The Grand Opening Report

I know I've been a bit derelict in my posting duties. The weeks since store opening have been action-packed. But I'm going to try my best not to leave Cheesy Street to the wayside going forward.

BOOM, Food Safety Certified, Blouses!
Ok, so it's not a picture of the store.  But I had
to take a test to get this card! And for now,
 it's the best I can do on pictures. 

Three weeks in and being an official cheesemonger and manager-on-duty at a giant cheese store feels like second nature. That didn't take long. Beecher's is huge, and we do a lot. We have a cafe area, an evening lounge/restaurant area downstairs, a charcuterie case, a coffee bar, a cheesemaking facility...a petting zoo. It's a carnival of cheese and cheese-related fun.  Not only did I need to quickly learn the cheese case, but I also needed to know the ins and outs of the cafe area, the charcuterie case and meat slicer (love cured meat but I know nothing about it), the espresso machine (which freaked me out at first), and various miscellaneous tasks that arise like receiving orders, building sandwiches and cheese plates, and answering customer questions that baffle me.

The first day was a non-stop explosion of customers and curiosity. I ended up working an opening to closing shift. Fifteen hours, and a I loved every second. My feet, not so much. Since then, things have been a steady but sane flow of people.

I know names, locations and stories of domestic cheese and cheesemakers pretty well. Yet, I've never had the opportunity to try many cheeses. So describing the flavor of each cheese is a completely different matter. That included most of the cheese in our case when we first opened. I felt pretty confident about being able to direct people to the right cheese. But the first couple of days was a lot of looking at cheeses and guessing what they would taste like and hoping for the best.
"Do you have anything similar to a manchego?"
(To my self) "Gah, I have no idea."
Scanning labels frantically; finding one with a picture of a sheep.
(To myself) "Mmmeh, this one looks like a semi-firm sheep's milk cheese. I bet it'll work."
"Yes we do actually. Here try this one. I think it comes pretty close."
Nom, nom, nom.
"Man alive, this is delicious! I'll take a slice."

I would try the cheese with the customer or after they left and discovered that my guesses were usually pretty accurate. Not always, but surprisingly often. It worked well. I guess lawyering taught me a thing or two about making things up on the fly.

It only took a few days of tasting and exploring along with the customers before I learned 90% of the cheeses in our case and didn't have to rely as much on panicked assumptions. Now, I can look at a wheel of cheese and know which cheese it is without seeing the label.  Plus it didn't take long to know the cheeses that are crowd pleasers and the ones that aren't.

In a nutshell, I love my job. I love conversations with random excited customers and regulars. People in NYC love cheese. I knew that from my farmers market days. But now I can explore up to 100 different cheeses with them and figure out which is the perfect cheese for each person, and this may sound strange, but that is inexplicably fulfilling. And if my brain is ever fried from figuring out which cheese hits the mark for every single person, I can always escape to the solitary, focused zen world of the espresso machine or sandwich press. Waking up for an opening shift at 5:00am can be difficult, not to mention the alarming introduction to an early morning/late night cast of characters on the subway. Once I'm at work it flies by and I love being there.

One of the best aspects of the job is continually trying, discovering and re-discovering new cheeses I love ...or even ones that I don't love so much. As I keep going, I'll try to share as many as I can with you. Just because not all of you can come into the store and find out directly from our cheese counter, doesn't mean you should be sheltered from new and delicious cheese discoveries.

Dairy: America's Food Cyclops of Destruction?

One of my favorite memories of my early cheese days was the pure energy of cheesemongering at the Union Square market in NYC last summer. The hungry, excited, and often sample-greedy crowds. The love of cheese, fresh food, and yes, free samples. The questions: "What cheese is that?!" "Is that soap?!" "Do you have any cheddar?!" bombarding the stall from various indiscernible directions. And the adrenaline of being thrown into a food zoo and having to cut every piece to-order in plain view.

Now that I call NYC my home, I walk through the markets regularly. Though I am still a cheesemonger in my own right (this time in a nice temperature-controlled building), a wave of jealous nostalgia sweeps over me when I see the farmers and producers setting up their stands. Yet, something is not quite the same.

There are several new cheesemakers on the NY farmers market scene, which is wonderful. Nevertheless, the excited energy is somewhat diminished by the neatly pre-packaged cheeses I see at every turn. Even my own beloved Cato Corner is forced to either pre-package cheese (a monumental task for small cheesemakers who are seeing almost 1,000 pounds of cheese traffic per week in markets) or take cheese behind a curtain to a mobile kitchen trailer and cut away from the penetrating view of customers. I sucked at cutting cheese in front of gawking patrons, but that was half the fun for both the mongers and the customers!

