I can makes cheez?

Wait - I seriously haven't posted since NOVEMBER? Where have I been??

(Short answer: Chicago, New York, England, Wales and Tampa. Possible posts to come on some of those. Though if I haven't managed anything yet ...)

The latest cancer treatment news is that I start a new round of radiation tomorrow. A second set of radiation, you say? Isn't that risky and stuff? Well, yes, but it's that or live on chemo until the chemo stops working. So.

Because I know the next few months are going to be Not Fun, The Boy and I have been trying to fit in as many happy things as possible. A small one, but something we've always wanted to try, was making cheese. So for Christmas I got him a mozzarella-making kit from Roaring Brook Dairy.

It came with a small block of rennet; baggies of cheese salt (which has no iodine) and citric acid; a small thermometer; and a pair of rubber gloves.



"All you need," it said, "is one gallon of milk!"

So, cool. Milk acquired and decanted into the Dutch oven. In other news, we learned we had a one-gallon Dutch oven. Phew!



Once the temperature reached 85 degrees, we added the citric acid. At 100 degrees we added the rennet. Suddenly, we had primordial cheese.



After a ten minute rest (for us and the cheese) it was time to separate the curds and whey.



The goal was to get as much liquid as possible out of the curds. This took a while.



Some amount of manual labor was required (with gloves because hot cheese).

Then I noticed that the instructions mentioned putting the curds in a microwaveable bowl.

This was a problem.

We don't have a microwave.

There's no real reason for this; we're not purists. We've just never felt the need. And our counter space is pretty much occupied with other things at this point, so getting a microwave would mean moving things around and squashing our available workspace even more.

Yes, it's a little annoying when we buy things (say, proper Christmas pudding) that requires an hour of steaming in a bain marie or a quick 15 minutes in the nuker.

It's even more of a pain in cases like Project Mozzarella, where the assumption is that there's no need to include instructions of the analog kind, because who could possibly be so ill-equipped?

So I hopped on the Googles to see what our options were. First stop was The Pioneer Woman's blog; she had a whole post on making mozzarella. Look at her and her gorgeous, wholesome friends, going back to the old ways!

And then they got to this part:

12. Then transfer the cheese to a microwave-save bowl and microwave the curd on high for 1 minute.

Okay, she's a modern pioneer woman, I guess. Unless I missed the Little House episode where the Ingalls clan takes the covered wagon to Best Buy.

At this point, I wasn't in the mood to plough through a bunch of sites looking for help. The Boy vaguely remembered seeing a show about cheesemaking that involved something like oversized steam tables, so we improvised with a bain marie (two references in one post!). The goal was to cook the curds enough to wring out more whey, and then heat the cheese up to a stretchable texture.

This proved tricky, and took a while, but eventually we were there. And no, I didn't take any photos of that part. Go back and look at Pioneer Woman's sexy photos and imagine that's what it looked like.

The end result: not pretty.



But pretty good for a first attempt. And pretty tasty, too; more buttery than the shop-bought stuff. A little more chewy, but certainly edible.

Dinner that night:



The original plan had been to do the whole pizza from scratch: I'd already made a dough; we had a basil plant, still holding on from the summer; and I had a final harvest of cherry tomatoes that I'd oven-roasted and frozen for a moment just like this.

However, I'd forgotten that I'd already used up the tomatoes in a (very delicious) stew. So I went out and got more (I know! Seasonal produce FAIL!), which I roasted guiltily.

Plus, also, prosciutto, which we didn't make from our own pig.

Plus, after all that, I forgot to use the basil.

Still. Pizza.



As you may be able to tell, the mozzarella didn't get as melty as we'd hoped. Not sure whether that was the result of overly enthusiastic manual stimulation, or the issue with the heat, or what. But that cheese kit will allegedly provide us with chances to make another three pounds of cheese, so we'll just keep trying.

Il brutto, il buono, il formaggio

This week I sat in on a cheese tasting class at BU's Metropolitan College, part of their Seminars in Food, Wine & the Arts program.

It was LC Sarah's idea to go, she being as much of a cheese-lover as I, and we met up with her friend Pooja and grabbed a table for three.

