My Cup Runneth Over

I faced today with the equanimity that results when one has just received the most amazing present in all the world, a pristine copy of Modernist Cuisine delivered right to the front door.

Such was my joie de vivre that, when I returned home from work this afternoon I decided I could face just about anything. Come what may - dismay, disappointment, or even disaster - I was convinced I could handle it with dignity, forbearance, and sangfroid.

It was time to taste my home-made Wensleydale.

Followers of the Camembert Case and my subsequent ego-bruising will understand why I needed to be in the proper mental space when I cut into my next cheese. There was no reason to suspect it had gone wrong, but I was suffering the lack of confidence that comes from being presented with four jaundiced dried-out disks of rubbery blandness.

I requested Sir's presence for moral support. You may recall that the entire project was Sir's idea - so it seemed only fitting that he should be there for the Great Unpeeling. Also, I needed his opinion as to the authenticity of the cheese - I didn''t recall ever having tasted Wensleydale and wasn't sure what the final product was supposed to be like.

Fortified by mugs of Earl Grey, we addressed the cheese. Judging that it was too big to eat in just one go (providing that it was edible, of course) we decided to slice off about a third with the aim of rewaxing the rest to eat after we returned from our summer hols in a few weeks' time.

I grasped my largest chef's knife and did the deed.

We were both surprised and gratified that the knife seemed to cleave the truckle in twain with minimum effort or fuss. We examined the exposed surfaces and were mightily encouraged by their wholesome buttercup hue; porous appearance (just as it should be, according to Sir); and slightly crumbly texture.

We cut the third into two wedges. The cheese held its shape! We carefully peeled the wax off one of the portions. It still held its shape!

With great care we sliced off two thin slivers and tasted them.

And what do you think? The cheese was delicious!

The texture was not rubbery or dry, but delightfully yielding with a hint of fragile breakability. Sir declared it a triumph and claimed that even if he hadn't been forewarned he would have recognized it for the breed it was. We ate some plain, and some with dates, and some with butter, and some with dried figs before reluctantly wrapping the remaining smidgen and placing it in the box a fromages for later. The surplus two-thirds have been returned to the cave, for experimental purposes. We are curious to see what it tastes like after a few more weeks of aging. 

In the meantime, I am flush with success.

Dare I say it? Can it be true?

I am a cheesemaker after all.

Separation Anxiety

After three weeks of heating, stirring, coagulating, breaking, foreworking, molding, pressing and brining, I can now leave my seven home-made cheeses in peace.

The timing is no accident. My goal was to have arrived at the point where my hatchlings were mature enough to take care of themselves before I abandoned them for two weeks while on my much-anticipated holiday with DMR (details to come). Fortuitously, if not miraculously, I achieved my goal with two whole days to spare.

Here is where we are in the grand scheme of things.

Wensleydale. Not much to report. After waxing, the cheese went straight into my cave where it will slumber until it's ready for consumption at the beginning of July.

Cheddar. Same situation, longer time frame. Waxed and caved, my bionic bad boy will probably not be good to go until September.

Camembert. After two weeks in the cave, my four bebes were completely covered in their white velvet anoraks. I wrapped them each in ripening paper and placed them in the bottom crisper drawer of the family fridge, where the lower temperature of 45 deg F has been slowing down the bugs' activity. A Do Not Disturb sign has been placed strategically to warn off intruders. The cheese should be ready in two weeks or so - we will sample the first as soon as I return from my adventure.

Swiss. Easily the most exciting of my projects in the last week or so. After a week of sitting in the basement, during which time it developed a lovely rind, I moved the cheese and its mini-cave into the dining room to warm it up to a toasty 70 deg F and encourage the bugs to blow their bubbles.

Anticipating momentous changes in the cheese's profile, I measured it carefully and took before and after photos to chart its progress. They grow up so fast, you know!

The cheese two weeks ago. Note its straight sides
and diameter of 4 and 3/8 inches.

Taken the same day as the above pic.
Its circumference was 14 and 1/4 inches

The same cheese eight days later.
My, how it had ballooned!
Its circumference had decreased to 14 inches,
but its height increased to three and one-half inches.
A stunning transformation!

