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.

Southern style at M3 in Davis Square

Like the formation of a new and delicious galaxy, there has been something of a slow-motion explosion of interesting places to eat in the Boston-Cambridge-Somerville area over the past year or so.

Which is particularly frustrating when one spends a considerable amount of time unable to eat (or at least unable to eat in polite society). I spend my days reading local food blogs and noting the new arrivals with a mix of curiosity and chagrin.

On good weeks, I'm torn: Do I try out a new restaurant, or do I fall back on an old favorite (especially if I've been craving, say, Eastern Standard's charcuterie plate while sucking cold soup through a straw)?

Last night we decided on the former, and headed into Davis Square to check out new southern restaurant M3, which is in the corner spot that used to be Out of the Blue, which was in the spot that used to be Dolly's.



It's a small space, and was pretty busy when we arrived before 6pm. The only available seats were at the counter, which suited us fine, because we were able to watch the action in the tiny kitchen.

The decor is retro-kitsch, but not precious. The walls are covered in chalkboard paint, the lights are hung inside canning jars, and the beer fridge is vintage and chubby.



We ordered beer and studied the menu: frogs' legs? Fried green tomatoes? Oyster po' boy made with Island Creeks? Duck fat (gasp!) burger?

No, wait. Of course, it had to be:



Deep fried cheese curds.

We had discussed going to the Big E again this year, pretty much for the sole purpose of tracking down the cheese curds vendor. But now we didn't have to.

Which, as The Boy pointed out, was not necessarily a good thing.

"It was better when they were a two-hour drive away, and only available for a few days a year," he said, between mouthfuls of popplers. "Now they're just down the street. How am I supposed to control myself?"

The curds at M3 are less cheesy than their state fair cousins — rather than being in big chewy chunks, the cheese is smaller and melts into the batter. But we could still imagine ourselves stopping by M3 for a beer and a quick cheese-curd fix. Often. Too often.

Anyway, there was something more dangerously tasty on the specials board yesterday: chicken and waffle nuggets.



Imagine brined chicken, dipped in waffle batter, deep fried and finished with poached cherries.

The whole thing is soft and warm; the batter is pillowy and a little sweet; the fruit adds a slight tartness and pulls everything together.



Now we really could have stopped there; a little deep-fried goodness goes a long way. But we'd already ordered mains, all of which come with a choice of three sides (hence "meat and three," or M3). So:

For The Boy, chicken-fried steak with corn, Brussels sprouts and sweet potato casserole.



The steak breading had an almost chocolatey note to it, which was unexpected and good.

I've never quite understood how marshmallow became the default topping for sweet potatoes, but there you go. This was Fluff, which I guess counts as locavore (??).



I had the catfish, with more Brussels, the mac and cheese, and the root veggie hash.



The fish was nice and flaky, though sliced so thin that it was a little overwhelmed by the batter for my liking.



The sprouts were small and plentiful, and the mac and cheese ... was a thing of beauty. Light, creamy, with a mild cheese sauce, it reminded me of the baked macaroni pudding desserts we'd sometimes have when I was a kid.

But yes, we had indeed ordered way too much food; the portions are extremely generous.



How generous? Put it this way: we had our sides boxed up to bring home. I weighed the leftovers, which clock in at just over a pound.

In other news, dinner tonight is sorted.

I currently feel a little overwhelmed at the number of new places to try. Do youse guys have any suggestions? Is there a new restaurant we really should check out while I'm still able to eat?

If it's fried, it must be at the Big E

Today we made the pilgrimage to The Big E, the multi-state state fair in Western Mass, to do two things:

1) Eat disgusting fried food
2) Check out the farm animals

Let's take them in reverse order.

Cows!



Sheep!



Woolly and naked sheep!



Mexican wrestler sheep!



Just-back-from-jazzercise sheep!



Real Sheep of Beverly Hills!



Okay, enough of that. Now to the food.

One of my goals was to find a place selling deep-fried butter, which debuted at the Texas State Fair in 2009, hit Iowa earlier this year and finally (finally!) showed up on the East Coast.

Butter? Meh! How about this?



It was a tough decision, but we opted for the butter and the Kool-Aid.



The latter, it turned out, would be easy to replicate at home: the secret ingredient is Kool-Aid powder in the batter, with a generous amount shaken like sugar over the dough while it's still hot. Inside, they're a stunning color not found in nature.



