The most difficult part of making kombucha is finding a mother SCOBY. Which is nonsensical, because when you start making your own, you end up with so many SCOBYs you can’t get rid of them fast enough. They’re like the hippie-health freak version of Amish friendship bread. As a matter of fact, if you live in the Rogue Valley in Oregon, email me and I’ll give you one of mine. PLEASE.
If you haven’t got a friend to give you a starter SCOBY, you may have to get creative. Some enterprising kombucha aficionados list their surplus mushrooms on Etsy. I found mine on Craigslist (the place of beginnings for any love affair.) I’ve even seen them on Amazon, but that’s a line I’m unwilling to cross. (Sorry, Amazon.)
Just in case my valuable tidbits came out like gibberish and you’re scratching your head with a blank look on your face and a giant question mark hovering, weightless, over your head, let me clarify.