Faux-loumi

My cheesemaking-mania, which went into hibernation during the hot weather, returned with a vengeance in October and continues without abeyance. A number of factors have contributed to this resurgence:

• my cave became sadly depleted over the summer months, containing in September only one ripening Blue-Cheese-In-The-Style-of-Stilton-Perhaps and a vacuum-packed quarter-of-cheddar, both of which are being saved for the holidays.
• I needed to have more than two varieties of cheese to offer guests over the holidays (see above).
• my desire to perfect my mold-ripening technique (duly accomplished with a peerless batch of Camembert and a washed rind cheese of my own invention: details to come in two or three weeks' time, when all my data have been collected).
• the imperative to try out my fabulous new cheese press, purchased from the Cheese Queen as an early Christmas present.

This last factor represents the single most important improvement to my cheese-making career so far. Loyal readers will remember that my first forays into aged hard and semi-soft fromages were accomplished with a complicated apparatus constructed from Sir's workout weights, baking trays, and crossed fingers. On average, each system experienced something like four or five crashes, at least two of which resulted in permanent dents to the kitchen's vinyl flooring. Even after I started setting up my MacGyverpress on the floor itself (not an ideal situation with a cat sniffing around the house, I'm sure you will agree), I continued to suffer from toe-crushing collapses. As a result, I declared a moratorium on Wensleydale production until the Situation Was Sorted. Sir, alarmed by this turn of events and concerned that his newfound supply might be cut off in perpetuity, sprang into action and a week later a shiny new press appeared on the front step, exciting new cultures and inspiration included in the price!

I took a day off from laboratory duties and got down to it. After having produced Sir's Christmas Wensleydale and another Swiss cheese (my personal favorite), I still had a few gallons of raw milk left and considered my options. My newly-acquired devotion to haloumi, which I consumed all summer long with fresh greenery and home-made sweet fruit chutney, beckoned me with its siren song.  Of course, haloumi is made from sheeps' milk, but why let a detail like that get in the way of a thrilling new adventure? I was most curious to see how its fabrication differed from the other cheeses I have created so far and set to work with a will.

Here's how I made fauxloumi®.

I did my curds-and-whey thing and pressed the result in my wonderful new device, use of which enabled me to multi-task elsewhere for whole hours at a time without having to worry about the structural integrity of my kitchen's load-bearing members. Isn't it cute? The wee dancing mouse etched upon it cheers me no end.

After squashage, the cheese looked pretty much like every other I have made.

But wait - there's more!

I heated up the reserved whey (which is generally employed for plant watering since it is so full of lactose it gives me the screaming heebie-jeebies) and popped large-ish slices of my not-yet-fauxloumi® into the pot. Fearing they would disintegrate into oblivion, I watched them like a mother hen until they popped to the surface some time later, reassuringly in tact and floating like so much flotsam and jetsam.

They came out of their bath tough and rubbery, like overcooked chicken. If I hadn't known that this a desirable state for hard cheeses to be in, I might at this juncture have run howling into the night (yes, it was after dark by stage in the proceedings, despite my having started this vacation-day project at 4:30 am).

I decanted the cheese chunks into plastic containers full of saturated brine and left them for three weeks. I forgot to take a picture, but I am confident you can render a sufficiently-accurate image in your mind's eye. The only problem was the leeching of the salt all over my cave for the duration - it was a bit of a mess, I assure you. Never mind, it was all in a good cause!

When I deemed the cheese sufficiently cured, I removed two of the slices and rinsed them well. I reconsidered and soaked them in cold water for a bit to render them less challengingly saline.

Into my trusty cast iron skillet for toasting!

The pieces emerged golden and crusty with melty buttery insides that squeaked when we chewed 'em. They were awesome!

I did a quick mental calculation to see if my fauxloumi® was financially viable. Reasonable sheeps' milk haloumi (from sunny Cyprus, even!) may be had from my local supermarket for $10 per 8 oz package. I obtained two pounds of cheese from $9 worth of wholesome raw Holstein milk. If I discount the investment I have made in the purchase of bulk cultures and infrastructure (which I will be amortizing over the next several years) and pay myself minimum wage for labor, I ... well, I have no idea, really.

It's a lotta work for not a whole lotta cheese.

But it's very fun and the bragging rights are beyond measure.

And frankly, that's my most pressing concern.