Somewhere along the line, fermented tea stopped being an accident best left in the back of your fridge and became a $2 billion industry fueled by Instagram wellness influencers, dubious health claims, and the willingness of otherwise sensible adults to drink liquids that smell like a locker room.
Kombucha, for the blissfully uninitiated, is sweetened tea that’s been fermented with a colony of bacteria and yeast charmingly referred to as a SCOBY — which stands for Symbiotic Culture Of Bacteria and Yeast.
Or, if you prefer accuracy: Slimy Colony Of Bioweapons, Yikes.
Proponents claim kombucha boosts immunity, detoxifies the liver, improves digestion, strengthens the gut biome, aligns your chakras, opens your third eye, and probably prevents taxes if you drink enough of it.
Science, however, suggests it’s mostly tea that’s gone rogue.
And what does it taste like, you ask? Imagine leaving a peach Snapple in the backseat of your car during a heatwave, bottling the resulting swamp juice, carbonating it to punish the tongue further, and adding a delicate topnote of wet Band-Aid. That’s kombucha. Funky, sour, sharp, a little yeasty, a little vinegary, with an underlying aftertaste of, “Is this actually safe to drink, or am I being initiated into a cult?” (Spoiler alert: it’s a cult.)
Yes, fermentation can produce beneficial probiotics. What’s not beneficial? The fact that occasional homebrewed batches have exploded dramatically — and that several people have managed to give themselves fungal infections and food poisoning from improperly brewed kombucha.
A small price to pay for “vitality,” apparently.
Kombucha is not a miracle elixir. It’s the lovechild of expired tea and stubborn wishful thinking, bottled, branded, and marked up 700% to meet your daily quota of feeling superior at farmers markets.
Drink it if you must — but don’t expect enlightenment at the bottom of your mason jar. Just expect sediment.