New regulations in NYC have stopped cheesemakers from cutting cheese to order for customers at farmers markets. Something something, food safety. Something something, sanitation. Begin ragey rant now:

Cheese and dairy have always been the target of various ludicrous regulations. Then again, what hasn't really? You have to age it 60 days if it's raw milk. You have to store it at 40 degrees even though it ages, often for years, at ambient temperatures of 50-60 degrees. In some states, selling raw milk is like selling heroin. Cheesemakers and mongers have learned to cope with every requirement that's thrown at them. But like I've always said, every food carries a risk. When did dairy become public food enemy #1?

I've gotten food poisoning from a gyro sandwich once, but I'll still eat the hell out of a legit hole-in the-wall kebab stand. Once Applebee's made me sick, but I still go back for their maple blondies. In fact, I might be the most food poisoned fool I know, but I've never picked a category of food to whine about like this no-account Dr. Douche. How this jerkface makes the leap from a tragic E.Coli outbreak likely caused by dirty vegetables -- the leading culprit in many recent mass breakouts of food-borne illness -- to raw milk and juice baffles me.

I'll use pasteurized milk if it's all I can get, and I really enjoy many pasteurized artisanal cheeses. But I also love drinking raw milk. It's easier to digest (beneficial bacteria, as well as enzymes in milk that aid in lactose digestion for lactose-intolerant people, are killed off during pasteurization), and it tastes better. I've never gotten sick from dairy -- and I've gotten sick from a lot of foods. I've even witnessed how the animals are milked. This guy reads one article in the Seattle Times, regurgitates what he learned in his thesis program, and thinks he's an expert on small dairy producers. You sir, impress nobody. Lactating cows on small farms everywhere are crying tears of sorrow at your wholly spurious assumptions.

Sanitation is important, and I would always get my raw milk from reputable producers. You can even do your own research about the relative rarity of listeria outbreaks from raw milk. Or how campylobacteriosis is as much of a risk, if not a greater risk, in chilled pasteurized milk than it is in raw milk. You can check the sources and the CDC reports yourself, and decide to agree or disagree. It doesn't really matter to me which way you lean on the issue. You get your pasteurized milk, I'll get mine raw. You get your burgers cooked medium rare, I'll get mine medium. Just know that raw milk, cheese, and other dairy products carry risks like any other food. They are not singularly evil in any outstanding way.

Banning a product from an essential food group or installing needless obstacles for small farms and producers, instead of targeting the sanitation problems that make all foods dangerous, causes much more harm than good.

Rounding the bases to an astounding argument put out there by people who think dairy is always bad for you. There are those who choose not to eat dairy at all because of ethical reasons, and I'm not touching that. We'll agree to disagree, and you are completely entitled to that dietary choice, which I will agree to respect. But there are those who just think eating dairy will turn you into a fat, un-healthy zombie blob.

I ran across a lot of articles on how terrible dairy is when I was uncovering the similar chemical reactions in the pleasure portions of our brain induced by both cheese and chocolate. (see my Valentine's Day post). This one in particular got my rage juices flowing.

Apparently people out there were completely outraged by the "cheese industry" pushing it's "cheese agenda" on food, ensnaring people into a cycle of addiction. Last time I checked, dairy was one of our essential food groups. Last time I checked, I also didn't want to be a brittle old hag with osteoporosis. Also, last time I checked, I like extra cheese on my pizza because I think it tastes good. Not because I'm addicted to "dairy crack." I've gone days without cheese and haven't turned into a sweaty, twitchy mess, fighting withdrawal nausea on my couch. When I do enjoy cheese, I've never, to my knowledge, become a bloated, dairy stenched Jabba the Hutt, waiting for a coronary. Why did our culture start vilifying entire categories of food? Food is food. We need it, we should celebrate it, enjoy it (in moderation). Be a little European about it for god's sake.

Despite what my frustration sounds like, I'm not here to be political about all this. For the record, I do believe that there is a public safety interest in ensuring our food is produced in a sanitary manner. I'm all for initiatives that encourage healthy choices and lower health problems associated with diets. Sugary drinks will turn your kid into a fatty fat fat, and we should probably reign those in. I think disparaging said public initiatives with "food police" barbs is just a way for angry, unhealthy people to stay angry and unhealthy, guilt-free. I don't need to be eating maple blondies every day because nobody should directly or indirectly have to foot a six-figure open-heart surgery bill when I'm 50. I would prefer to help out small producers rather than continuing to subsidize large agricultural industries.

