Catastrophically, there was no home-made chutney to adorn our sliced turkey, as I had left the jars (together with my back-up travel-ration of Kind cranberry and almond bars - all natural! certified gluten free! dairy free! loaded with anti-oxidants! don't taste like packing material!) at home in a recycled grocery bag by the front door.
We eventually returned to our curds, which had been peacefully cheddaring in a washtub while we refueled ourselves. Cheddaring, you will recall, is the process by which the curds are drained over time and allowed to compress under their own weight. Before lunch, they looked like nothing so much as cottage cheese that had been sat upon by something large and ponderous:
During the two hours we were carousing upstairs, however, something kind of amazing happened:
The curds took on a layered texture (I was going to say 'layered look' but that sounded more like hairdressing than cheesemaking) that Jim aptly described as similar-seeming to cooked chicken. It was indeed - especially if the chicken in question (breasts rather than thighs or wings) has been over-baked to stringy oblivion.
Upon tasting, we discovered the cheese had become squeaky and firm with a pronounced lemony tang. The curds were also eminently shreddable, which was lucky because that was what they required next. Several of my more energetic companions got a good workout at this point, and bits flew everywhere as finger-sized pieces of cheese were flipped into the tub:
The shredded curds were ready for salting! A bit at a time, kosher salt was added by a helper while Jim got in there with both hands and tossed the curds airborne until he adjudged the mixing complete.
By now, the cheese had undergone most of the chemical changes to which it was doomed to fall victim. This was because 95% of its acidification was complete, due largely to the fact that the mesophilic cultures had given their all. Not only had we put them to sleep when we raised the temperature of our milk to 102 deg F, but we had removed their food supply when we drained off the remaining lactose with the whey. We had further sabotaged the bugs' efforts by salting the shredded curds. In many cheeses, this process is not carried out until much later in the scheme of things for exactly the same reason we carried it out earlier here - salt causes the bacteria to go positively comatose.
Into the cloth-lined mold! Pressure was the key in this procedure and Jim went for the gusto. Somehow, he got all those chicken tenders into one eight-inch diameter cheddar form:
On with the lid ...
... and into Jim's cunning MacGyverish cheese press.
A word about applied load is appropriate at this juncture. Cheddar needs it in spades. An initial weight of twenty-five pounds or so is increased gradually every time the whey-drainage slows to a final weight of about one hundred and twenty-five pounds, which is maintained for several days.
Up until now I had been daydreaming about the possibility of converting my favorite test machine (the one with the chamber that can be both heated and chilled, thus providing value at all stages of a cheese's life) to formaggio fabrication, thus diversifying my lab's customer base and providing tasty snacks in one fell swoop. I ultimately rejected this scheme, however, given these latest production parameters and a few quick calculations. Let's see ... applied load divided by pi arr squared ... That's an initial pressure of approximately 0.498 psi followed by a long slow squash of roughly 2.488 psi. A 25 kip load cell would probably prove over-qualified for the job.
But if Jim ever decides to earn some extra income by making and displaying the Largest Cheese in the Country at state fairs, he knows who to call.
Anyway, after several hours of serious stress and strain the cheese emerged from its mold looking like Frankenstein's monster's brain:
Jim gave it a pat and a flip and returned it to captivity, reporting the next morning that he had repeated the process several times in the intervening hours.
The following day at 9:00 am sharp, we watched eagerly as expectant parents while Jim unwrapped the treasure. Our cheddar's transformation was remarkable. No, it didn't magically become two cheeses overnight - these are two complementary views of the same specimen:
The brain had lost its gyri and sulci and settled down into a fairly recognizable cheddary object. There were still some anfractuosities on its surface, but Jim assured us these would be gone after a few more days of pressing. Indeed, the cracks would have to disappear before the cheese was wrapped for its final hibernation, else bacteria (the unwanted kind); molds; mildews; and other unpleasantness might invade the structure, rendering vain our heroic efforts. For this reason, we did not see the final stages of cheesification, where Jim would dip the whole thing into hot wax (rather than mummify it in bandages, as he might for a longer age). We were assured that The Treatment would be applied tomorrow (Thursday) at the latest. After that, our project would go into the cave for about six months' maturing and affinage.
This is a topic that I will need to study in some detail before I embark on my first aged cheese exploit, as there are a whole host of calamities that can befall the unwary fromage while it slumbers. I will not detail these now in deference to readers' delicate sensibilities: suffice it to say the potential pitfalls are many, varied, and not a little gross-sounding.
But there is yet one more wonder to report before my cheddar saga's denouement. Do you remember that I mentioned earlier Jim had carefully preserved the whey that the curds disgorged during their drying and pressing? I had initially assumed he was going to use it for cooking potatoes or watering his vegetables, as this is just about all my mozzarella whey is good for after its cheesy goodness has been extracted. Indeed, I do not cook with mozzarella juice at all, given its high lactose content: I sent the last batch home with the Diva (note to self: must find out what she did with it). This is because when I make mozzarella, I use acid rather than culture - thus rendering the whey useless for further cheesy ventures.
But the whey from cheddar production? Well, that's a whole nuther vat of curds. There is still sufficient usefulness in the residue that, if you leave it overnight, the next morning you are able to skim off several inches of rich luscious cream. Chill it, whizz it in your blender or shake it in a Mason jar (I have loads of those around these days), and before you can say 'low calorie dairy spread substitute' you have creamy, tangy, honest-to-goodness cultured butter ready for salting and smearing. We did just that on Sunday morning and enjoyed a second breakfast to much rejoicing.
When I told Sir the news, he was delighted. He will have only natural dairy products in the fridge and has been known to speak sharply to people who insist on referring to water-in-fat emulsions as 'butter'.
Now he is truly looking forward to a not-too-distant future when we will have some bona fide culture in the house.
Next up: I take a day off from cheese consideration to watch Top Chef with Mlle. Malaprop. I will return to my tale on Friday, when I consider the contemplative value of camembert.
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