Respecting Ricotta

Last week, an article in The New York Times praised the simplicity and versatility of fresh ricotta.  Several chefs declare that fresh ricotta can be profoundly delicious when served with a few intensely-flavored ingredients.  I had never considered ricotta to be a destination cheese, rather a quick stop on the journey of making lasagna, but I'd also never made my own.  My copy of Home Cheese Making in hand, I decided to follow the chefs' advice to make a batch of ricotta.

Traditionally made from the leftover liquid of cheesemaking, true ricotta is a whey cheese.  The butterfat and casein (curd-producing protein) of the milk have gone into the first cheese, leaving albuminous proteins and a bit of lactose floating around in a lot of water.  Whey ricotta (ri cotta, "to cook again") is produced by convincing those albuminous proteins that they want to be cheese, too.  This is rather tricky to do, and whey ricotta is a very low yield cheese: even the experts expect to produce only a cup or two of ricotta from two gallons of whey.  I have had very limited success producing ricotta from my mozzarella whey; however, the few curds I did manage to round up were quite tasty.  

The chefs in the NYT article either had whey ricotta flown in from Italy, or they made whole-milk ricotta in their kitchens.  Whole-milk ricotta eliminates the need for fresh whey (and a day of cheesemaking), and it offers a yield of up to two pounds of cheese per gallon of milk.  Raw milk may be used, because the high temperatures required to curdle albuminous protein also pasteurize the milk.  

The cheesemaking process is simple, the only special ingredient being citric acid, which I didn't have.  I squeezed some fresh lemon juice into the milk, then heated it until it curdled around 180°F.  The curds formed more gradually than I expected, likely due to the lemon juice substitution, but they tasted fresh and sweet.  I will look for citric acid to try in future batches of ricotta; I've heard it can be found at the pharmacy.  I've also seen recipes that call for fresh buttermilk.

I drained the ricotta for only a few minutes, keeping its texture a little loose like cottage cheese.  We were surprised by the sweetness of the ricotta, which isn't notable in the cheese from supermarket tubs.  Its sweetness foiled our appetizer of ricotta on garlic toast; however, I imagine that ricotta and tomato would make a toothsome bruschetta topping.  

Though my savory applications of fresh ricotta need a little fine-tuning, the next morning's breakfast combination was dead-on.  A dollop of ricotta on cinnamon-raisin Ezekiel bread with a drizzle of honey and scattering of walnuts... mmm, divine.

Making Camembert: A Slideshow

This young Camembert will soon be covered by a thin layer of 

white mold, which the French poetically call, "croûte fleurie."

On the first day of the cheesemaking workshop, we made Camembert while the Cheddar was being pressed.  As you will see in the slideshow, the process for making this soft-ripened cheese does not include several of the steps that Cheddar requires, such as scalding and milling the curd, and pressing the cheese under weights.  

Camembert is an unpressed cheese, its curd drained exclusively by gravity.  A Camembert mold is 4.5 inches tall, and the curd initially fills it to the brim.  After several hours of draining, during which time the cheese is flipped in the mold, the curd settles to about one-third of the height of the mold.   

Jim explained that the drying process of the molded cheese is important in its rind development: blue mold may develop if the Camembert is not dried thoroughly, but the white mold will not form at all if it is too dry.  The rind is actually a product of three distinct microbe populations: yeast, geotricum, and P. candidum.  Full development of the rind takes about two weeks, and the interior of the Camembert will ripen over the following one to two weeks.  Of course, that's a matter of personal preference.  

View the Camembert slideshow.

Important Announcement

Godzilla, meet Mozzarella.

We interrupt this post series to bring you the following message: I have successfully made soft, creamy, even pillowy mozzarella.  My own fiore di latte.   I used a water bath in the sink to control the temperature, reduced the amount of culture and rennet, and shortened the setting time.  Knowledge is power, my friends.

We now return to your regularly-scheduled posting.

Making Cheddar: A Slideshow

Cheddar likes to work under pressure.

Cheddar was the first cheese that we tackled in Jim Wallace's Advanced Cheesemaking workshop.    

For a detailed synopsis of cheddar making, view my slideshow.  Display the descriptive captions by selecting "Options" in the lower-right corner.

