illdothedisheslater

Prosciutto, Ricotta, come on pretty mama,

Montasio, Formmagio, baby why don’t we go…

There’s a whole Kokomo spoof involving Italian cheeses and meats just waiting to be written, but my inner Weird Al is not cooperating today.  I’m back in it guys – cheesemaking that is.  I have a confession to make though – that Camembert I worked SO hard on?  Tasted like Pine Sol.  Or how I imagine Pine Sol to taste.  I cracked one open over Thanksgiving and it tasted like Camembert!  “You are a rock star.” I thought to myself.  There was a slight ammoniac smell and taste to it, but that’s normal with mold-ripened cheeses, and I thought a couple hours of airing would fix it.  The second came with me to a Christmas party, and probably would have taken the paint off a car had I tested it.  The verdict:  Overripe.  Since they were a variety of odd sizes, and since I didn’t know exactly what the fresh hell I was doing, I couldn’t accurately judge the ripening times and let them go far too long.  But I will try again.  I think I just have to work my way up.

So to go back to basics, today I’m going to try Ricotta – an “easy” cheese recipe that is apparently good for beginners.  The ingredients are simple:

Whole milk (stinky health food store), citric acid, and cheese salt (or any non-iodized salt like Kosher salt).

But first, the sanitation – my least favorite part of cheesemaking.  I am not a dirty person, but I am messy.  Things tend to pile up around me, near me, and on every available surface of the house.  So first I have to clear away a baffling array of things that are hanging out on my counter.  My pots, spoons, colanders, bowls, measuring spoons, sink, and thermometers are all sterilized to the best of my ability – scalding hot water, wiping out with bleach, then rinsing with more scalding hot water.  Now my house smells like a hotel with an indoor pool.  (Years of slinging coffee professionally has left me with hands of steel that can withstand more heat than is probably advisable for human skin, so I’ve got that going for me.)

I am following the recipe from Home Cheesemaking 3rd Edition, by Ricki Carroll, known far and wide as the Cheese Queen.  Of my three cheese books, this one is probably the clearest and most accessible to novices, but also irritates in that all quantities are listed as “one packet” instead of by teaspoons, etc.  This is because they sell their ingredients by the packet.  So that’s why I have three cheese books.

Ricotta, though, doesn’t need any complicated and expensive molds or rennet – so to begin I pour my milk into a terrifyingly clean pot and dissolve one teaspoon of citric acid and one teaspoon of salt into a quarter cup of cool water.  Keeping something labeled “acid” around the house is a little nervous-making, and I wonder if it will eat through my hands, countertops, or start smoking ominously.  Nothing happens though.  A little googling reveals that it may damage hair, but since I’m not going to shampoo with it or eat it straight out, I guess I’m safe.

See all the acid I spilled?  That’s for the dog to find and eat later.

I’m kidding.

The acid mixture gets stirred into the gallon of milk, which will then heat slowly on the stovetop.

I intend to use my remote meat thermometer (pictured), but I haven’t quite figured out how to use it yet.  It only seems to go up to 160 degrees, and this milk is heading upwards of 185, so I abandon that idea almost immediately.

Slowly (and gently! don’t forget gently!) heating the milk to 185 takes approximately 127 hours, or so it feels like.  I bump the heat up gradually, stirring GENTLY all the while.  It must not boil or scorch.  The smell is lovely – creamy and a bit nutty.  I can see a bit of curd formation beginning.  Exciting!

So!  As I approach 185, the recipe unhelpfully states “Make sure there is no milky whey.”  It also offers no explanations for how to avoid this, no solutions for how to correct it, or really any guidance whatsoever.  My whey is milky.  I am a failure.  No one will ever love me or my milky whey.  Hey!  Unintentional pun! (Self high-five.)  I soldier on.  The milk is now obviously lumpy and thickened.

At 185, I remove the pot from the heat and let it set for 10 minutes, then begin carefully and geeeennnnnttttly ladling it into a cheesecloth-lined colander.  (The recipe calls for butter muslin, but I’m not convinced that actually exists.)  My hopes are not high – it looks like thick milk.  I hope I have not spent $8.00 worth of milk to make slightly thicker milk.

We’ll see.  I gather up the edges of cheesecloth and form it into a bindle, which will hang and drain for 30 minutes.  This requires some MacGuyver-type ingenuity and a combination of twisty-ties, yarn, bamboo skewers, and a helpful husband with some Boy Scout knot-tying skills.

Thirty minutes later, I seem to have achieved some degree of success – it certainly looks like Ricotta.  It tastes like Ricotta.  Maybe it could be a little creamier and smoother, but I’m going to put an “X” in the win column today.  I also have a ton of whey to either feed my dog, or use to make another batch.  How does one gallon of milk seem to produce two gallons of whey?

Yes, that is a black bowl with little skulls on it.  I told you I was a rock star.

I mix in three teaspoons of finely chopped basil for color, and pat myself on my sour-milk-smelling back.

Tomorrow – what does one do with a pound and a half of homemade Ricotta cheese?