Kombucha (335th new thing).

I may have been a little hungover when I awoke on Day Three Hundred Thirty-Five. After a beer-filled Superbowl watching party, my head was a bit heavy and my stomach queasy. Through the dense fog of regret I figured I could try something new that might actually help my condition. I would drink fermented tea called Kombucha, supposedly blessed by all the hippie gods as something wonderfully awesome for mind and body.

I stopped by the local health food store Sevenanda and looked around for the bottled beverage. I’d heard it was a little fizzy from fermentation, and generally tart. I probably should have fermented my own in advance with mushrooms and bacteria, but it was too late and possibly too risky. So I bought a bottle of the “Organic Raw Kombucha” with enticing descriptors on the label like, “reawaken, rethink, rebirth.” Those are some re-tail savvy words.

I opened the bottle as soon as I got in my car to drive to work and took a long sip. Slightly fizzy, a bit tart, but generally drinkable. I couldn’t wait for all the reenergizing powers of the beverage to kick in.

Unfortunately, the tea was no match for my throbbing head and I can’t say that I felt much of anything. I don’t even know if I expected to in the first place. Like the homeopathic drops of high hopes or the oxygen chamber, maybe this bottled fermented tea acted more as a placebo. Or maybe rehealing myself would take more than twenty ounces of the drink.

So I ate a big bowl of Thai food, and chased ibuprofen with a sprite. I felt better in no time.