blessed are the cheesemakers

I did it! It worked! I made cheese! That's the good news. The bad news is that I was so happy to be making cheese that I completely forgot to take pictures throughout the process. Plus, making fresh cheese is a bit hands-on, and I didn't want to get cheesy glop all over my camera if I could help it. So I took one (not very good) picture of the finished product:

See? Slightly less than beautiful. Oh well. I guess I'll have to do it again soon. In lieu of a brilliantly composed photo essay (which maybe I'll get Amanda to help me with the next time), I'll talk you through the simple and extremely gratifying process of making fresh cheese.

You may or may not know this, but milk is not, in fact, a homogenous liquid (even if it is homogenized milk. That means something different, and is unnecessarily confusing. Carry on). It consists of tiny solid particles suspended in liquid. Cheese, in its most basic form, is composed of those milk solids, all compacted together. To make cheese, you need to separate the solids (curd) from the liquid (whey). Remember Little Miss Muffet, eating her curds and whey? She was basically eating coagulated milk. Which is much harder to rhyme, so I can see why "curds and whey" was the more viable phrase.

Anyway, to get from milk to cheese, all you need is heat and a coagulating agent--which in the simplest case is an acidic ingredient like vinegar or lemon juice. You'll need about a cup of acid per gallon of milk (and you can easily cut that proportion in half if you'd like). So here are the ingredients, the equipment and the steps for the cheese that I made last night:

INGREDIENTS:

1/2 gallon of milk--whole, 2% or 1%. I used whole, but that was because that's all the supermarket had.
1/2 cup of lemon juice (I like the slight fruity taste from the lemon as opposed to just the tang of vinegar)
1 tablespoon olive oil
sea salt and pepper to taste

EQUIPMENT:

A large, heavy-bottomed pot
A colander lined with a (clean) cotton cloth, like a handkerchief or cut-up t-shirt
rubber band or string

Step 1: Heat the milk over medium-low heat until it's steaming and juuuuust about to bubble up at the sides (this is called "scalding," in case anyone's interested). This should take about 10 minutes. Stir occasionally to keep milk from scorching at the bottom.

Step 2: Toss in your lemon juice or vinegar, reduce heat to the lowest possible setting.Stir slowly. In a minute or so, you'll see the curd start to break up and thicken into lumps. This looks really gross, like sodden cottage cheese floating in a yellowy liquid, but it's exactly what you want.

Step 3: When you see that the curd is totally separated from the whey (when the surrounding liquid is fairly clear and there are plenty of lumps), turn off the heat. CAREFULLY pour the entire potful of glop into the strainer and allow the liquid to drain off.

Ok. At this point, if you just want fresh cottage cheese, congratulations! You're done! If you want a more solid cheese, though, you have a couple more steps to go:

Step 4: Carefully gather up the corners of the cloth and tie off the top like a hobo sack. Make sure there aren't any holes. Run the bundle under cold water for a bit until you can comfortably handle it. Then begin to twist the top of the bundle. This will squish all those lumpy solids together and force the excess liquid out. Continue to squeeze out the moisture until you reach the consistency you want.

Step 5: Empty the drained mixture into a small plastic container and add salt, pepper, and a bit of olive oil and a little bit more lemon juice, if you want (or you can add whatever seasonings you'd like. This cheese is very very mild, so it can take a lot of flavoring).

Cool the cheese in the fridge overnight--in the morning, you can unmold it from the container and wrap it in some wax paper. And then you have cheese!

So that was fun. Also, here are some photos of what I had for dinner, because I promised I'd take some:

big ol' lump of bread dough rising.

Swiss chard. A neutral vegetable, if you will.

A Meyer lemon and some kalamata olives to go with the chard

The finished chard. The more I type "chard," the more ridiculous it looks. Chard chard chard.

Soup! Of the butternut squash variety. Made it myself. And by "made," I mean "opened a carton."