Cheesemaking Workshop with Jim Wallace

A batch of cow's milk ripens in Jim Wallace's cheese room 

in preparation for our cheesemaking workshop.

Who here has read Barbara Kingsolver's book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle?  Those of you with your hands raised will recognize the name Ricki Carroll.  Ms. Carroll runs New England Cheesemaking Supply, and she has taught thousands of people to make cheese through her book and workshops.

Anyone who wants to take their cheesemaking efforts to the next level should learn the name Jim Wallace.  Of course, it may already be known to you: perhaps you've read his advice on NECS's website, where Jim is the resident "tech guy;" maybe you know him by his brewing efforts (ribbons from beer competitions line a corner of his basement brewery); you may have browsed through the art gallery that he and his wife, Robin, own in Shelburne Falls, MA.

Many folks in the world of artisan cheese know Jim as a friend and consultant.  And I do mean the world: Jim is on a first-name basis with many artisan cheesemakers in the US, and has traveled extensively in Europe to learn the "old ways" from producers of classic cheeses like Parmigiana-Reggiano, Reblochon, and farmhouse Cheddar.  Jim shares his knowledge with aspiring artisans in workshops held in his home, which is where I met him this past weekend.

The workshop attendees ranged in experience and goals: beginners (including yours truly) who obtain milk from local sources; hobbyists who own small goat herds; dairy operators who will produce cheese commercially.  One woman, upon her return to Tibet, will make cheese from dro (yak) milk for students of her primary school.  

We were a diverse crowd, united in our pursuit of cheese edibility... er, excellence.  Jim guided us through the production of three aged, cow's milk cheeses: traditional Cheddar, Camembert, and vacha Toscano.  The final cheeses would display different textures, flavors, and appearances based on our choices in culture, temperature, and timing.  We learned about the importance of acid development, techniques for controlling the moisture of the curd, molding and pressing, and affinage of the cheeses. 

Of course, one can learn about acidity testing and floculation from books; Jim recommended several titles for delving deeper into the technical aspects of cheesemaking.  However, in his basement-cum-cheese-room-sometimes-brewery, we got a sense of the intuitive side of the process.  Jim explained how the outcome of cheesemaking can direct changes to improve the next batch.  We discussed how lifestyle-- that of say, a Norman farm wife, or an Alpine shepherd-- contributed to the characteristics of some of the world's great cheeses.  While this perspective is helpful to us in emulating classic cheeses, it also provides the freedom to create a new generation of unique, American artisan cheeses.

By popular request, Jim also shared his secrets for creating cloudlike mozzarella, fluffy whey ricotta, and smooth yogurt.  While I won't reveal those, I will share photos and summaries of the making of Cheddar, Camembert, and toma in forthcoming posts.

Crème Fraîche + Churning = Love

Serving suggestion: Spread cultured butter thickly on bread. Or muffins. Or crackers.

Thanks to Wonderful Husband Charles for white ceramic butter bell.

We've talked a bit about butter here at Savor Culture, even discussed the pleasures of churning (and eating) your own beurre maison.  Well, hold on to your whisk, because butter just got even better.  Cultured butter is more flavorful than sweet cream butter, making it the ideal partner for your carb of choice: potatoes, sliced bread, warm rolls, plain rice, saltines, cornbread.  Or, for the well-behaved, apply it lovingly to spring vegetables like green peas, asparagus, radishes, and artichokes.

Cultured butter is basically churned crème fraîche: starter culture is added to heavy cream, which is ripened for twelve hours or so before churning.  The result is a butter with complexity and a hint of acidity, one that begs for a pinch of salt and a permanent place at the dinner table.  I guarantee that if you serve cultured butter with the bread basket at your next dinner party, your guests will notice.  There are likely several brands of cultured butter at your grocery store; I recommend one with some salt, like the version from Vermont Butter & Cheese Co.  

Making your own cultured butter is simple, but the quality of its few ingredients is paramount.  You will need heavy cream, of course; organic or local cream is preferable, but be sure that it isn't ultra-pasteurized (a sell-by date more than three weeks away is your clue).  Ultra-pasteurized dairy products have been subjected to such high temperatures that their flavor and protein structure are damaged.  