Maybe you could say I'm an equal rights foodie. I am against -- and hope more people will join me in this -- irrationally and illogically singling out entire categories of a food group as your pet enemy; sensationalizing a diet trend or a food-related tragedy as a public platform to demonize a fresh, natural food that poses no greater risk than other products, that is part of a well-balanced diet, and that many small producers rely upon to make their living in an agricultural tradition that has lasted since early civilization. Is that too much to ask for?

Note: In a previous version I was unclear in stating where raw milk sales are available (in NY state it is just at licensed farm stores; in neighboring states it is available in retail stores). This graphic clears it all up, and also lets you know states in which you can't enjoy raw milk, but your pet cat Mittens sure can. 

Steady Chasin that Cheese Curd

Adios Hwy 90. It's been real. 

I’ve come a long way from the naive cheese traveler wandering into Del Rio, half-panicked by my own preconceived notions and by all the border-town fear mongers regurgitating what they heard on the news or read in the travel section of Reader’s Digest. I remember driving the stretch of Highway 90 that dips within two miles of the Rio Grande at dusk, nervously expecting gangs of drug mules, cartel henchmen, and human-traffickers to be leaping across the road like legions of West Texas deer.  

That was 7 months ago. I’ve learned a lot since then.

Still, some things don’t change. My belongings remain mostly stored in boxes and I continue to use suitcases as bedroom furniture. As I put Del Rio behind me in my trusty CR-V, the radio couldn't have selected a more apt farewell serenade: Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again on My Own."

Because, indeed, like a drifter I was born to walk alone. And this particular lonely street of dreams has led me from the Texas-Mexico border to New York City. The unlikeliest of transitions. 

NYC -- the cradle of big dreams. Some people come for fame. Some for fortune. Some in search of love, purpose, or identity. I came here for a modest wage, relative obscurity, and dairy products.

It was the next logical and exciting step in my cheese schooling. I’ve worked with great cheesemakers. So, it was about time I finally found a great cheese retail opportunity. I told you about my failed retail search when I first arrived in Texas last Fall. Nevertheless, I found a great cheesemaking fit in BVC and used my own kitchen as a platform for productivity with home cheesemaking. 

  

I had to tap some serious ingenuity to make a cheese life for myself in the desolate West Texas desert. It took some mileage to Waco and and several cheesemaking fails in my kitchen, but I did it.

Of course, it was unsustainable. I couldn’t continue the 11-hour weekly commute for much longer. And the grocery store cashiers started to get curious about my frequent milk purchases, giving me suspicious looks as if I had developed some new way to cook up meth or Molotov cocktails with dairy.  

It was time to move on even though it would require another solo adventure. Tad would wrap things up in Del Rio over the course of the year, keeping dutiful guard over the meticulously labeled boxes I have stored in his closet.

Meanwhile as I strategized my next move, the previous year's journey came full circle. Last Fall, I arrived in Del Rio en route from my internship in Washington State with Black Sheep Creamery -- an internship that not only taught me a lot about cheesemaking and farmers markets, but also gave me the gift of an opportunity that once made my skin crawl in professional circles: networking. Through Meg and Brad, I connected with several local cheesemongers and cheese retailers, including a Seattle-based cheese institution, Beecher’s Handmade Cheese. Beecher’s incidentally was boldly entering the East Coast cheese field by opening a second branch in New York City. Even then it seemed like an exciting opportunity with a great company that is as passionate about good food as I am. Before happenstance led Tad and I to Del Rio for a temporary period, I assumed I was heading back to the East Coast after my cheese internships ended, so I expressed interest in getting involved with the new branch. Then, adventures in a border town came calling. 

Fortunately fate, good timing, and “networking” with the people I had met at Beecher’s would nevertheless allow me to grow my cheese ambitions with them. The opening of the new store had been pushed to mid 2011, at just the moment when I was ready for the next step.  And, thankfully, my year of cheese learning cast a sheen of marginal competence on me, and they took me on to the opening team. So, now I'm back on the East Coast, helping put the gears in motion for a major NYC cheese store opening. A bonafide cheesemonger in the big city. I wanted to know how deep the Swiss cheese hole goes and there’s no turning back. This is it. This is what I do. Cheesemaker. Cheesemonger. Cheese stalker – I’ve followed it everywhere; my CR-V can attest.

