There are things that dwell beneath the surface of the ordinary — unseen architectures of matter, silent congregations of atoms locked in ancient bonds, and fermentations so profound they blur the boundary between the living and the inert. You, who have stumbled upon this page, whether by design or by some inscrutable pull of fate, stand now at the threshold of a peculiar repository. Enter freely, and of your own will.
I am Loke — even if I bear another name in the world of mortals. By the conventions of the academic world, I am a Doctor of Chemistry — a title earned through years spent in the fluorescent catacombs of laboratories, peering into the hidden geometries of molecules. Yet that formal distinction tells only the thinnest sliver of the tale. For what drives me — what has always driven me — is not the title, but the compulsion: an unrelenting need to understand the invisible forces that govern the world we touch, taste, breathe, see, and inhabit. Every aroma that reaches your nose is a molecular emissary. Every flavour that blooms upon your tongue is a chemical narrative, older than language itself. Every colour that arrests your eye — the deep crimson of a freshly formulated ink pooling at the tip of a nib, the amber glow of a fermenting wort held against the light — is nothing more, and nothing less, than a molecule absorbing one wavelength and offering another to your retina as testimony. We swim, perpetually, in a sea of molecules, and most of humanity never pauses to consider the strangeness of it all.
I paused. And I have not been the same since.
The Experimentations
That compulsion — that need to know — is what led me down paths too numerous to catalogue with any pretence of completeness. It began, as these things often do, with brewing. The transmutation of grain and water into beer is an act so ancient it predates written history, and yet it is, at its heart, a feat of biochemistry so elegant that no sane mind could resist its study. From there, the descent was swift and joyous. Fermentation, that most primordial of processes, seized my imagination and would not release it. Kombucha, with its symbiotic colonies drifting like pale organisms from some uncharted deep. Kimchi and sauerkraut, where Lactobacillus wages its slow, acid war upon the raw and the mundane, transforming humble vegetables into something altogether more complex. Each jar upon my shelf is an experiment; each bubble of carbon dioxide, a datum.
But fermentation, though it commands the lion’s share of my attention today, is merely one corridor in a far larger edifice. The craft of ink-making called to me — the formulation of pigments and dyes suspended in carefully balanced vehicles, destined to flow through the capillary channels of fountain pens and leave their mark upon paper in hues both conventional and arcane. There is a meditative quality to writing with a fountain pen that the uninitiated may never fully grasp: the nib’s contact with the page, the controlled capillary action, the ink’s surface tension yielding just so — it is fluid dynamics rendered intimate and personal.
Then came perfumery — the deliberate orchestration of scented molecules into compositions that speak directly to the limbic system, bypassing reason entirely. Soap-making followed, with its exothermic saponification and its demand for stoichiometric precision. Each new pursuit revealed itself not as a distraction from chemistry, but as chemistry itself, wearing a different mask.
The Philosophy
Let me speak plainly now, or as plainly as the subject allows.
This endeavour is fuelled by curiosity, camaraderie, and an earnest passion for understanding the craft behind things — all things. Whether I am formulating an ink whose chromatic behaviour on paper must be predicted through an understanding of dye solubility and surface tension, composing a fragrance where each volatile molecule must be weighed against its vapour pressure and its neighbours in the accord, coaxing Lactobacillus into transforming a jar of cabbage into something extraordinary, or calculating the precise stoichiometry of a cold-process soap, the animating principle is the same: to know why something works, not merely that it works. You will find here my musings, my experiments, and my findings as I delve into the intricate machinery of the world. I take my approach seriously — but I do not take myself too seriously. I believe in the merit of trying new things, of embracing the unknown, of accepting that one shall not always be correct. Science, like brewing, like ink-making, like perfumery, like any worthy pursuit, is a continuous process of learning, replete with surprises and discoveries both triumphant and humbling. I do not pretend omniscience, nor do I claim infallibility. What I do claim is this: the journey itself has value, and sharing it makes it richer.
There is no profit in what I do here. No commercial motive lurks behind these pages. Only the pure enjoyment of exploration and the quiet satisfaction of offering my findings to those who might find them useful, instructive, or at the very least, entertaining. The content and ideas presented are my own, and while I strive for accuracy, I acknowledge freely that I may err. Take my findings with the proverbial pinch of salt — or, if you prefer, with a carefully weighed measure of sodium chloride.
The Matter of Two Domains
A word of confession is warranted. I founded a dedicated brewing site — Brewology — alongside fellow Ph.D. Chemists who share my affliction for hops and malt. That project endures, and I am proud of the work we have produced there. But let us be honest with one another, as fellow seekers of truth must be: I hold a full-time occupation. My interests multiply like bacterial cultures in an optimal medium. Maintaining two websites with the rigour and frequency they deserve is, quite simply, a task beyond mortal capacity. And so this homepage stands as my broader vessel — a single, living archive where brewing sits alongside ink-making, fermentation neighbours perfumery, and the molecular sciences thread through all of it like a unifying incantation.
What Lurks Within These Pages
What, then, may you expect to unearth in this repository?
Tried-and-true recipes — formulations I have tested, refined, and deemed worthy of sharing. Each recipe carries a story and a purpose, and none appears here without having earned its place through rigorous experimentation. You will not find untested lists copied from the void; what you will find are dependable protocols, annotated with the reasoning behind each choice.
Scientific insight — for what good is a recipe without understanding? I shall endeavour, wherever possible, to illuminate the why behind the how. The chemistry of mashing, the microbiology of fermentation, the physics of capillary flow in a fountain pen nib — these are not mere academic digressions but the very foundations upon which craft is built.
References and reviews — pointers to research worth reading, to products worth considering, and to resources that have aided my own journey. I stay as current as time permits with the latest findings and bring what I can back to these pages.
And more — for the nature of this site defies rigid taxonomy.
A Living Grimoire
I must impress upon you one final truth, and it is perhaps the most important: this site is not a fixed monument. It is a living thing — an ever-shifting chronicle that grows, mutates, and occasionally sprouts entirely new appendages as my interests evolve. Should I tomorrow develop a fascination with, say, the chemistry of ceramics, or the arcane formulation of historical pigments, or the strange and terrible world of extremophile enzymes — then new chapters shall appear, unbidden and unapologetic. Topics may surface with the sudden inevitability of an ancient thing rising from a dark ocean trench, simply because my curiosity has turned its gaze in a new direction.
This is, in essence, a repository of my experimentations — an open laboratory notebook, penned in something resembling prose, and offered freely to you, the visitor. Whether you have come seeking a recipe, a molecular explanation, a review, or simply the company of a kindred mind who finds wonder in the hidden architecture of the everyday — you are welcome here.
Stay curious. Stay humble. And remember: we are all, every one of us, merely brief arrangements of molecules, trying to understand the other arrangements of molecules swirling around us.
The work continues. The fermentation never truly stops.
Welcome.