Ripening the cream requires a mesophilic starter culture, which is active at low temperatures.  You may purchase crème fraîche, buttermilk, or fresh starter for this purpose; alternatively, use all-natural (no stabilizers or preservatives) buttermilk or crème fraîche to provide the bacterial cultures.  I used mesophilic culture, which I also used to make mozzarella; the butter has a hint of cheesy flavor.  I believe that buttermilk or crème fraîche culture will produce a milder flavor.

Then, it's a matter of time: allow the cream to ripen overnight at room temperature.  After twelve hours, the cream should appear thickened and have a slightly sour scent, like yogurt or sour cream.  Note: The presence of bubbles indicates undesirable bacteria, and the cream should be discarded.  Using fresh dairy products and clean utensils will prevent this-- I've never had a problem.

Next, the churning, and there's some good news here: butter formation occurs much more quickly with cultured cream than with sweet cream.  In fact, the butter formed so quickly in my stand mixer that buttermilk was splashing on the counter within three minutes!  I haven't used a manual method, such as hand-churning or shaking the butter in a jar, but cultured cream makes it seem doable.  Let the bacteria do the work for you!  The culturing process also produces thicker, richer buttermilk than results from sweet cream butter.  This article contains photos and a detailed account of making cultured butter with a hand churn.

Cultured Butter Recipe

yields 24-26 oz butter and 1-2 pints of buttermilk; can be halved

4 pints heavy cream

1 packet mesophilic starter or 1/3 cup buttermilk or crème fraîche

Good quality salt, such as kosher flake or sea salt, to taste

Allow cream to come to room temperature in a clean, sterilized non-reactive bowl.  Add culturing ingredient and stir well with a clean, sterilized spoon.  Cover loosely and allow to sit at room temperature for twelve hours.

Beat the cultured cream at low speed in a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment.  Use plastic wrap to tightly cover the mixing bowl as completely as possible.  First it will resemble whipped cream, then it will appear grainy, and suddenly, granules of butter will separate from the buttermilk.  Drain buttermilk into a clean bowl and refrigerate. 

Rinse the butter with cool water.  Knead with your hands and a clean spoon or spatula, and rinse frequently until the water runs clear (about six rinses).  Knead in a teaspoon or so of salt, to taste.  Divide the butter into four- to six- ounce pieces.  Wrap pieces individually in parchment or wax paper and plastic wrap.  Freeze butter for up to three months.

Since rising food prices are currently a hot topic, let's spend a moment comparing the costs of homemade and store-bought butter.  A pound of my everyday butter, Plugra, costs about the same as a pint of local cream.  Thus, I buy Plugra for baking and cooking.  However, when I ordered a half-gallon of heavy cream from my local dairy, I saved about 40%!  The culture I used was about $1.50, the cost for sea salt was negligible.  Churning and kneading the butter took about ten minutes, clean-up and storage, another ten.  An 8-ounce log of VBCC cultured butter costs around $5, but I compare my cultured butter with their premium Sea Salt variety, a 6-oz pat that sells for $6-8 (admittedly, with fancy packaging).  So, not counting 20 minutes of foregone blogging, my cultured butter costs less than $7 a pound, and I get several cups of delicious buttermilk to boot.  A comparable butter costs $10 to over $20 a pound.  Victory is mine!

Need more inspiration?  Check out the March 2008 issue of Saveur magazine to learn about butter in cuisines from around the world.  I liked learning about smee, fermented butter used in Morrocan cooking.

My First Batch of Mozzarella

Mozzarella is a pasta filata cheese, meaning that its curd is stretched or pulled.

This spring, I am beginning to make fresh cheeses at home.  This category of cheese, including such favorites as cream cheese, cottage cheese, and fromage blanc, are among the simplest dairy products to make, along with butter and yogurt.  While hard cheeses require aging in proper conditions (high humidity and constant temperature around 55 degrees), fresh cheeses are ready for consumption or refrigeration right away.