There are such things as proprietary secrets and non disclosure agreements I vaguely recall from law school that are usually involved with successful companies, even cheesy ones. So while there may not be much in the way of daily details anymore, don't worry. Every chapter of this cheese story seems to have developed its own voice based on the circumstance. I think we’ve grown past the details and the baby steps together. There will be discoveries to share in this chapter, just like the others. 

As I leave the last stage of the adventure, Whitesnake resonating truth through my speakers, I know one thing. If we can find cheesy happiness for the better part of a year in desolate West Texas, we can find it anywhere. 

On To The Next

After logging almost 11,000 miles of commute, plus one windshield replacement from an errant flying boulder on highway 90, two late-night near deer-to-hood encounters, several incidents of suppressed road rage, countless rendezvous with swerving semis, too many protein-bar-dinners on the road, and five or six gas-price hikes later, I bid adieu to another chapter in my cheese life. My last week at Waco's Brazos Valley Cheese was bittersweet. I wouldn't have made that trek if I didn't also really enjoy the people and the job that awaited me at the end. At the same time, there sure as hell will be no love lost between me and that 5pm to 11pm drive home to Del Rio every week.

Making the commute for almost five months is respectable, right? A part of me felt like a punk bitch when I had to explain that I would be leaving something I love because the drive had gotten too hard. It's not you, it's me. Never mind the emboldened sense of achievement I had each time someone questioned my sanity for making that commute in the first place. Anything for you, cheese.

It was time, though. Deep down I knew when I started that I couldn't make that commute forever. Hopefully I can parlay everything I learned with BVC and all my other cheese teachers in the last year (a little over a year to this day that I started this journey) to an equally wonderful and fortunate next chapter.

The next move will likely involve continuing to improve my home cheesemaking (and pies) while resuming my nomadic ways. Del Rio has few cheese ties to keep me here for long, so I'm following leads for the next opportunity elsewhere. At some point, Tad and I will be in the same city for more than a few months, and I'll finally be able to figure out what CheesyStreet actually is or will be. For now and the near future, I'm still living out of suitcases.

But before I move on, a tribute to the job that gave me my cheese swagger.

Big vat, dutch press in the background,
and my mini vat in the left foreground.

I've mentioned that my job at BVC made me feel more like a real cheesemaker. I started to list "cheesemaker" without hesitation in the occupation blanks for profile data, surveys, and doctors' office forms. The good people at BVC gave me more responsibility than I expected for having only six months of legitimate cheese experience. Are you sure you want to put me in charge of my own batch, I kept thinking? It seemed hasty, but I was thankful they unintentionally pushed me further. I hope I didn't let them down.

I've mentioned a few notable events at BVC, but I haven't gone into great detail about my daily tasks. The reasons are several-fold. First, a lot of the basics would be repetitive with slight variations in procedural technique. Too many details would have been a lot like listing the different varieties of high-fiber cereal I've eaten this month. Second, my new hobby of home cheesemaking and related mishaps became a big part of my cheese life in Del Rio and needed some introduction to the spotlight. But, most importantly, there was no true schedule at BVC that lent itself to an easy description of a day in the life.

Milk delivery in the morning. Milk
was purchased from nearby farms.

On a daily basis, there was rarely a moment to pause and nothing seemed compartmentalized. Everyone was shuttling back and forth between cheesemaking, flipping, pressing, affinage, packaging, doing inventory, checking pHs, stretching mozzarella, marinating cheeses, mixing ingredients for flavored cheese, and cleaning.  There were general duties; one person manned the big batch of cheese while another (usually me) manned the smaller second batch. And certain tasks had to be done on certain days; bries blooming mold needed flipping daily, munster needed washing every Wednesday, mozzarella needed stretching every other Tuesday. But there was no set course plotted for any given day of the week.

The particular nature of a cheesemaker's day-to-day routine is usually a factor of both workplace preferences and differences in production between cheese operations.

The hairnets weren't
my favorite part

The notable difference that I targeted as the big reason for the fast-paced BVC work-day was the variety of cheese. Taking into account the types of cheese (Cheddar, Brie, Havarti, Mozzarella, Feta etc.) and the flavors or variations for each type of cheese (Horseradish Pecan Cheddar, Brie with vegetable ash, Blueberry Havarti, marinated Feta, multiple flavors of cheese spreads etc.), there were more than two dozen cheeses for us to make and tend after. There was always a cheese, sometimes multiple cheeses, that needed attention at any given moment.