The class wasn't as full as I'd expected, and certainly not as busy as when we've been there for cocktail classes with Jackson Cannon. Which was surprising, given that our instructor was as big (if not bigger) in the cheese world than Jackson is in the, uh, spirit world: Ihsan Gurdal, owner of Formaggio Kitchen.

As a bonus (like we needed an incentive), class participants got a copy of The Cheese Primer, a nice introduction to worldwide cheese regions.



In the angled mirror above the counter, you can see the reflection of the evening's intensive study focus.



Ihsan got straight into the important stuff: cheese storage. Saran wrap was right out, because it messes with the cheese's natural moisture balance; wax paper was better. At the Formaggio in Cambridge, Ihsan has built a cheese cave to replicate perfect storage conditions. For the rest of us, the salad crisper in the fridge is the best option (who knew?).

He explained the importance of checking cut cheese for a shiny coating (the result of oils rising to the surface), and of scraping it off, because the oils quickly turn rancid and spoil the flavor. And he described the best way to slice a cheese: in wedges that include both the center and the outside, because the flavor is different at the core than at the rind.

Then he outlined the differences between cheese made with goat, sheep, and cow milk: how the first is the most sensitive to pasteurization; the second is fattier; the third is most common because it's available year-round. How the first milking of the morning produces creamier liquid, because the animals have been resting and digesting all night. How the grazing location (high altitude, for instance) or season (dictating availability of herbs and wildflowers) creates variations in the same cheese throughout the year.

And he talked about how he builds relationships with cheese producers, buying directly from the source, rather than going through importers and distributers. This allows him to find small-scale suppliers and unusual varieties, but also means he has to win over producers who are reluctant to sell outside of Europe.

Ihsan recounted visiting a producer in France who houses thousands of wheels of cheese in an old underground fortress and doing a taste-test under the affineur's watchful eye.

"I taste pineapple," he said, "and ... hazelnuts."

"Hazelnuts? French or Italian? Skin on or skin off? Roasted or unroasted?"

Luckily for us, he passed the test.

The class (consisting largely of women who were all, I think, quite taken with our raconteur), sat in rapt silence while he shared anecdotes of travel, and tasting, and discovery.



And then we started on our own taste adventure.

First, two goat's milk cheeses: Meg's Big Sunshine from Ruggles Hill Creamery (check out the photos of their awesome goats!) and Robiola di capra al fico from Piedmont, Italy.





Both were creamy and butttery, with a slight citrus hint. I preferred the American over the Italian, but it was close.

The red stuff on the top plate is an insanely good strawberry-rose jam from Blue Chair.

Next up, sheeps. Ihsan served up two Corsican cheeses with both the best-smelling and worst-smelling rinds evar. The good was the Saveur du maquis (literally "taste of the brush"), the outside of which was coated with the same scrub vegetation that the sheep eat: juniper, rosemary, thyme, and other herbs. It smelled like Sunday lunch and tasted amazing.



The ugly, at the other end of the spectrum, was L'Empereur. The cheese was nice enough — slightly crumbly, with a rich flavor — but the rind is rubbed with lamb fat, which gives it an aroma best described as litière de chat.

Breathe it in, won't you?



Then we moved on to cow's milk cheese: a creamy, fabulous comté from Marcel Petite (he of the underground cheese fortress)



and Wavreumont from Belgium. It's made in a style once practiced at monasteries, and it has strong flavor; Sarah described it in her notes as "funky monk." 'Nuff said.



And then the last tasting: blue cheeses. First, Stichelton, an unpasteurized cow's-milk variety from Nottinghamshire, buttery, creamy, with notes of caramel.



And then Blu di Capra stagionato at its ripest. Check out this beast. Meant either to kill or cure.



Okay, maybe that's an overstatement. Alls I know is that my still-baby tastebuds are not quite ready for the intensity of flavor in a blue like this. My notes read, "IT BURNS! IT BURNS!" so I wasn't able to identify anything more subtle.

Lest you think this put a damper on the evening, rest easy. I added another item to my list of Things I Can't Eat Yet, discovered some amazing new cheeses (and jams and honeys and wines), and found an excellent excuse to make a trip to Huron Village.

So, who's up for a cheese-tasting party?