My goal in these first weeks of cheesemaking, apart from its edible rewards, is to understand the process of milk becoming cheese.  On one hand, the mechanics are so simple that they take care of themselves: microbes in fresh, raw milk convert lactose into lactic acid, increasing the acidity of the milk and causing the separation of curd and whey.  It is the cheesemaker's task to control the conditions of this process-- ingredients, temperature, timing, and sanitation-- to produce the desired outcome of edible cheese instead of spoiled milk.  

On this day, I was intent on crafting fresh mozzarella, using the method described in Ricki Carroll's popular book, Home Cheese Making, and materials purchased from her business, New England Cheesemaking Supply.  I used unpasteurized milk from Cook Farm, which is licensed by the state to sell it at their farm store.*  

You may view my slideshow of photos with captions describing the process of making mozzarella.

The process to make this mozzarella called for two gallons of milk, and took over five hours.  During this time, I monitored the temperature and acidity of the milk almost constantly.  I used pH test strips to test the acidity of the milk periodically.  Though it was difficult to get a precise reading, I could determine that the pH was decreasing, as it was meant to do.  The large pot containing the milk was set in a hot water bath over a low, gas flame.  It was difficult to maintain the 90 degree temperature the recipe called for-- the temperature kept creeping up to 100 degrees.  Curd formation happened quickly, so I felt reassured that I was on the right track in spite of these snags.  

Overall, my first batch of mozzarella was successful: its flavor was fresh, it melts beautifully, and no one who ate it suffered gastric distress.  However, its texture was tough, even rubbery.  This unfortunate feature revealed itself in the curd-cutting stage, when I had to secure the slippery curd mass with a spatula so that I could pull the knife through it.  I could tell when stretching the cheese that it wasn't going to have cloud-like consistency.  

Jim Wallace, the technical advisor at NECS, informed me that farm-fresh milk may require less rennet and lower temperature to set.  It seems that my raw milk is really eager to become cheese.  For the next batch of mozzarella, I won't use a double boiler at all, but will warm the milk in a sinkful of warm water.  I'll use less rennet to promote a softer curd.  

I kept several pieces of brined mozzarella in the refrigerator for eating over the following few days, and froze the rest in individual baggies of brine.  We'll use them to top homemade pizza over the next few weeks.  

If this account has prompted a craving for fresh mozzarella, there are quicker options for making it in your own kitchen.  NECS sells kits to make 30 Minute Mozzarella using your microwave.  Other companies sell fresh mozzarella curd, ready to be submerged in hot water, stretched, and shaped.  

Stay tuned for more cheesemaking adventures!

*The decision to consume raw milk products is a personal one.  I have a healthy immune system and trust the farm that supplies my raw milk.  Women who are pregnant or nursing, the elderly, and people with compromised immune systems are advised to avoid raw milk.  In the U.S., it is illegal to sell a raw milk cheese that has been aged less than 60 days.  An Internet search will provide information from both sides of the raw milk debate.

Vermicomposting Bucket

Photos of the vermicomposting bucket (made by Wonderful Husband Charles) just didn't do it justice.  In fact, a photo of the inside of the bucket after an application of worm feed (aka "worm salsa") looked downright unappetizing. 

Here's an illustration of the vermicomposting system that we use.  Its parts include:

1. Loose-fitting lid that allows air circulation
2. Opaque, five-gallon bucket
3. Smaller bucket, punched all over with small holes to allow fresh air to reach the soil
4. Metal mesh cylinder running through the center of the soil; empty, to promote aeration
5. Layer of soil to prevent odors from escaping and to provide darkness and moisture for the food layer
6. Layer of "worm salsa," the worm feed that we prepare using vegetable scraps
7. Soil and castings created by our worms, red wigglers and night crawlers

WH Charles created this system using materials we had on hand (well, except for the worms themselves).  You may purchase a vermicomposting system from many sources online.  The "upward migration" style allows you to harvest castings without losing your worms.  We will release our worms when we apply the compost to our garden this spring.

Read the original post on vermicomposting here.

Try, Try Again (The Growing Challenge)

My planting medium is composed of vermiculite, perlite, and peat moss.

Our seeds from Baker Creek arrived in today's mail.  Unfortunately, they were out of bok choy, but I'll try to find those seeds at the local garden center.