Yet, never was there a neglected cheese if someone could help it. It takes dedication, and a village, to care for that much cheese. BVC was nothing if not dedicated. It was always an 8am to question-mark sort of day. If the cheese or pH isn't ready on your timeline, then you wait. Or if more than one cheese is ready at the same time...well, then, god help you. Patience and fortitude is key when you're awake early making two batches, caring for a dozen more, and returning at 9pm that evening to work with whatever got left behind. If an order of 500 jars of marinated feta needs to be packaged and ready, then everyone comes to work and pitches in until the job is done at midnight. I slept-over on Tuesday nights for my two-day stint, so I wasn't exempt by the commute. We were doctors of cheese, always on-call.

At first I was a little nervous about what to expect when I started working at BVC. The commute would be difficult. My wages would be shoved directly back into my gas tank. Waco was...well, Waco. And I was the only person working there who wasn't part of their homesteading community.

I worked with interesting, warm people, who welcomed me in two days each week to basically live with them. I was given agency over my responsibilities, never bored, always on my feet, and continually learning. Until BVC, I had never wrapped cloth-bound cheddar (a simple task involving layers of muslin plastered to the cheese with a lubricant like Crisco). There were cheeses I had never made that involved new recipes with different temperatures, cultures, and affinage techniques. I had never stretched mozzarella or used a hand-milling machine (for milling cheddar or other curds into long strips). As I left, I was thankful that I found them during my time in Texas. I was able to stay a productive and active member of cheese society despite being in a sleep border town in West Texas. I made friends and gained confidence in my abilities as a cheesemaker. Plus, I convinced myself that if I can fashion a cheese life for myself in Del Rio (or even Waco), even temporarily, I can probably make this endeavor of mine work for me just about anywhere.

BVC's larger homesteading community specializes in restoring and relocating historic barns and turning them into houses. The guest house where I stayed on Tuesday nights was one such impressive and cozy structure. 

Movin On Up to the Cheese Pie

Half the week I'm stirrin' up some curds and haulin' large wheels with some great cheesemakers in Waco. The other half, I'm playing a proper 1950s housewife back in Del Rio. I make pies. Many pies.

It all started three months ago with one of my favorites, southern lemon chess pie. The chess pie was my first ever pie and pie crust attempt; it met rave reviews and is likely the main reason my boyfriend put plans in motion to propose marriage. The obsession progressed to the point where I was making three pies in one day.

Cheese is no stranger to pies. So, eventually, I decided to set up a play date for my good friends cheese and pie.

You've heard of cheesy desserts incorporating smooth, sweet cheeses like cream cheese (cheesecake) or mascarpone (tiramisu). Stronger cheeses can also participate in the dessert party as a standalone treat (cheese plate, or see blue cheese-honey-Sauternes combo from my Valentine's Day post). But I'm a believer that non-traditional cheese desserts have a place in the sugary pantheon as well. Enter pies.

Remember that ricotta I made in the last post? It would meet its sweet fate in my first cheese-based pie attempt, a "Cheese and Honey" pie.

Stumbling through several online recipes, I discovered that the so-called "cheese and honey" title that initially caught my eye was actually a traditional Greek dessert called Melopita. Generally the pie is made with either Ricotta or Myzithra cheeses. Myzithra (also Mizithra) is a Greek cheese made from whey remaining from feta production and a bit of added goat or sheep milk. The cheese is then pressed and salted, so it resembles Ricotta Salata in texture and taste. Myzithra would have been the more exotic and daring choice, but my castaway ricotta from my mozzarella debacle needed a home.

Because whey ricotta is a by-product of an initial cheese-make, it's a fairly low-yield cheese. I needed 16 ounces total, so I had to combine my small ricotta ball with some whole milk ricotta I purchased at the store. Because whey is high in protein and low in fat, my ricotta was the healthier of the two. Whole milk ricotta is made entirely or partially from the actual milk. The milk is curdled by vinegar in a manner similar to paneer, so the finished product still has all of the fat and cream from the original milk.

Melopita dusted with cinnamon

The pie was fairly simple: mix ricotta, 4 eggs, 1/2 cup honey, 2 tablespoons flour together for the filling. I then added cinnamon, vanilla, and a bit more honey according to my own taste. I also boozed up my basic crust recipe with some bourbon and vanilla. My final result tasted like a fantastic pumpkin pie. It was creamier in taste and a bit thicker in texture, but very reminiscent of fall.

