SAY CHEESE

6/11/98
I scrubbed the cooker and poured four jugs of milk into
it before doing chores. It had warmed to room temperature
by the time I strained this morning's gallon into one of the
glass jars. As I washed the milkers out I remembered needing
rennet, the small bottle of concentrate has made twenty pounds
of cheese, it must be getting low. I hung the milking tank
on it's hook and without bothering to change from my barn
boots, drove over to the Red & White. I found the last package
of tablets, they don't carry the vegetable-based liquid I'd
bought at the natural foods store last year, then walked down
the stairs to the butcher's office.


The Amish butcher and a helper had come to the homestead
yesterday to slaughter our hog. As it hung from the hydraulic
boom on the truck I had asked Joe to guess it's weight,
saying I thought about three-twenty, he said, "Naw, she'll be
just about two-ninety." I'd paid thirty-five dollars for the
piglet last fall from Joe. He no longer raised pigs but said
his father does and will ask if he has any for sale to replace
this one. The cows give too much milk, I hate wasting it
on the compost pile and sure don't have the time to make cheese
every other day.


Joe was on the phone so I sat down for a minute and re-read
the cut-list Gin and I had made out last night. Eight,
four-pound front shoulder roasts, one loin sliced into fresh
pork chops and three per package, one and a half pound
packages of sausage with no seasonings - just ground pork;
and one pound packs of liver made up the top half of the ticket.
Below the perforations was the smoked section. It read...
hams cut in half with four center slices wrapped
separately, one loin sliced thin and three per package,
one and a half pound packages of thin-sliced bacon, and
two-pound packages of hocks. Added to the bottom of the slip
was... ground fat for lard or soap wrapped and boxed, you can
keep the heart and tongue. Joe and I went over the list when
he hung up the phone and he said he'd call when the fresh pork
was ready. The hams and bacon would take a month to smoke.
I started out the door, then turned to ask how much she had
weighed. Joe laughed and said, "Two-ninety-eight!" I
hurried home with my rennet.


I lit the fire under the pot before heading back to the barn.
I chased Ella back to her pen then snapped a rope to
Daisy's collar, leading her up to the lawn for a short
taste of rain-washed grass before she'd spend the rest of
the day in the almost bare pasture. I tied the rope to a
locust tree then went back for Rosi, tethering her far
enough from Daisy to provide an even clipping to the small
lawn. I checked the temperature of the milk, 130
degrees, then retraced my steps to quickly sweep the barn
floor before calling my morning chores officially
finished.


Back at the cabin I kicked off my boots at the door and
slipped into moccasins. The milk was now at 150 degrees,
almost pasteurized. I poured my second cup of coffee and
stirred the milk until it hit 160, close enough for jazz, I
turned off the stove. When it cools below 90 I'll add a
quart of cultured buttermilk to re-introduce the needed
bacteria, let it ripen for an hour or so, then stir in the
rennet and let it set for another hour to form the curd.
 

I haven't always pasteurized the milk before making cheese,
and it isn't really necessary but the last batch molded
before reaching its desired flavor, a year or more for my
favorite, extra sharp. I am hoping this batch goes the
whole distance.


Once the curd formed, a three-inch rubbery mat floating on
the top of the whey, I slice it into half-inch cubes and turn
the fire back on its lowest flame. This step further
separates the whey. I stir it and cut up any larger chunks I
missed the first time while it heats up to a hundred and
five degrees. This is the only time I need to really pay
attention to the cheese making process, I don't want it
to burn.


As soon as the thermometer reaches 105, I take the pot off
the stove and let it cool. The curds fall to the bottom this
time. The whey is drained off for the chickens and salt added
to the curd with a spatula, slicing it into the  popcorn
looking pieces. I dump them into a cheese cloth lined
colander and let it drain over the sink before stuffing it
into the press.
 

My press is a shop-built affair using scraps of wood, PVC
pipe and scrounged hardware, copied from a photo in a
homesteading catalog. I leave the cheese in it overnight,
tipping it slightly in the sink to keep the whey
from building up on its surface. The next morning I pop the
four-pound wheel from the press, remove the cloth and set it
on the window sill to form a rind before waxing it and
putting it away for ripening. The cheese will be mild and
edible in two months, sharp in nine, and next year at this
time we'll take it on a picnic with smoked sausage and
crackers. Maybe a bottle of blueberry wine will go into the
basket.