m em o a H d e Cheese Recipes for 50 Cheeses from Artisan Cheesemakers Janet Hurst Dedication Dedicated to my family: Jamie, Charlie, my mother, and my late father. Thank you for believing in me, for milking a goat now and then, and for tasting lots of cheese. n t s n t e C o Introduction 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 5 Culture and Rennet 70 Aging Cheese 128 Chapter 1 RECIPE CONTENTS RECIPE CONTENTS Understanding Farmhouse Cheddar 83 Drunken Goat Cheese 139 Cheese 8 Quick Cheddar 85 Goat Cheese Cheese Curds 86 Washed in Beer 140 RECIPE CONTENTS Goat-Milk Cheddar 88 Italian Bag Cheese 141 Chèvre 26 Twenty-Minute Cheese 89 Mixed-Milk Cheddar 142 Crème Fraiche 29 Monterey Jack 91 Mixed-Milk Cheese Curds 143 Quark 30 Pepper Jack 91 Stilton 144 Crottin 31 Mozzarella 93 Cambazola 145 Fried Goat Cheese 32 Thirty-Minute Mozzarella 96 Kochkasse 34 Raw-Milk Farm Cheese 98 Chapter 6 Yogurt 35 Queso Fresco 99 Appreciation and Lebneh 36 Manchego 100 Kefi r 36 Education 146 Amish Cup Cheese 37 Chapter 4 Cottage Cheese 38 Molds, Molds, Cream Cheese 40 Resources 157 Butter 41 and Molds 102 Index 160 Ricotta 42 Whey Ricotta 42 RECIPE CONTENTS Blue Cheese 113 Chaource 115 Chapter 2 Valençay 116 Milk: The Cheesemaker’s Brie 118 Palette 44 Saint Paulin 120 Petite Suisse 121 RECIPE CONTENTS Bûcheron 122 Devonshire Cream 60 Gruyère 124 Halloumi 62 Halloumi in Brine 62 Feta 64 Feta in Olive Oil with Sun-Dried Tomatoes 66 Basket Cheese 67 Sainte Maure 68 Goat-Milk Ice Cream 69 Introduction In the beginning, there was a goat, and it was good. The goat—a marauder, escape artist, and con man—ate the garden, and it was not good. Such is life and the beginning of my journey: life with goats. I look back and wonder, sometimes, how it all began. Growing up in the middle of Hannibal, Missouri, on one of the busiest streets in town, I lived for the weekends. On Saturday mornings, my family headed for a river camp where we fi shed, swam, and enjoyed life to the fullest. Dinner was caught straight out of the river, vegetables cooked from the garden out back. Life was easy and free. Heaven waited for us on the banks of the old muddy Mississippi. If we weren’t at the river, then we would venture out to my great grandmother’s farm. I fondly remember trips to the hen house to collect eggs; bringing in water, cold and fresh from the well; even trips to the outhouse, guarded by a threatening rooster. These all remain as snapshots of my youth. I waded in the creek, picked apples ripe from the tree, rang the old dinner bell, and found kittens in the hay loft. It was a little girl’s paradise. The proverbial seed was planted. Years later, as a young mother myself, I began to dream of a piece of land—a small farm where I could raise my son and share the wonders of rural living with him. Eventually we found such a place: a few acres, a little creek, a place to call our own. We began to take root. Gardens were planted, chickens purchased, and eggs hatched. We learned a Goats arrive early in lot—most of it the hard way. Things looked a lot easier at Great Grandma’s house. the morning for their daily milking. I found there was a whole new language to learn, distinct verbiage attached to each endeavor: queen bees, worker bees, drones, fungicides, pullets, layers, straight runs, laying mash, oyster shells, scratch grains—the list went on and on. Behind each new word there were important details awaiting discovery by the greenhorn, wannabe farmer. We had all the experiences one would expect and many we could not have imagined: chick- ens that drowned, rabbits who refused to mate, dogs that ran away, cats who didn’t. Some days it was paradise; other days a nightmare. We persevered. I read—book after book describing the good life and how to get it. We learned we could build with stone and eat from wooden bowls, dig a cellar by hand, grow our own wheat and make our own bread—from scratch, liter- ally. I read all the books, magazines, and papers extolling 4 the romantic views of country living. I went after it full force, grew a garden to feed the masses, then pickled, fer- mented, dried, and canned until the pantry could not contain the stores. Only one thing was missing: a goat. As I read back through the maga- zines of the 1970s, especially Mother Earth News and Countryside, it seems everyone had a Volkswagen, a back- pack, and a goat. Without fail, the goats were always smiling, happy- looking creatures, and I decided coun- try life could not possibly be complete without one. Or two. Everyone I knew tried to talk me out of it. My parents shook their heads and wondered where they had gone wrong. After all, I had been raised to be a “proper lady,” not one wearing overalls and gum boots. I found my prince one day at a fl ea market. I pulled money from my well- worn backpack and paid for the rights of ownership for my fi rst goat—a billy, at A selection of cheeses that can be easily that. I tucked him in the back of my Volkswagen bug. He was handsome, a young made in your own Nubian buck. I was in love. I named him Amos. home, from simple farmhouse goat One goat is a lonely goat. Amos cried for companions and girlfriends. I com- cheese to a blue plied with his wishes and purchased an Alpine nanny, in full milk. I named her Stilton. Dolly Parton for two obvious reasons. Now, there are lessons to be learned in the goat world. Lesson number one: a nanny sold in full milk is sold for a reason. Nobody is going to raise a goat, feed it all winter, and then sell her when she is in milk unless there is a pretty good reason. There was. Dolly Parton had horrible milk. This being my fi rst goat, I didn’t know any better and secretly wondered why everyone was so excited about