And they were pretty good; the slightly tart flavor of the drink powder gave a nice contrast to the sweet dough.

And then to the other. The secret is to freeze the pats of butter so that they don't immediately soak into the dough. There's a pool of hot, cinnamon-sugary butter inside each ball, which means you have to eat them very carefully.



I liked the butter better; The Boy had expected a more salty, savory taste, so preferred the hot pink variety. Neither of us felt the need to eat anything else for a while.

After a couple of hours of sheep/cow/piglet/chicken/goat-gazing, however, we were ready for more. In particular, I had my eye on something I'd seen advertised in previous years but never tried: the Craz-E Burger.

All I knew was that you could buy t-shirts that said something like, "I finished the Craz-E burger!" which led me to assume it was either so huge, or so rich, or so labor-intensive to devour that the few who did so were hailed as champions.

Now I realize that it's because the Craz-E burger is crap.

Thing is, when I think "bacon-cheeseburger inside a doughnut," I imagine a hot, fragrant Krispy Kreme, fresh out of the oven, glistening with melted sugar, enveloping a patty of sirloin, cooked medium. The cheese is melting onto the meat; the bacon is crisp. The flavors dance together, varying levels of sweetness and saltiness playing off each other, creating a perfectly balanced whole.

This is what we got.





The doughnut was cold, the meat was gray, the cheese probably didn't even possess the capacity to melt. And yes, maybe I shouldn't have expected more from something served up at a state fair, but still. It was sad.

Thank goodness happiness was close by.





Hot, salty, with a crisp batter and perfectly soft cheese.

Then, as we have on previous visits, we headed to the houses of the individual New England states for dessert: rich, eggy Finnish pancakes with blueberry sauce;



and fresh raspberries.



And then, just because: a piece of bacon covered in dark chocolate. That's how you do the sweet-salty thing.



All in all, a fun trip, though not one we need to make again for another couple of years. The attractions were pretty much the same as on our previous visit (we later realized we'd taken photos of the exact same food stalls in 2009 as we did in 2011), and state-fair-food trends move so gradually that we're not likely to miss out on the next deep-fried delicacy if we skip a season.

Though I can't say the same about the spring line of sheep fashion ...

Things we ate at the Big E

We went to the Big E in Springfield, partly so I could get my annual fix of sheep and goats, partly so we could check out the terrifying midway rides, and partly because it was a beautiful day.

But mostly, we went to eat.

First, the things we did not eat:













Look! Fresh (deep-fried) vegetables!









Because when I think martinis and sushi, I think state fair.



The "Craz-E Burger" appeared to be the culinary apogee of this year's Big E; there were regular PA announcements reminding people of its existence, and souvenir t-shirts (doubtless only available in sizes L, XL, XXL) proclaiming that the wearer had survived the experience of consuming one.

I admit that I was tempted; I could hear it calling me out ("C'mon, what's the matter? Afraid you can't do it?"). But sanity won out.

And now to the things we did eat.

Corn dog, with a satisfyingly sweet coating and a perfectly done dog:



Mac and cheese, made with Massachusetts's own Granville Cheddar (could have done with more sauce and less pasta, but the cheese was great):



Completely delicious deep-fried cheese curds, with a slight crunch to the batter and a gooey interior:



This made The Boy very happy.



Then we switched to the sweet stuff, beginning with 28 donuts.



Okay, they were only small. But they still filled a bag:



Next, the very necessary flan-like Finnish pancakes, served with blueberry sauce:



Followed by fresh Massachusetts raspberries (see, that's two items with fruit!):



A small helping of lovely creamy rice pudding, courtesy of Down Home Rice Pudding (they also do chocolate and tapioca):



And then — oh, and then — the best thing of all. The food item we'd neglected to try on our previous Big E visit, and subsequently thought about for the next two years.



The deep-fried Oreo.



How to describe? It was like an Oreo with the bass turned up. Soft, warm, sweet; like a hug topped with powdered sugar. Highly recommended.

So the Big E was a resounding success as far as our desire to eat copious amounts of fried loveliness was concerned. We drove home with the smell of cooking grease clinging to our clothes, feeling disgusted with ourselves, and vowing to eat salad the rest of the week.

And debating whether to buy some Oreos. And a deep-fat fryer.