YUM.

food therapy

I'm going to try to make some fresh cheese this evening. Apparently it's easy, but I tried on Saturday and it completely didn't work. Total bust. And it's so easy, in theory. Heat some milk, add an acid (lemon juice or white vinegar), which coagulates the milk into curds and whey. Strain curds from whey. Squeeze and smush together. Voila! Fresh cheese! Attempt number two will work, gosh darn it, because I looked it up and now I have the proportions and method right. I hope. I'll take some pictures and make a photo essay out of it.

For dinner tonight:

Butternut squash soup (from a carton...thanks, Trader Joe's!) with buttery black-pepper croutons
Sauteed swiss chard with garlic, lemon, onion and kalamata olives





Maybe I'll make some bread/pizza dough tonight too...I'm on such a chef-y kick lately. I've been watching a ton of Iron Chef. Plus, I'm more stressed than usual, and cooking gets me into my happy place.


Cheesemaking adventure pictures and luscious dinner pictures soon to come!

sigh.

I was all amped up for the Earth Day flea market and festival in Clark Park this Saturday--I love Clark Park, I love flea markets--jackpot, right? So I woke up on Saturday morning (or the cat jumped onto my head, either way) all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to enjoy myself. Sadly, no one was around to share the fun--roomie was away in Baltimore and Amanda was off at a photo workshop getting educated in the ways of apertures and shutter speeds--so I strolled over all by my onesie to check things out. I found a nifty oven-safe bowl for five dollars (I am addicted to kitchenware, yes, but I actually had specific plans for it), so that was cool. But then my allergies all exploded into one massive nose-draining eye-watering hullaballoo--so I hightailed it out of there and ran some errands. I headed back later in the afternoon, though (because I am NOT a quitter!) and had some AWESOME fried chicken for lunch.

Then, since all the market stalls were now totally set up, I browsed happily for a while, poking through old books (the illustrated Joy of Sex from the seventies....OH so much awkward body hair...) and bric-a-brac. Then I had an uncomfortable encounter with a retarded (I don't use the word lightly--there was definitely something wrong there) guy that Amanda and I had met once before. He's a youngish guy (late teens, early twenties maybe) and didn't come off as dangerous or anything. That first time, we were waiting at the bus stop and he approached us because we clearly weren't going anywhere. We sort of had a conversation (as in he insisted that he needed to get our phone numbers and telling him that, no, we didn't want him to have our phone numbers took a good ten minutes), and then he gave us both bone-crushing hugs...and started humping Amanda. Thank God for serendipitous timing--the bus pulled up right about then.

The guy must live in somewhere in the neighborhood, because this time, I was looking at a bookseller's stall when he walked by with his bike--and I don't know if he recognized me, but he yelled out "Hello ma'am! Hello ma'am! Hello!" and came over for a chat...which I couldn't avoid. Nor could I avoid yet another hug, but I had to shove him away because he was actually throttling me. He kept asking if he could touch my shoes...I said no. He gave me the finger and said "good or bad? Good or bad?" I told him that that was a bad thing to do with his hands--he went though several other gestures, each time asking me if they were good or bad. By this time, my allergies were flaring up again, I was incredibly uncomfortable being near this guy, and starting to get really cranky. I just wanted to get away and go home. I finally managed to edge away, saying "Okay, I'm going to go now. Bye!" I walked really quickly and didn't look back. I got home and had to do a lot of cooking to relieve my feelings (homemade pasta and a lemon souffle).

So. I'm not really proud of how I handled that situation, but I guess it could've been worse. My (meager) social graces go right out the window whenever I'm made uncomfortable like that. I wish I had a little bit more poise, but oh well. I doubt I hurt his feelings. I wasn't in any danger or anything...If I'm lucky, I won't run into that guy again.

like fantasy football, but totally different

One of my favorite things to do when I am bored and in front of a computer is to go to Youtube and search clips of Stephen Fry. I love that man. He's a terrifically funny person, but he can also speak on just about any subject both intelligently and engagingly, and I love listening to him. Plus, he has a very deep soothing voice and a lovely British accent. He's the host of the British quiz show Q.I., which is one of my very very favorite shows but sadly doesn't seem to exist anywhere in the U.S. except as a few Youtube clips. I wish I had it on DVD. Sigh.