Eating everything in York

While we were in England over the Christmas holiday, we took the train to York to meet up with Julie, who I've known since we were 4 years old. She lives in London, so I get to see her only rarely. Though York isn't exactly halfway between us, it's the most attractive option for hanging out (sorry, Peterborough and Doncaster). And it was a good opportunity to eat.

First stop, while we were still in the railway station: the West Cornwall Pasty Co (warning: website is an impenetrable Flash nightmare). We were drawn in by the enormous pastries, but ended up ordering a lovely, warm Cumberland sausage bun.



And then Julie's train arrived, and we all set out into the cold, damp day to find Bettys.

One of the greatest misapprehensions about the English is that we spend a significant part of every day drinking tea and eating tiny, crustless sandwiches.

While it's true that My People do put away a fair amount of tea — in preparation for visiting my parents, The Boy and I have to increase our caffeine tolerance — the whole china-tea-service-and-dainty-cakes concept is a special event, not a daily occurrence.

But though English people have more important things to do than eat petits fours and sip Earl Grey every day, that's not to say they don't enjoy it, given the chance. Bettys, a 100-year-old chain of teashops local to Yorkshire, fulfills the need.

The York branch is the flagship, allegedly designed to resemble the Queen Mary. It's a good mix of solid brass and delicate stained glass, with huge wraparound windows, which are great when you're inside, staring at the long line of people waiting outside for a table.





Bettys menu is pretty extensive — everything from toasted teacakes to steak pie, with a wide variety of teas and coffees. We thought about doing the full-on afternoon tea (sandwiches, scones and clotted cream), but then Julie and I decided on the Yorkshire Rarebit (strong Cheddar and Yorkshire ale):



The Boy went for the bacon, Gruyère and Raclette rösti, creamy and sweet with a touch of smoky saltiness:



And then, because it's a Bettys thing: Fat Rascals.



They're scone-like, with raisins and candied fruit, and a face made of almonds and cherries. They're fabulous warm with butter. Here's a Fat Rascals recipe.



Finally, stuffed with cheese and Rascals, we stumbled back out into the gray, damp day, and strolled around York Minster. You want history? This version of the building was begun in 1080. The first church on the site was thrown together in 627. Old enough?



Oh look, more pasties.



Back in my day, pasties came in two styles: meat and potato or cheese and onion. Now you can get everything: pork and apple, balti chicken, something with feta (!?). The world has changed.

One last stop on the way back to York train station: Demijohn, which sells artisanal oils, spirits, vinegars and preserves siphoned out of ... well ...



We got to sample the sloe gin, which was berry-bitter, refreshing and warming.



And then back to the station for hugs goodbye and a train heading north and the realization that there was so much more food to discover.

Thanks for a fab day, Joolz!

Eating Christmas in England

We spent Christmas with my parents in England while the country was wearily digging out from the tail end of a two-month snow emergency.





Though things were more or less back to normal, we were happy to embrace snowboundness and stay home, where there was a cozy fire and copious quantities of Christmas foodstuffs.

On Christmas Eve, The Boy and I made the traditional Puerto Rican dinner, more or less: roast pork (pernil), here in its "before" state:



and the coconut custard tembleque for dessert. We used this easy tembleque recipe, which was made more entertaining by the use of my mom's magic stirring gadget:



Christmas lunch, of course: roast beef, roast potatoes done in goose fat, Yorkshire puddings ditto, roast parsnips and carrots, Brussels sprouts and lovely cauliflower cheese.



And the very necessary Christmas pudding with custard:



Christmas pudding is one of my favorite things, possibly because I know there's only one serving a year. I love the sticky-sweetness of the fruit and the extra-hot custard. Actually, I'd still love it if I could eat it all year round.

The family came over on Boxing Day. We made sandwiches and chocolate cake, benne wafers and key lime pie. And there were quiches and cheeses and prosciutto and dates. And people brought more chocolate cake, and carrot cake, and my aunt's famous corned beef pie:



My dad did a ham, which means not pre-brined, pre-flavored meat, but raw fresh pork leg. This is also one of my favorite Christmas things.



So are mince pies, here served warm with Greek yogurt (okay, not traditional Christmas fare, but it works):



And not particularly related to Christmas, but certainly connected to fabulous pork products, black pudding.