this milk that tasted so terrible. One thing Dolly was good for was volume. She made lots of horrible milk, bless her soul. I decided to make cheese from it. Lesson number two: horrible milk makes horrible cheese. I was not to be beaten, so I bought another goat. She gave the best milk I have ever had. It was rich, full of cream. She was another Nubian, the same breed as 5 Amos. She had long, bassett hound–looking ears, a Roman nose, and an udder that swayed seductively back and forth as she pranced through the pasture. No wonder Amos was smitten. His behavior changed the day this lovely creature cycled through her fi rst heat. Amos turned from mild-man- Would you believe nered pest into a sight to behold. He made a little chuckling out of all my childhood artwork, sound, began to urinate on his legs and beard, and courted this is the piece my the fair maiden in anything but a subtle manner. She was mother saved? I must have known quite impressed by his antics, and nature took its course. Five even back then what months later, I found three babies in the barn, little Amos colorful creatures goats were. Believe miniatures. They were perfect. me, truer words were We learned a lot about life on the little farm. Life and death are lived out in never spoken than “Billy goat likes to real time, and blessings and curses fl ow in streams. Animals demand routine and butt his head!” stability. The animal caretaker, in turn, receives those things back. Life takes on a My son, Jamie, as a sameness that is comforting, albeit confi ning. Animals don’t care if it is Christmas budding gardener in 1987. Jamie or Easter or if everyone in the house has the fl u. Feeding time is the same, milk- grew up with goats ing time is the same—no excuses, no exceptions. as companions, sometimes having to My cheesemaking adventures continued, and soon I mastered a decent share the back seat of chèvre and other types of fresh cheese. I went on to cheddar and colby, never the car with them. The values he learned on truly understanding what I was doing and why, but loving every minute of it. I the farm have stayed began to barter and trade with neighbors: their produce for my cheese. with him always. What is there about the animals that becomes a part of life? There is a par- ticular intimacy between a dairy cow and dairy farmer. It is the same with goats and sheep. I know of no other relationships that are more trusting and giving. Does everyone who owns “livestock” feel this way? Does a cattle farmer become bonded with his stock, a pork producer with his sows? To some extent, I imagine so. However, knowing the terminal ends of those beasts, self-preservation will not allow those attachments to become too strong. Goats, cows, and sheep charm their way into your heart. Long-term relationships develop with dependencies forming on both accounts. Bossy becomes a member of the family. Amos would liked to have joined us at the dinner table. Even my parents came around to my way of thinking, and I’ve seen my mother rock a sick baby goat with all the care of a loving grandmother. Though my dad passed away before I was full swing into farming, he knew I was headed in that direction. I believe he watches over me and still shakes his head, saying, “What in the world is she thinking?” Life has come full circle: I now make cheese again, in the kitchen—small- scale artisan production. I share my love of the art through writing, teaching, and sharing the fi nished products. My husband, Charlie, and I have two goats 6 and barter for cow’s milk. Charlie milks alongside me and is learning to make cheese. My son, now grown, is here visiting, and today he ladled curds into the mold. We look back and laugh about our mistakes, shake our heads over our ignorances and the lessons learned the hard way. We began again. A lot has changed in the world of agriculture over the past few years. The family farm is coming back, and local food production is in full swing. It is thrilling to see what has happened with the artisan-cheese industry in the United States. What a reward to see small creameries coming back into being. Some may see cheese as food. But after you read this book and see all that goes into each wheel, each block, Milk cans await, each piece of this creation, it is my hope you will see it as a work of art. heavy with their day’s product. To all those with a dream, press on. Throughout each day, we are built to search for meaning, asking all the important questions: Why am I here? What is my purpose? What is the true meaning of life? I found the answers to many of these questions while tilling the soil, picking the tomatoes, and of course, milk- ing the goats. Like everyone else, I still have those questions that remain unan- swered. Perhaps we are simply not meant to have all the knowledge we seek. Time will tell. Lately, I have been thinking a lot about a cow. Charlie looks worried. I hear a hen cackle, and I smile, knowing the seed is in full bloom. Join me on the journey of cheese. Throughout this book you will fi nd pro- fi les of professional cheesemakers, most of whom learned cheesemaking in their own kitchens, just like you will. Recipes and make procedures have been adapted to the home cheesemaker. Photos are included of commercial equipment to illus- trate the possibilities, assist you in the understanding of commercial cheesemak- ing process, and complete the storytelling process. Without the cooperation, good will, and submissions of those interviewed, this book would not be possible. Every effort has been made to give proper credit for all works cited. Thank you to my friends and colleagues for your contribu- tions. Always remember, “Blessed are the cheesemakers.” 7