The wonderful husband and I started a batch of herb seeds under a fluorescent light a couple of weeks ago.  Sadly, they succumbed to "damping off," which means that a variety of fungi in the planting medium attacked the young stems just below the soil line, and they toppled over.  We had started them early as an experiment, and have more of the same seeds to start again.  This time, I have a plan.

I've done my homework by consulting some of my favorite gardening blogs: Elements in Time, Tiny Farm Blog, and Seeded.  Based on advice gleaned from their posts, comments, and forums, here are some steps that I'll take to ensure seeding success:

1. Sterilize seed trays using Melinda's method: wash with soap and water, rinse in a solution of three parts hydrogen peroxide to one part water, rinse with water, and dry.
2. Plant seeds in a soilless medium composed of equal parts by volume of peat moss, vermiculite, and perlite.  This mixture holds moisture and is light and fluffy, to promote good aeration.  It also creates a sterilized environment for the seeds to germinate.
3. Moisten the medium with cooled, weak chamomile tea to prevent damping off of the seedlings.  Apparently, chamomile discourages the growth of fungi that cause seedlings to fall over.  Mike recommends a solution of one bag of chamomile tea brewed in one quart of boiling water.
4. Keep medium moist by bottom watering: place trays in a tub of water for about 15 minutes to allow medium to rehydrate from the bottom.
5. Place a heating mat under seed trays and hang a fluorescent light several inches above the seed trays.  The light will be kept on at least 12 hours a day after the seeds germinate, and will be raised as the seedlings grow.
6. Turn on an oscillating fan to "breeze" the seedlings for an hour or so every day.  This promotes stout growth of the seedlings, and prepares them for transplanting outdoors.
7. Sow appropriate seeds directly into the garden soil.  Beans, squash, beets, and radishes are among Melinda's suggestions for in situ planting.

I should mention that Wonderful Husband Charles thinks that some of the steps above are "hooey."  Implementation of my plan may involve "His" and "Hers" seed trays.  We'll see who eats the first lima beans and tomatoes.  Ha!

We're in no hurry to start our next batch of seeds.  Since our garden is going to be a hobby, and since we don't expect it to be our principal source of nutrition this year, we're content to wait until a little more snow melts.  When we race to the farmer's market in May, it will be as patrons, not as vendors.

The rare seeds that we ordered didn't have any instructions written on their packets.  I liked the seed planting spreadsheet at You Grow Girl.  I found the most specific information on frost dates here.  

If you ran out of toilet paper rolls to make the seed cups in my previous post, check out the instructions on Seeded for making seed cups out of newspaper.  

Seedy and Crafty (The Growing Challenge)

A few snips on a cardboard roll produce biodegradable seedling cups!

Recovering from the flu has allowed me ample time to choose seeds for our garden.  We have plenty of herb seeds (at least 20 varieties) remaining from last year's order from Heirloom Seeds.  I also have mache, French mache, and something called "Salad Burnet," but I'm going to order several additional leafy types because I love fresh lettuce.  Plucked from the garden and rinsed, it's a totally different animal, so to speak, from greens that have spent any length of time in a bag.

This year, most of our seeds will come from Baker Creek, which produces an attractive catalog and has user-friendly, online ordering, as well.  I really like the story of this company-- Jere Gettle started selling heirloom seeds at age 17, collecting rare varieties from around the world and promoting seed-saving by his customers.  Now, he and his wife run a multi-faceted business in Missouri, including publishing a quarterly magazine and operating Bakersville, a pioneer-themed village with monthly events.  Whew!

Though Baker Creek's selection meets all of our needs, I'm also going to order from the Turtle Tree Biodynamic Seed Initiative catalog that I picked up at the Hawthorne Valley Farm Store.  Turtle Tree offers open-pollinated seeds from a network of biodynamic growers across the country.   Information in the catalog, such as source codes for each seed variety, is reassuring to anyone who is concerned about genetically modified organisms in our food supply.  