The first Melopita recipe I found called for either ricotta or "other curd cheese." Translated, the vaguely stated instructions simply direct you to either ricotta or cottage cheese. In the comments one hapless woman, confused by the term "curd cheese," decided to use cheddar curds she had laying around. Fortunately, she said her pie turned out fantastic. While that's not what the Greeks had in mind, I'm just crazy enough to be intrigued by the blundering variation. If I can get my hands on some cheddar curds (not in Del Rio), I might just experiment with such pie insanity.

For now, I'll just tell you about the other, far more "traditional" (so-to-speak) cheddar and pie experiment to which I progressed. A surprisingly sizeable portion of the U.S. population has likely heard of apple pie being served with cheese melted on top or on the side as curds or chunks. I believe it's fairly popular in New York and other Northeastern states. The rest of you probably just threw up in your mouth a little. You have no reason to trust me. I'm the type of person who likes weird food combinations like ice cream and cheese sandwiches when I was a kid or Funyons with a Fig Newton when I was ...bored.  But believe me, you haven't lived until you've eaten apple pie with cheese.

I'd seen the combination on menus before and in a scene of Taxi Driver where Robert DeNiro's character orders apple pie with cheese. But I wanted to try to make cheese get cozier with the pie. I wanted to add the cheese directly to the pie as it appeared in many recipes for Yorkshire apple and cheese pies. In fact, our pie-with-a-side-of-cheese tradition was likely brought over to the colonies from English and Scottish settlers.

I found the best white cheddar Del Rio had to offer (some $10/lb blocks from a random New York cheesemaking factory I'd never heard of), and let my madness unleash itself. I found four or five recipes to start from, mixed and matched, and ended up with two experiments.

This unassuming crust holds
a delightful hidden ingredient

One was a streusel pie with the cheese in the filling: standard crust, sliced apples tossed with 1/2 lb of shredded cheddar and the other filling accouterments (cinnamon, nutmeg, lemon juice, corn starch, brown sugar, vanilla, and yes, bourbon), and a sugar-flour-butter streusel topping.

The second pie incorporated cheese into the crust instead of the filling. So I made the same filling, minus the cheddar. Then I folded a 1/2 lb of shredded cheddar into the crust instead. The dough tasted like a cheddar biscuit. It was so good I started to eat raw dough with glazed, crazed delight in my eye. Feeling ill, I returned to pie-making.

I lined the pan with the cheese crust, added the filling and covered the top with the cheddar crust as well (no streusel). Then, I made a maple-*ahem*bourbon sauce to be added to either pie. In the end, neither pie needed the sauce, so I just used it as ice cream topping. The pies were amazing standing alone. The classic combination of sweet fruit with salty cheese. Incorporating the cheddar into the recipe made for a cohesive and subtle cheese flavor. I imagine that taking bites of curd alongside pie would pack a stronger punch.

I'm obsessed, so I could have actually used a bit more cheese flavor in my pie. Next time I might try a pie with cheddar in the crust AND the filling. Convention and moderation can't hold me down.



I was too excited to eat these pies in immediate succession to make time to focus my camera

Through Thick and Thin

As I observed the children's cheesemaking class a few weeks ago, I watched 11-year-olds beat me at my own game. The mozzarella they made in class was a gooey, elastic beauty of dairy Gak. (I miss Gak.). My curd never quite looked like that. It always falls apart into smaller grains. Though, eventually it does come together in the stretching phase. For instance, the last batch of accidentally successful mozzarella I made started out a little grainy, but stretched out to a smooth ball that was fully functional for cooking and melting.

I was jealous of their novice success, yet, undaunted and determined to create an equally attractive mozzarella curd at home. My hypotheses for the cause of my shortcomings were 1) an overly dry curd, caused either by stirring too much, cooking at high temperatures, or a small cut; or 2) a bad set/coagulation, caused either by too little rennet, a short set time, or the poor quality of my store-bought milk. Milk quality was likely the biggest factor. The children's class was using raw milk straight from the cow. But there's nothing I can really do about that, short of getting a goat to feed off the tumbleweed in the desert bordering Mexico out back.