Also, my mom makes an amazing fruited tea loaf.



And none of this includes our trip to York. Mayhap we found pork and pastries and cheese there too, hmmm?

A Puddingstone Kitchen feast

Last month (I know, I have a lot of catching up to do) our lovely friends Melinda and Christine invited us (and Cindy G and ScurvyAnn) over for a dinner created by MaryCat Chaikin of Puddingstone Kitchen.

This was my first experience of seeing how a catered in-home dinner came together; I was excited to take a bunch of photos. But of course I FAILED to realize that my camera was on a manual low-light setting, so nothing looks nearly as flattering or delicious as it actually was.

If you squint slightly while you look at the photos, it helps. But not too much or you'll get a headache.

Puddingstone Kitchen sources locally; much of the evening's ingredients came from the Central Square farmer's market.

MaryCat started us out with an antipasti platter: hand-foraged hen-of-the-woods mushrooms, roasted veggies, cloumage from Shy Brothers, and handmade burrata.



MaryCat made the burrata herself, and explained the exacting creation process, which involves precise temperatures and a lot of kneading. It's easy to mess up, apparently, but when it all comes together, the result is creamy and soft and divine.

Here's MaryCat explaining her cheesemaking strategy. You can tell this was a long exposure because I managed to get Christine looking in two different directions.



Back in the kitchen, MaryCat and her assistant (whose name I've forgotten — sorry!) finished the salads.



The heirloom tomato was hyperlocal (from M and C's garden). The accompanying galette was rich and full of fall flavors: roasted delicata squash, carmelized onions, sage.



Next was hangar steak, tender and juicy, with mashed potatoes.



And dessert ... ohhh, dessert. Cranberry upside-down cake with brown sugar, served with honeyed yogurt. More than a month ago, and my mouth still waters when I think about it.



I owe extremely belated gratitude to Melinda and Christine for their hospitality (and for the ginormous extra tomato we came away with. Size of a baby's head, completely fabulous).

And to Puddingstone Kitchen: Wow. That was amazing. Thank you.

What we ate in San Francisco

This morning we got back from a real actual vacation.

It's hard to believe that this time yesterday we were on the West Coast, finishing up a week of eating and sightseeing and hearing about the powerful warm weather back home (the temperature barely hit 70 the whole time we were in California).

I have to write it all down as much for my own purposes (failing memory and all) as to share adventures in eating (which included food trucks, street food and Chez Panisse; some of these most definitely earn a post of their own).

So here's a rundown of some of the things we ate in San Francisco.

From Far West Funghi in the Ferry Building market, a truffle macaron (because they were all out of porcini). It was an intriguing (in a good way) balance of desserty sweetness with truffle's dark earthiness.



We also checked out the Cowgirl Creamery location and drooled over cheeses (they had a few of the New England types we tried at ONCE Cheese).



And we picked up a snack pack to go: Bellwether Farms Crescenza with marinated olives and sesame crackers, as close to butter as you can get while still being cheese.



We also wandered into the Mission, where we did a little pirate-goods shopping at 826 Valencia and then had lunch at Regalito Rosticeria.

The fresh guacamole comes with warm, whole, crispy tortillas.



The cochinita pibil was smoky, warm-spicy, slow-cooked and topped with pickled red onion.



The food was not unlike the style of Mexican found here, except. Except. The cheese was queso fresco, the tortillas tasted like corn, the salsa verde was made with fresh tomatillos and the tomatoes were full of flavor.

We had drinks at the Rickhouse, which is a lot like Drink or Eastern Standard in that the bartenders have encyclopedic cocktail knowledge. It's a lovely space. Note the jars of fresh garnish.







At Wexler's we had scotch eggs with runny yolks. That blew my mind-grapes.



And then there was our visit to the Fillmore Jazz Fest on July 4th, which meant we got to try all kinds of fun stuff, including pupusas stuffed with pork, tomato and avocado:



Fresh, warm beignets, loaded with powdered sugar:



And the two best discoveries: Spam musubi, a work of Hawai'ian genius involving Spam and rice wrapped in seaweed:



And BBQ oysters (shucked, grilled, and basted with garlic butter)



What a country!