Baker Creek seeds:

Dixie speckled butterpea, Mexican sour gherkin cucumber, Ching Chang bok choy, Tainong Emperor heading mustard (for kim chi), Chinese Red Meat (or "watermelon") radish, Pantano Romanesco tomato, Riesenstraube grape tomato, Orangeglo watermelon, Red Wonder wild strawberry

Turtle Tree Seeds:

Golden beets, Charentais cantaloupe, arugula, "Frilly Oaks" lettuce mix, King of the North pepper, Anaheim hot pepper, Ronde de Nice zucchini, Rainbow Swiss chard, Principe Borghese tomato, Harold's Special Mix cosmos, alfalfa cover crop, burgundy amaranth cover crop

The lists represent about one-third of my original selections.   I crossed off my list those vegetables that are expected to be in plentiful supply at local farmer's markets: squash and zucchini, root vegetables, and several varieties of cucumbers (we love cucumbers).  I kept unusual varieties, such as the Mexican sour gherkin cukes and the "watermelon" radish, and varieties that I have great plans for, such as heading mustard for kim chi and Principe Borghese tomatoes for drying.  Wonderful Husband Charles is excited about cover crops (really, who isn't?).

And finally, to explain that wacky photo I took: biodegradable seedling cups can be made from empty, cardboard toilet paper rolls.  Use scissors to make an angled cut at one end of the roll.  Rotate the roll to create four to six parallel cuts.  Gently overlap the flaps, like closing a box top, and press until you have closed one end of the roll.  That creates the bottom of the seedling cup.  Fill the cup with growing medium, plant your seeds and keep them warm and moist, and you can transplant the seedling in its cup!  Happy planting!

Savor Vermiculture (The Growing Challenge)

I'm a planner: I like to have an itinerary when I go on vacation, I can spend hours researching where to go to dinner, and I've been making the rounds on the gardening blogroll for pointers in planning our garden.  Wonderful Husband Charles is bold and likes to experiment: last spring, he started an unconventional container garden, composed of (in order of greatest to least success) small hot peppers, basil, mache, onions, and sweet corn.   I, however, become sheepish after the seed selection process is complete and it's time to mate seed and soil; what if something goes wrong?

I've come to terms with the possibility that the seeds might get started too early or too late; that the garden plot may not be ideally sited for every variety I want to grow; that the critters whose tracks I now see in the snow may ultimately eat more of our salad greens than we will.  But the timing of the planting still feels a little early to me.  Let me tell you instead about something foundational, the preparation of which can never be premature: the soil.

Along with our housemates, we deposit food scraps, eggshells, coffee grounds, and spent tea into a gallon bucket near the sink.  Once full, its contents are conveyed to one of two large, black cylinders in the back yard, usually by WH Charles on one of his infamous, barefoot compost runs.  I wonder if that practice will lose its allure when the snow melts.  

Fortunately, maintenance of our other compost system offers no such opportunity for pneumonia-inducing activities.  The worms are housed warmly in the basement-level mechanical room.  WH Charles made their home by nestling a large, plastic pail in an opaque, five-gallon bucket.  The inner pail is pierced with many quarter-inch drill holes, and has a hollow core of metal mesh to promote air circulation.  WH Charles filled the doughnut-shaped space with alternating, quarter-inch layers of soil and a concoction we refer to as "worm salsa," vegetable scraps blended with water in the food processor.  He feeds our squirmy friends every couple of weeks, sprinkling a layer of soil on top of the food to prevent any odor from escaping.  He also keeps the lid loosely on the outer bucket, as worms prefer dark, moist environs.

Our worm community is composed of earthworms and night crawlers.  We're on the lookout for red wrigglers to add to the population, as well.  WH Charles developed our system after reading a couple of articles on vermicomposting.  If you want dig into the subject, as it were, there are many informative resources online.  I found a good overview on this website.  Happy composting!

Verdant and Victorious

My maternal grandparents grew up in a rural community in northeastern Mississippi.  My grandmother, along with her nine siblings, composed the labor force on their parents' small farm.  As a child, I loved hearing her stories about picking cotton, swimming in the cow pond, and swiping eggs from the henhouse to exchange for a Baby Ruth at the general store (run by her grandfather).  Her after-school snack, she told me many times, was a turnip or onion pulled from the garden on her way in the door.