I attempted to mimick the curd of my pre-pubescent nemeses first with a citric acid batch, and then, with a cultured batch. I changed just a few of the factors first to see if I could pinpoint the problem. I used a little more rennet, barely stirred the curd, and cut the curd into large squares to retain moisture. It immediately fell apart. The curd was so weak and grainy that I couldn't even drain it. The curds never molded together and, instead, slipped right through my strainer, mocking me as they poured down my disposal.

So, on my next attempt, I increased the set time as well as the rennet, and I reduced the temperature to about 100 degrees during stirring. I also went back to my original 1-inch checkerboard cut. Same problem. It wasn't the size of the cut, the temperature, or any of my guesses relating to the coagulant, unless it was a combination of all three, in which case I would be making a new batch to control for each factor and sub-factor individually. I did not have the patience or milk funds to be quite that mad of a scientist.

I also surmised that the omission of calcium chloride, which I usually add to strengthen curd from store-bought milk, may have been a culprit. But the mozzarella help page on New England Cheesemaking Supply Co.'s website indicated that the omission shouldn't be a problem even with store-bought milk. In fact, depending on initial calcium phosphate and ionic calcium levels in the milk, calcium chloride may be counterproductive when making mozzarella because during the stretch you are trying to elongate the protein matrix which is held together, in part, by the bound calcium.

Bewildered, angry, and dejected, I drained my second weak batch in cheese cloth instead of a strainer so that I could actually capture some of the useless curd. For what purpose, I don't know. Punch it into submission? Face it down before it ran away in the drain and threaten that soon, very soon, its comrades would be mine to eat? Scare my mess o' curd into working for me, I suppose.

Ricotta ball

Both times my curd looked more like ricotta than mozzarella. Why not just make some ricotta with the whey, I thought, and salvage some of the cost of this failure. Ricotta, translated from Italian to "recooked," is formed when protein and minerals leftover in the whey are precipitated out with heat and acid levels.

I boiled the whey from my cultured batch until flakes of ricotta started to rise, drained it, and formed a small ball (ricotta from whey is a low-yield cheese). You can only make this style of ricotta from whey left after a culture ripened batch, not an acid precipitated batch. In other words, I can't use the whey from my citric acid batch to make ricotta. All of the specific protein that rises out to form ricotta has already been precipitated into the curd when you use acids such as vinegar or citric acid as the ripening or curdling agent.

The ricotta success was met with mild satisfaction as I casually tossed the ball into my fridge. (Stay tuned next time for the delicious journey that ball of ricotta takes.). I had wasted two gallons of milk, and was forced to re-up once again for my final attempt at a really good mozzarella curd. I had regressed from moderate success to colossal disappointment in under two weeks.

Third time's a charm, they say. But "they" say a lot of stupid crap, so I wasn't convinced. Regardless, I started again on a citric acid batch. No calcium chloride, diluted citric acid, a slightly increased amount of rennet, a longer set time, usual cut (1-inch checkerboard). Curd with store bought milk would always be weak, so again I stirred very slowly. I also heated the curd a little more, inching past the usual 110 degrees to about 115. Higher temperatures form a drier curd, which I was hoping would also be firmer and more likely to hold together in the whey. And, while the moisture would take a hit, I was hoping the the slow stirring would compensate. My last correction: using bottled water to dissolve the rennet instead of tap water.

Chlorine, which can be found in trace amounts in most tap water, will kill your rennet. When I started making cheese in the kitchen, I always used bottled water. Then I got lazy and cheap and started using tap water without any repercussion. My curd always set. It wasn't hard to believe that Del Rio's public utilities employees might be cutting some corners in their water treatment and failing to add a chemical or two. So maybe there's no chlorine, I thought? In reality, my guess is that a combination of factors in previous cheeses, maybe varying levels of chlorine or the effects of calcium chloride, masked my tap water problem.

THAT is a good stretch. That
 is also what unrestrained
glee looks like. 

A combination of poor quality milk, the omission of calcium chloride, and tap water interacting with the rennet likely had confounded my two recent mozzarella attempts. Then again, all of this is wild conjecture. The one change to my dilution, however, seemed to do the trick. After draining, I had the best mozzarella curd of my short cheese life. It was still grainer than the class curd, but I think milk quality will always affect that texture somewhat. After it was completely drained, it gelled together into a moist, gooey blob that stretched and stretched until the joy numbed me to the fact that I was burning my hands on hot mozzarella.

