An hour later, the contents of the molds have shrunk to an alarming degree. Maybe I’m just going to pull this off after all.
A half hour checkup revealed another imminent tidal whey-ve (again with the puns!), so I have to repeat the gentle slide and tip. Whey goes everywhere – the floor, the counter, soaks into my jeans, and some even goes into the sink. My dog comes-a-runnin’. However the cheese gods apparently liked my impromptu dance, and the molds do not fall. I should buy a lottery ticket.
Flip-cup time. One by one, I carefully and GENTLY flip the molds over. First the PVC pipe – it goes pretty well. Whey abounds, splashing all over the front of my shirt.
The two cans go…not so great. One cheese (I guess I can start calling them that) mostly holds its shape, but falls a little crookedy so it’s not entirely level – like sharing a waterbed with someone twice your weight.
One can’s contents fall completely apart and turn back into a pile of loose curds. Gross. The plastic tub fares the worst, as it has the farthest to fall. Plorp. I decide I should have run a thin knife around the edges first to loosen them. Perfection is boring. Repeat. Perfection is boring.
I leave them to drain further, imagining they’ll right themselves somehow. An hour later, they are stubbornly holding the odd shapes they fell into. I decide the plastic tub cheese cannot possibly turn out well, and pack its contents into a smaller tin can. Then I invent what I call a “cheese tamper” ** out of an empty (and cleaned and sterilized!) pimiento jar. I smush the contents of each can back into a somewhat cylindrical shape. This is a big no-no in camembert making, as whey squirts out the bottom mesh. The more the curds absorb the whey, the creamier the cheese will be. I figure no one ever died from lack of creaminess, and people are more likely to eat a slightly uncreamy cheese than they are to eat one shaped like a lingerie drawer sachet. I stop to consider that this is a ridiculous amount of work for a product that I will not get to sample for at least a month. Maybe it’s already ruined? Maybe it’s been ruined all along? Should I abandon this nonsense and buy a brick of Velveeta? I tamp. I pop open a beer, then tamp. Never you mind what time it is.
After the second flip, my cheese is not broken – just bent, and I learn to love again. It sure ain’t perfect, but they are now kind of hockey puck shaped – a little lumpy, a little uneven, but might actually be mistaken for cheese if you weren’t wearing your reading glasses. Hope stirs in my heart. Like Morgan Freeman at the end of Shawshank, I hope.
Two more flips to go – and an hour between each. I cannot leave the house. I am trapped here in a cage of my own making. A cage made of cheese.
** Note: Should anyone wish to purchase a homemade cheese tamper, just let me know in the comments and I’ll save you a jar next time I make pimiento cheese.
illdothedisheslater 