While my choice of snack was different (butter-and-sugar sandwich, anyone?), the meals I ate at Maw-Maw's house included the foods that she'd prepared her whole life: butter beans, grown on Paw-Paw's farm in Liberty, Mississippi, and canned in their kitchen; boiled red potatoes with white sauce; ripe tomatoes from the garden; turnip greens, which my mom liked to eat with pepper vinegar; and a cast iron skillet of cornbread, which never contained wheat flour or sugar.  Paw-Paw enjoyed leftover cornbread with milk for his breakfast, while I chose Maw-Maw's biscuits with homemade peach and huckleberry preserves.  

A theme of Maw-Maw's stories was growing up poor during the Great Depression.  However, her family's hard work on their farm meant that they never went hungry like so many others did.  Growing food was something that she had always done, and was common in rural communities at that time.  During WWII, the Victory Garden movement expanded small-scale food production to urban areas, as well, in support of the war effort.

If its popularity on the blogsphere is any indication, the Victory Garden concept is experiencing a renaissance.  Its relevance extends beyond our status as a nation at war: we are also a nation facing rising food costs, unease over food security, and backlash against industrial agriculture.  Backyard gardening offers a hobby that helps us feed ourselves.  

As a garden neophyte living in Zone 5, I'm relieved to find a plentiful supply of garden blogs and even support networks online.  I've signed up for the Growing Challenge, organized by Melinda at Elements in Time.  Participants commit to growing one more fruit or vegetable crop than they did last year, and to publishing weekly posts about their gardening activity.  I'm also joining the Victory Garden Drive led by Pattie at Foodshed Planet, whose goal is to inspire two million new organic gardens this year.  Pattie also encourages experienced gardeners to mentor those of us whose thumb color is yet undetermined.  To find a companion gardener, or to "Take Five" new gardeners under your wing, check this post.

In addition to my gardening posts, I'll also provide a blogroll of gardening resources that I come across.  Reader contributions are also welcome, particularly if you garden in Zone 5!

Solid Gold; or, The Case for Home Buttermaking

Blueberry buttermilk pancakes topped with a generous pat of homemade butter.

Okay, dear readers, here’s the deal: I and a dozen of my (geographically) closest friends have been enjoying the tastiest, most luxurious, homemade butter for a whole week, and I haven’t let you in on it because my draft postings were too technical-sounding and boring. But I’m still so excited about it that I’m writing in run-on sentences, and you just have to try it yourselves! So, here are a few notes to share my enthusiasm and advice, and when you decide to try your hand at buttermaking, consult the sources below for detailed instructions, and get to churning!

I procured organic, gently-pasteurized cream from Butterworks Farm of Vermont. If you get your cream at the grocery store, look for heavy cream that has not been ultra-pasteurized. This process of quickly heating the cream or milk to 191 degrees lengthens its shelf life, but damages its flavor and composition. Therefore, you might be better off with cream from your local mega-dairy (e.g. Hood’s, Dean’s) than from brands like Organic Valley and Horizon. (It goes without saying that the best scenario is to purchase cream from a local farm.)

Allow your cream to warm to room temperature before churning. I used my stand mixer to perform the churning, but don’t tell the folks at KitchenAid or they’ll bring an $80 “butter churning attachment” to the market. I started whipping the cream with the whisk, but switched it for the paddle after twenty minutes; I think that the whisk was breaking up the butterfat globules. When the butterfat and buttermilk separated about five minutes later, I was glad that I’d followed David Patterson’s advice to cover the top of the mixing bowl with plastic wrap, thus avoiding a buttermilk shower.

I dumped the mixture into a colander set in a bowl to collect the buttermilk, which I refrigerated and later used to make blueberry pancakes, ranch dressing, and mashed potatoes (all fantastically delicious, by the way). Next, I kneaded the buttermilk out of the butter in a bowl of cool water, changing the water a few times until it was no longer cloudy. Kneading is important because any residual buttermilk will cause the butter to spoil, even in the refrigerator.

Working the golden-hued butter by hand, I noticed its remarkable plasticity. At room temperature, the finished butter did not acquire the moist clamminess of stick butter, but remained firm and consistent. Its flavor is sweet and herbaceous, its texture tight and unctuous. I tasted the melted butter for the pancake batter, and its richness reminded me of fresh egg yolks. I am going tackle cultured butter next, and am planning to make butter caramels for Christmas gifts.