Anyway, yesterday I was poking through clips of Stephen Fry and I thought how awesome it would be if I could invite him over for dinner sometime and just chat about the universe and things. And then I was thinking about who else I'd like to have over for a chat--this is something I think about fairly often, so I have a running list in my head. Stephen Fry is always at the top, but currently I'd also like to talk to:

(Iron Chef) Cat Cora, because she's a really excellent chef and is super-passionate about food, so we'd have plenty to talk about. I'm also pretty sure she's hilarious.

Emma Thompson, because she and Stephen Fry have been biffles since forever, and they go together like two things that go together quite well.

Adam Savage from Mythbusters. I'd invite Jamie along too, but sometimes he seems like a stick in the mud, so I think Adam and I would have more fun.

Nicola Tesla (even though he's dead. Because really, what are the chances I'd talk to any of these other people?). Mostly because he was crazy mccrazypants. Brilliant, yes. But comPLETEly bonkers. I'm not sure what we would talk about--I think I'd just let him ramble.

So yeah, that's my Fantasy Dinner Conversation team at the moment. I'm always adding to it (ooh, Tilda Swinton. She's totally invited).

I will leave you with this:  Emma Thompson and Stephen Fry reminiscing about the good old days and boobies.

4288

...I don't believe anything further needs to be said here. Happy birthday!

paul tobin shattered my dreams

I was really looking forward to grabbing a carton of OJ from the breakfast truck today on my walk from the trolley to my building. As in really looking forward to it. As in I had fully visualized the fulfillment of my orange juice dreams and was thinking about how much I was going to enjoy that juice for the whole trolley ride. On the walk up to the truck, though,  I drew level with a guy walking in the same direction and saw that it was Paul, the director of Facilities. I see him a lot, so we're on a first-name basis, and seeing as I was feeling polite this morning, I said hello. We exchanged pleasantries. And by that I mean I was pleasant and he was awkward and terse. Paul is not a good talker. So that was an awkward conversation, and THEN, just as we were about to walk up to the breakfast truck, he said "wellp, see you later," and stopped at the lunch truck. Thereby throwing off my entire plan. I couldn't just stay there if he had already said "see you later." I was literally crippled by social awkwardness. He had signed off from the conversation, and I didn't want to stand there feeling stupid while he ordered...so I kept walking. I don't regret that decision. I can't handle gaping non-conversational silences at 7am. And now I am sitting at my desk thinking how much I want orange juice.

DAMMIT, PAUL!

being inappropriate in chinatown

 

I love Chinatown (any Chinatown in any American city) for so many reasons. Since I'm patently NOT Asian (seriously, I'm so white it's alarming), it's a way to escape to a place that feels terribly exotic but is only a shirt bus hop away. I love Chinatown for the flavors and the unbelievably cheap food (hellooo 80-cent bakery items) and the doors that magically open when you're accompanied by a friend who speaks Chinese. For example, how else would I have known that when I walked into the Mong Kok Station bakery, in addition to the myriad delightful airy bread buns stuffed with various pastes (always go for the mystery flavor...), I could also have a deep, steaming bowl of noodle soup, spiked with five-spice powder and full of meltingly tender bits of beef

.

Ohhhh. It was good. Thank you Grace, for being a soup ambassador.

I also love Chinatown for the unintended ridiculousness of Chinese-to-English translations that crop up all over the place (see first picture above). Maybe it's terrible of me to point and laugh at this kind of thing, but I'll just put it out there that I am completely okay with being mocked for being a whitey-mc-whiteypants whenever it's an option. That having been said, check these out:

Wilford Brimley would definitely approve.

Well at least they're not sugarcoating it.

Ah. I see we're going for the painfully obvious product name.

Here too. Except here I wish they hadn't.

Boy oh boy, I sure do love Chinatown. Excuse me while I go make out with a bowl of soup and then stock up on some sugar and semen.