miso to cook with. While there’s not much I can do about missing my sister, I can carry on and make another batch of miso. And I can also invite you to make a batch of chickpea miso with me. 

Join me and Yuko on Sunday, May 18th, at 1pm Pacific / 4pm Eastern for this very special Miso Workshop. You can see all the details and sign up here. 

If you’re a Clean Food Dirty Girl club member, you can save 50% with the coupon code that was emailed to you on Saturday, April 26. Look for the subject “Fermentation and grief.” This discount is another perk of being in the most soul-nourishing club in the world. 

I’m excited to make miso with you. 

Molly