Blessed Are the Cheese Makers

Posted on October 12, 2008 by Carol

Andy and I bought a cheese making kit yesterday and spent this evening fashioning our inaugural cheese, a farmhouse cheddar.

As we worked, Cosmo and Blaze both danced around under our feet and paraded about the kitchen, meowing their admiration for shared milk and milk products. They got samples all along, just like we did.

As the curds cooked slowly in their water bath–which is pretty tricky for a beginner to manipulate properly–Andy gently broke them up so they didn’t turn into an unruly mass. (In case you’re wondering, the apron says, “Don’t make me poison your food.” We don’t tend to wear that one when we have company over for dinner.)

Ladling the curds into the cheesecloth for draining. After all these years of using cheesecloth, it’s cool finally getting the chance to use it for the purpose for which it was originally created!

Draining the curds to get rid of the extra whey–which we will use to make ricotta. It’s great getting a second cheese from this enterprise.

Mixing fine salt into the curds. If you’re a seasoned cheese maker, you’ll note that these curds are too small. Beginner’s mistake–we let the water bath get too warm too fast. We’ll see if this affects either flavor or texture in the long run.

The curds in their mold rest under 20 pounds of pressure–actually, a little more. Yes, those are hand weights and a can of tomatoes. It’s smart to use what you have on hand before investing in a proper cheese press, just in case you discover you really don’t enjoy making cheese.

While the future-cheddar did its initial draining, we simmered the remaining whey, skimmed the second batch of curds and made ricotta from that. The first taste told us it would be great for breakfast, so we mixed in some sugar seasoned with vanilla, cinnamon and cardamom and popped it into the fridge.

Of course, we dirtied up every implement in the kitchen and got in each other’s way and probably did at least a dozen things in the least efficient way possible, but that’s okay. This is our foray into cheese making. The more you do anything, the better you get at it. And we both feel like this is something we’ll want to do again and again and again . . . So eventually, we’ll streamline the operation and–we hope–begin producing cheese like pros.

As the mass of curds sits beneath its homemade press overnight, we keep sneaking peeks at it, resting securely in the laundry room, so the cats can’t get at it. It’s like a first time bread baker admiring the dough as it rises.

Ah, there’s such wisdom to be gleaned from The Life of Brian. Andy and I do feel blessed to be trying something new, that promises to yield a tasty and rewarding product in the end. And we feel blessed to be having a good time working on this project together. Yes indeed, blessed are the cheese makers!

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Getting Autumn the Best Way We Can

Posted on October 9, 2008 by Carol

Here in Southern California we don’t get much change in the leaves until AFTER Christmas. And seeing nature’s orange, red and gold confetti in January sits a little oddly–it’s like seeing Christmas decorations in April or lots of American flags at Halloween. (Of course, with the general election falling just four days after Halloween this year, I guess we will be experiencing the orange & black/red, white & blue eyeball disconnect soon.)

This past weekend, Andy and I cruised up the coast to enjoy a change of scenery and celebrate our anniversary away from the crush of LA busy-ness. Along the way we stopped at Underwood’s, our favorite place to pick up fresh produce when we’re making a jaunt to the country.

They do a good job this time of year of making you think it’s actually autumn, or at least the kind of autumn people get in other parts of the country. The kind of autumn I really miss. So stopping here was necessary, even if we didn’t need to buy anything (of course, we brought a cooler and packed it with fruits and veggies).

The place was covered in pumpkins, Indian corn (do they call it Native American corn now?) and gourds of all types, including some quite peculiar ones, the likes of which I’ve never seen.

I just had to bring some of them home. These two look rather like birds nesting in my bumble bee bowl. They’re curious enough that I might have to keep them around even after the harvest season has passed. Maybe I’ll make tiny Santa hats for them to wear . . .

This trip was one of those we occasionally indulge in with a full tank and an empty agenda. Only after we started our drive did we decide to do some wine tasting in Los Olivos, in Santa Barbara County’s Santa Ynez Valley. This hamlet has a number of tasting rooms to choose from, so we stopped at the one with the sleeping cat on the porch. To my mind, that’s a better indicator of a good place to sip wine than simply picking one with any mention of the movie Sideways posted outside. (Yes, there are still people who visit the area looking for a tasting room that will allow them to recreate the film’s infamous spit bucket scene for their camera-wielding friends.)

Of course, tasting led to buying, which led to planning meals with which to enjoy the wines we selected. The syrah we’ll pull out next time we put pork ribs into the smoker. That should happen soon, now that the evenings are getting cool, and smoky rich flavors beckon. The riesling was a surprise purchase, because neither of us are fans of sweet wines. This one is unusual, though, because it’s sweet and yet minerally. We’re eager to see what kinds of foods it will pair well with. I’m betting it will be pretty versatile. And the port, well, we went back and forth with the port. I leaned toward the tawny, which would pair well with salty cheeses, and Andy leaned toward the ruby, with its chocolate-loving potential. Finally we settled on the ruby, since we knew we had some tawny left at home.

One of Los Olivos’ galleries has an outdoor sculpture gallery, which includes this fine lass in all her whisk-haired splendor. I don’t think L’Oreal can help her, even if she IS worth it.

