This is ambitious, guys. I’m planning to make homemade Camembert cheese. I have many concerns starting this project. First and foremost is that months of research have led me to believe that cheesemaking requires a level of sanitation to which I can never aspire. I have a cat who goes wherever he damn well pleases and a dog who sheds mountains of fur year round, like a walking dandelion puff. Minutes after rigorous sweeping and vacuuming, tumbleweeds of animal hair gather in corners and around chair legs. I despair when the in-laws come to town, knowing that it will be a weekend fraught with surreptitious dog hair removal.
Secondly, I do not have the proper equipment. The excellent New England Cheesemaking Supply company sells molds, presses, mats, and all manner of ingredients, but I’m kind of a cheapskate, and further research leads me to believe I can improvise. I wonder how my slovenly brand of DIY intrepidness will get along with this exact and demanding art form. Words like “hygrometer”, “sterilization”, and “temperature-controlled” are thrown around with abandon in cheesemaking manuals. Do real people have kitchens like this? I mean people with jobs, pets, and who don’t have their own show on the Food Network? Can I MacGyver this into a reasonable home cooking project? Since my goal on this first try is merely “edible” rather than “delicious”, I gather my materials and begin.
My recipe calls for two gallons of milk and should yield two pounds of cheese. I halve that immediately – this cheese will need to age, ripen, and mold for at least a month, and I simply do not have space in the fridge for that kind of quantity. Books recommend storing aging cheese in any cool place – and one even suggests a home’s crawl space. It’s early September as I begin, with the temperature outside ranging from the low 50’s to 90 degrees within the span of minutes. My crawl space is full of slugs and crickets, like full to bursting. It’ll have to be the bottom drawer of the fridge, which currently holds two bottles of champagne and a desiccated head of iceberg lettuce. Goodbye lettuce.
Step one will be improvising molds. I read about repurposing cans and PVC pipe. After one trip to Home Depot, I decide it will have to be cans, as the PVC is sold in 24 inch lengths and they kindly will not cut it for you. While my husband and I are…kinda handy, I don’t know if between the two of us and a hacksaw, we will be able to create the smooth even cylinders required. Cans it is:
I did buy one PVC repair coupling, but it was $5.00, so I went to Big Lots and bought some about-to-expire and/or discontinued canned goods. This is supremely wasteful, I admit. But compared with $5.00, the $.90 can of Mystery Brand Baked Beans will go in the trash. I carefully double bag the contents and, holding the sloshy bundle over the trash can, briefly consider hurling it at my neighbor’s car – the neighbor with sixteen children who apparently get bottle rockets for every Christmas/birthday/Arbor Day. I rise above it.
So to begin, I first have to remove both ends from the cans, tear off the labels, and thoroughly clean them inside and out. Thoroughly. I can’t let myself skimp on this one if I plan to intentionally grow mold under ideal conditions. A stray bean could ruin everything.
You have to get rid of any sharp edges inside the can so the cheese doesn’t stick – I do this by holding the can firmly on the edge of the counter and tapping around the inside rim with a hammer. In the next room, the volume of Sports Center goes up. When you can run your finger around the inside rim without drawing blood, you’re good to go.
Now comes the fun part (for my husband): power tools. Ideally the cans should be perforated here and there so the whey will drain and oxygen can aid the growth of mold (intentional mold!) We are going to experiment with drilling. My concern is that we will either warp the cans or create big poky craters in them. We’ll try one can and see how that goes.
I haven’t even bought the milk yet, and I’ve already done a ton of math for this: One gallon is 128 ounces. I have three 28 ounce cans (84 ounces), plus one 14 ounce can (=98 ounces) and my little plumbing pipe (10 maybe?). I need another can. A quick hunt through the pantry for expired cans yields a gold mine. I have to clean out the pantry more often.
The drill is charging, the cans are at the ready, and I’m off to buy milk.
(Sorry about the lack of pictures, but so far it’s not a particularly exciting-looking project.)
illdothedisheslater 