Home cheesemaking of late has been a series of peaks and valleys, peaking soon after I simply own the valleys of really, really, sucking at this game. I couldn't make a cheese with a proper meltable texture, so I owned my foibles and made a successful Paneer, a cheese that is meant to be unmeltable. Then, bam, my next attempt at cultured mozzarella sans pH meter worked, almost by accident. Then, I had batch after batch of mozzarella curd that was more aptly identified as bad ricotta. So, I make a proper batch of whey ricotta for the first time. Shazam! No more cheese funk and, on the next attempt, I make mozzarella curd with the best stretch yet. I'm not really sure what to call this pattern of existence. But I'm pretty sure that such a pattern -- one of simply repeating the product of failure in order to become better at the original goal -- would rarely work in other facets of life...at least not without (hilariously) tragic results. And that is one of many reasons why, despite our struggles, cheese and I remain BFFs. 

Cheese and Youth: A Sociologically Sound Guarantee of Excellence in Life

Last week at my Waco gig with Brazos Valley, I learned two things about children. One, if they are open to the idea of experimenting with cheese, then teaching them cheesemaking is a surprisingly productive and fun educational exercise. And, two, children know way too much about the use and effect of ADHD drugs amongst their classmates, and what happens when little Johnny Q forgets to take his pills. This blog is about cheese and not Adderall, so we'll leave the latter to a clever anecdote about the darndest things kids say.

I've mentioned that the good folks at BVC host an array of classes on homesteading crafts like woodwork, blacksmithing, pottery, and, of course, cheesemaking. The cheesemaking classes come in varying level of difficulty and give hands-on instruction on everything from the production to the aging. Usually, adults take the cheese classes. Every once in a while, a visiting school on a field trip will be adventurous enough to test the potentially volatile combination of grade schoolers and hands-on cheesemaking. Last week, I popped in to observe a children's cheesemaking class.

Nothing warms my heart more than a child who is daring with cheese. Most children love the cheeses familiar to mac & cheese or grilled cheeses -- the bright orange and safer versions of dairy-lust. I'm particularly awed, however, by the children who build on their conventional, youthful cheese love by dabbling in cheeses off the beaten path for a little person with such underexposed taste buds. If I meet a child who tells me they like blue cheese (and surprisingly, I've met a handful), that is a child who I know is quite advanced in being awesome at life -- a child who I look at and think, "you know kid, you're going to be alright."

Children are notoriously picky eaters. You can't really blame them for that. A child's receptiveness to foods is largely linked to both physiology and familiarity. Taste buds usually adapt to familiar and repeated flavors. If a child is not used to a food, the "strangeness," either perceived or real, may scare them away. Taste buds also become less sensitive and less abundant with age. So children prefer milder, sweeter flavors, and shy away from flavors like spices or strong cheeses that blast their sensitive palates. Generally, children become somewhat heartier, adventurous eaters as their taste buds soften, and as their parents begin exposing them to new and "unusual," healthy, fresh foods. The extent to which people open up to different foods is still, of course, based on subjective and cultural preferences. So, yes, picky eating is biological, but it is also linked, in part, to good parenting and ensuring your kid isn't a spoiled spawn who gets whatever bland junk food they want.

Kids' cheese preferences and eating habits are perfectly understandable for both scientific and gastronomical reasons. I love the warming comfort of an orange safety cheese myself (save for Kraft Singles or any brand of American cheese, which I have loathed since childhood for leaving my mouth tasting of a rubber balloon swabbed in someone's hot armpit). It's a safe bet that most people raised in this country love those cheeses just the same, at least secretly. And why not?  Boring, industrially-produced cheeses and cheese product is delightfully salty, incredibly versatile, and cooking with it makes you feel about as happy and youthful inside as sucking down a Fla-Vor-Ice on a hot day.

Fighting for position in the curd

But when kids are willing to try foods that are unfamiliar and often strange, it says something to me about their advanced open-mindedness to a world outside of themselves. To find a child who knows about different foods, who affirmatively likes, say, blue cheese, or who at the very least is willing to try unusual cheeses and foods, is to find a child who's momma raised him right.

The children I saw in last week's cheese class of elementary schoolers exhibited all the fine qualities of good-natured adventurousness with food. They were excited to try feta cheese, a salty and often unusual cheese for kids, and scream out their opinion of it, even if the review wasn't particularly glowing. When mozzarella-making rolled around, they were eager for a chance to dip their hands in the gooey curds and whey. Everyone smelled like cheese at the end and nobody complained. Okay, they might have complained a little, but they still had a grand time overall. I'm not too worried about kids like this; I think they're on track to excel...well, as long as they don't forget to take their pills.