The cheese at this point was extremely plump and firm to the touch. Although its rind appeared to be providing sufficient structural integrity such that an explosion was not imminent, I nonetheless feared it might start to split if subjected to too much additional pressure. My Kleine had a delicious milky-sweet aroma that led me to believe it was time for a move into the cave to join my Wensleydale and cheddar for a much-deserved gathering of strength. There it will lie until August (possibly longer), when I will take a core sample and decide whether it is ready for consumption.

It is now time to bid my babies a fond adieu. Sir has promised to check in on them from time to time over the next fortnight in order to flip them every so often, check their mats for dampness, and ensure they don't develop abandonment issues.

I know they're in good hands.

None of Your Beeswax

On Saturday, I made Wensleydale cheese for Sir.

It was his special request.

You may well be wondering (if you are reading this on the American side of the Pond) what on earth a Wensleydale cheese is, and I will happily tell you (you must imagine at this point in the proceedings I am standing with one hand on my hip, the other gesticulating in a professorial manner).

Wensleydale is one of Sir's favorites from his childhood in the far north of England: he remembers that the cheeses came shrink-wrapped in thick crinkly cellophane secured with a metal clip that, as a small boy, he found intriguing and a little dangerous-looking. Wensleydale is also a firm favorite of Wallace (of Wallace and Gromit fame) - Wikipedia reports that after the release of Curse of the Were-Rabbit, sales increased by a whopping 23%. That alone is enough to recommend it, I'm sure you'll agree.

But being of an historical/cultural turn of mind, I was most interested in the cheese's provenance. Wensleydale is in North Yorkshire - not too far from where the rels currently live, as it happens - and the cheese was first made by French Cistercian monks who settled in the region way back when (although they used sheeps' milk rather than the bovine article). It is one of the treasures of English cheese-making and there are currently efforts underway to secure its Protected Designation of Origin status from the EU. This means I may have to call my specimen Truckle-in-the-Style-of-a-Wensleydale or Pennine-ish Dairy Product, which, in my opinion, just doesn't have the same ring to it. 

The finished product comes in many varieties, characterized mostly by age, although there is a blue version available. The cheese is crumbly and moist and possessed of a mildly acidic flavor. They are often waxed before their hibernation.

There was quite a lot about this cheese that made it worth yet another Saturday spent laboring in front of my maslin pan. First, of course, was its status as Sir's expressed wish. Sir has proved himself a stirling soul recently, gallantly helping with the heavy lifting and plongeur duties associated with cheese-making and equally valuably staying out of the way when required to do so. I am generally quite single-minded when it comes to new projects (of which cheese-making is only the latest) and I wanted to reward him for his stoical support.

Another benefit was the cheese's relatively short time in the cave: I wanted a cheese that would be ready to eat after the camembert was finished but before the Swiss was ready, and Wensleydale fit the bill nicely.

Also, I wanted to play with a new toy: wax. I ordered a ruby-red block of the stuff from (where else?) the New England Cheesemaking Supply Company and got to work. The destructions said to heat it up in a double boiler, but I had only allotted the one-half hour that comes between dinner and my Monday evening walk for the task and could afford no more time than that.

So I used the microwave (watching the bowl like a hawk to make sure it didn't burst into flames) and got that paraffin/microcrystalline wax concoction up to 225 deg F in no time at all. It took time, burnt fingertips, and all of my patience to get the hang of the dip and flip technique required but I think for a first attempt I didn't do too badly - even if I did miss my walk.

Wax off ...

... wax on.

I should have kept my dipping mixture hotter while I worked so it didn't make unsightly surface blobs and will be sure to reheat often when I wax my cheddar (surprise!) in the next day or so.

I shall secure my new baby in the cave, where it can sit unattended during its snooze. Its wax jacket should provide protection from external infection and contagion whilst keeping the cheese moist and delicious - I read somewhere (a crazy survivalist website, actually) that cheese that has been treated in this way will keep more or less indefinitely, so I am hopeful it will serve as a pleasing accompaniment for the crickets we'll be cooking up in the basement during the next zombie attack.

Or with sweet blueberry chutney in five weeks' time.

Whichever comes first.