After prowling the business district with its abundance of galleries, we went for dinner, which finished the job of putting us in the mood for fall. Andy’s pumpkin papardelle with duck confit, toasted walnuts, dried mission figs and sage beurre noisette helped us bid goodbye to summer’s light salady fare. The heft of the duck, pasta and figs and the richness of their flavors paired well with the warm syrah in his glass and the cool stirring of the autumn air around our table out on the restaurant porch.

Mushrooms always remind me of cool weather, so the portobello layered with pecan caviar and gruyerre, baked in a crust and served on a bed of wilted spinach with a port jus, was just what I required–sweet, salty and earthy with a slight kick from the jus and a grating of lemon peel. And it looked so amazing that I heard each diner who passed behind me ask their server, “What IS that!?”

It was a good meal, a good drive, a good day and a great way to spend time with my favorite person. Autumn excursions always seem to be the best. We tend to luxuriate in the golden light and linger over wine and conversation, talking about trips past and things we’d like to do–or do again. The walks seem more leisurely and the times, somehow more special. I don’t know what it is about autumn that makes these things so, but it does, at least for me.

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Grape: From Soil to Sip

Posted on September 30, 2008 by Carol


This past Saturday, the last of September, was a great day for getting into the wine spirit. I started by trekking up into the Santa Monica Mountains early that morning to visit the vineyard of a local winemaker, someone who actually grows wine grapes within Los Angeles proper. I’m discovering that, as it turns out, a number of people do.

The angle of various aspects of the mountains to the sun and their proximity to the ocean create varied micro climates which produce an array of wines in a relatively small area. Backyard vintners are beginning to craft wines that, while not on the production scale of the big boys in the outlying areas and upstate, are artfully done and quite special. And, truthfully, these people are not interested in competing with the big boys. This is an enterprise of love.

Cabernet sauvignon and merlot grapevines hugged the steep mountainside as the sun bore down on them–and on us–with the intensity of a summer reluctant to depart. The grapes we sampled were sweet and juicy and filled with the more complex flavors of grapes that are NOT intended for juice production. Our host instructed us to press the grapes in our mouths with our tongues and push the seeds to the side. After we’d savored the grapes, he told us to bite into the seeds themselves to register their bitterness on the sides of the tongue. Adequate bitterness and astringency in the seeds, he explained, are the real indicators of whether the grapes are ready to harvest. They still had just a bit of time to go before picking, he said.

Peek-a-boo! Netting over the grapes prevents birds and most bees from getting to the fruit, while allowing the sun, soil and vine to work their magic.

Row upon row of these veiled vines have a wacky hillside-full-of-Miss-Havishams look about them.

This was an admire-the-vines visit, not a tasting visit. I’d mentioned to one of my fellow visitors, Susan, that Andy and I planned to do some wine tasting that afternoon. She immediately suggested Palate, a new restaurant in Glendale. It turns out her husband Octavio is the chef/principal. By the time Andy and I arrived at the door a couple of hours later, he and wine director Steve were waiting for us!

Palate is not just a restaurant, not just a wine bar and not just a wine store. It’s all of the above, along with wine storage facilities and even a food and wine library!

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, and we had the wine bar to ourselves, as most people converge on the place at dinnertime. Steve, who is filled with equal parts wine knowledge and wine passion, clued us in on the pedigrees of the wines we sampled and later selected to carry home.

Andy & I appreciate a wine bar where you can consider the offerings on the chalkboard while you’re sipping and sampling.

We spent a pleasant couple of hours sampling their wines, which were all appealing, decidedly eclectic–and affordable!–and munching on a variety of artisanal cheeses, salumi, Berkshire pork rillettes, delicately pickled vegetables and homemade butter. (If you’ve never given butter a second thought, just go looking for the good stuff. You won’t want to bother with smearing it on bread–you’ll want to eat it right off the plate with your fingers!)

Homemade butter, homemade bread . . .

Pork rillettes, pickled onions and pickled lemon cucumber, backed up with buttered, toasted bread sliced so thinly that it seemed to have only one side!

These guys even feature lardo on their charcuterie plate.
Why would anyone ever trim away the fat–except to showcase it like this!

Chef Gary Menes stopped by with an armload of salumi for his appreciative audience. We ooh’d and aah’d respectfully as thinly-shaved slices of porky heaven melted on our tongues. (Sorry! I’ll try not to wade so deeply into Ruth Reichl’s food porn territory!)

Chef Gary and enough spicy, cured pork
to keep L.A.’s food enthusiasts purring for awhile.

After sipping and sampling and chatting with Steve, Octavio and Gary, we made our wine purchases, and then trundled home for our postprandial snooze. We didn’t eat anything the rest of the day. We didn’t need to, as we were quite satisfied with the quality and quantity of our midday meal.

From grapevine to wine stem, it was a good day to be a wine lover.

P.S. I spotted a bucket of wine corks sitting on a window ledge and had to shoot a couple of pix. This is the new desktop photo on my computer.