Well, are you going to try it? It requires only a half-hour of time and one ingredient (two, if you want salted butter). You will optimize the most important qualities of good butter: freshness and high fat content. Think of all of the wonderful things you could do with fabulous buttermilk and butter (if you don’t gobble up the latter on a loaf of fresh bread). One caveat: everyone who tastes your butter will be clamoring for more. Bon courage!

Resources:

"Curd Mentality," by David Patterson, The New York Times, July 1, 2007

"Buttermaking," by Holly Gates, Positron.org

Home Cheese Making, by Ricki Carroll, New England Cheesemaking Supply

Pates au Fromage Fort

Last night's dinner was inspired by the growing assortment of cheese scraps in my refrigerator… and also by a case of cheese abuse. The doggy bag from last week’s cheese and cider workshop experienced an overnight delay on its way to the fridge (did I mention it was hard cider?). The leftover cheeses, being the semi-firm variety, had leached their butterfat but were perfectly edible. I could forgive myself for such neglect only by devising a scrumptious use for the morsels. Having several other cheeses on hand, the idea of fromage fort entered my mind.

Fromage fort, like jambalaya or frittata, is an example of culinary alchemy: leftovers transformed into respectable fare. The traditional, French technique involves macerating cheese bits in milk for a few days before adding wine and seasoning to the mixture. The pungency of the fermented product earned its description as fort, or “strong.” The modern interpretation of this dish utilizes a food processor to combine cheese scraps (no rinds, please), a splash of white wine, a clove of garlic, and some fresh herbs into a savory spread. It’s delicious served cold or broiled on slices of crusty bread.

Lacking a loaf worthy of the spread, I decided to use the fromage fort concept to strengthen macaroni and cheese (trying desperately to ignore Emeril Lagasse's little voice in my head: "Kick it up a notch!"). As the water came to a boil, I collected all the cheese scraps available: aforementioned artisan goodies, extra-sharp cheddar, aged gouda, baby Swiss, a block of disappointing Comte with a spot of mold (oh, just trim it off), nubs of a couple more artisan cheeses, and the ever-present parmigiano.* I salvaged all I could, using a vegetable peeler on the harder rinds, and shredded the scraps together into a multi-tonal heap.
While the pasta was boiling (in this case, cellentani), I whisked together the base of a stovetop cheese sauce: evaporated milk and eggs, plus a dash of cayenne. I used Dijon mustard to supply a hint of white wine and to fill in for the dry mustard used in macaroni and cheese.

Stovetop macaroni comes together in a streamlined fashion: cooked pasta is drained while its pot is returned to low heat to melt unsalted butter. Drained pasta is returned to the pot, and the egg mixture is added amid constant stirring. Finally, the heat is turned off for the addition of the beautiful amalgamation of cheese. Sprinkle with black pepper and a seasonal herb (I chose thyme) for a finishing touch, but think twice before adding salt!

The result was the most luxurious version of mac’n’cheese I’ve ever had, and that includes the ones dressed up with truffle oil, smoked salmon, and the like. Unlike those flavors, the background components of fromage fort and homestyle macaroni enhance the intensity of the cheese without overwhelming it. This preparation is so rich that the recipe below will provide four main or six side servings.

8 oz elbow or other pasta
6 oz evaporated lowfat milk
1 egg plus
1 egg yolk
1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 clove garlic (roast it and you'll be well rewarded)
10 oz shredded cheese (at least three varieties, rinds removed)
cracked black pepper
minced fresh herb (e.g. parsley, thyme, tarragon)

*What's that, you don't always have ten distinct cheese specimens on hand? Neither do I, but after retesting the recipe with only four cheeses, I can report that cheese diversity is integral to this dish. So, the next time you serve multiple cheeses at a party (the topic of a future posting, I promise), buy a little extra for this application. Fresh, soft, and blue cheeses must be used before they go bad (even fromage fort can't work miracles), but harder cheese can be kept for a while, any spots of mold trimmed off before use. You could even store bits of hard cheese in the freezer for a couple of weeks... it'll still produce a sauce that shames anything from a box.