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Cookbooks Are Great History Texts

Posted on September 24, 2008 by Carol
Today I had the pleasure of examining some cookbooks from the 1800s through 1904, all newly purchased by the Culinary Historians of Southern California for donation to the Los Angeles Public Library’s cookbook section.

Cookbooks of any era are marvelous eyepieces for glimpsing into a particular time and place and for gathering clues about how people lived, cooked and ate. I’m glad I had the presence of mind to shoot a few photos of what was in front of me–I just wish I’d taken more. These books are treasures, not just for their recipes, but because they provide a unique form of time travel.

Fifty Years in a Maryland Kitchen, published in 1873, was written by a woman whose name we do not know. Identified as Mrs. B.C. Howard, we are only sure who she married. Some of the recipes are quite simple, as in the instructions for roasting pheasant: Roast the pheasant the same way you do a chicken. The implication is that everyone already knows how to roast a chicken, an assumption you can’t make today.

Other recipes are for dishes you just don’t see on menus and in cookbooks nowadays, as in “Veal Bewitched”:

The recipe notes that veal bewitched tastes like boned turkey. These days turkey costs much less than veal, so during the time in which this book was written, veal must have been the bargain meat, and this description would have encouraged cooks to give the dish a try. Speaking of things you won’t find in a menu or a cookbook these days, the words “meat” and “jelly” seldom appear on the same page, much less in the same phrase.

The 1904 Blue Grass Cook Book by Minnie C. Fox (well, this is a step in the right direction, as there’s no indicator this time of marital status) includes a collection of photos, not of particular dishes or ingredients or even kitchens. No, throughout the book are photos like this one:

I doubt it was the author’s intent to make us all cringe while looking through her cookbook (she probably never envisioned someone from 2008 even finding it). But it’s difficult not to, when you see images like this with captions like this. I have to keep reminding myself that this is simply the way it was then. This is history preserved for our consideration.

Her recipes include instructions that few home cooks have to follow anymore: “Kill your hogs when the wind is from the northwest.” If you are unsure about how to cook your ham, on account of its age, you’re instructed: “Never bake a ham under a year old.” If it’s an old one, you’re instructed: “Scrub well and soak an old ham in plenty of water for 48 hours.”

It includes instructions for opening and dressing a terrapin. How many people today even know what a terrapin is without googling it? (And how many people 104 years from now will know what “googling” means in this dusty old blog that somehow has survived?)

By the way, I just love the author’s name, Minnie Fox. Wonder if she was petite, with red hair, pointy features and a fondness for barnyard fowl?

One particularly rare and valuable cookbook was set down by hand in a most beautiful pen. No one writes like this anymore:

I’m guessing Esther made an A in penmanship.

This cookbook is in two volumes, one of which includes an index of recipes. I’d say our scribe had a thing for organization. Unfortunately, I can’t read Spanish, beyond the rudimentary (abierto, cerado, baños), so I must leave the secrets of history locked in her recipes for someone else to discover.

I began this line of thought back in the summer with a blog that mentioned my 1930s New Orleans cookbook. Makes me want to revisit it (if you’re interested, take a look at my blog of July 30, 2008, “Hand-Wringing Over Neck-Wringing”). There’s a world of New Orleans history inside that tiny tome on cooking, just as there’s a world of history inside most every cookbook.

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Backyard Treasure Chest: avocados are my emeralds

Posted on September 23, 2008 by Carol
The few, the proud, the un-nibbled . . .

I’m in my free-food excitement mode again. Well, yes, technically we paid for the avocado tree when we bought the house, but since it isn’t a Haas, I’ve never given its yield much respect or much thought. Also, most of the avocados have bites missing, courtesy of the squirrels who nibble-and-toss, nibble-and-toss, leaving the ground covered with avocados every day and making the territory under the tree a hardhat zone. (I’ve been conked on the noggy before by an avocado-chucking squirrel, and believe me, it HURTS!)

I’m thrifty, but you have to draw the line somewhere. I will NOT carve off the squirrel gnawings and eat the rest! The idea of squirrel cooties just doesn’t sit well with my appetite.

It irks me to have to throw away so many avocados. So if I find any on the ground that have dropped of their own accord and have no bites missing, I grab them up and trot inside with them. Since I can gather so few for our own use (occasionally I manage pull one off a low branch with the edge of the hoe), it’s as if they’re a wild plant that I’ve happened to run across. And if you’ve been following my blog, you know that I also get excited about harvesting and eating things like nettles, dandelions and chickweed that grow wild in my yard.

Okay students, let’s review: the young dandelion and the chickweed just starting to grow in and among these chives are as important to me as the chives themselves.

I recently found a book on avocados and ID’d the type that of tree grows in our yard. It’s the fuerte, so named because of its vigorous nature. It turns out that you really can do a lot with this variety. The book even suggests roasting, which I’ll have to try.

Considering how expensive avocados are, and increasingly so in this economy, I’m going to have to develop a taste for our variety. It’s nice not having to drop lots of green on this quite pricey green.

Hmm, let’s see, dips, shakes, soups, sandwich filling, salad ingredient, omelet topping . . . This could involve more avocados than I can rescue from the greedy little paws of the squirrels we collectively call Chunky. Perhaps squirrel stew with an avocado garnish? . . .

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