Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Oy Whey



Remember Miss Muffet, who sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey?

 Nowadays, we are interested mainly in curds - we call them cheese and value them highly. We are not that interested in whey, however,  and are quite prepared to leave it to the spider.  In my opinion this is a big mistake. Whey is really good for you. You can wash your face and hair with whey, you can drink it fresh or fermented, you can evaporate it and make the Norwegian cheese Gjetost ( http://biology.clc.uc.edu/fankhauser/cheese/Gjetost/Gjetost.htm), or you can cook with it. I love using whey for making vegetable soups, hot and cold.   Here's my favorite recipe for a wonderful summer soup, Whey Gazpacho ( My Russian friends will immediately recognize okroshka in this recipe (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Okroshka. Unfortunately, good Kvass is difficult to find, and I haven't had much success making it at home.) 

2 quarts of whey;
2 cups of diced cucumbers;
1  cup of diced red radishes;
 1/2-1 cup of thinly chopped scallions,
1/2 cup of thinly chopped parsley ( I prefer flat leaf parsley);
1/2-1  cup of finely chopped dill,
salt/pepper to taste

Mix all ingredients together and chill. Serve cold.

Now, you can be really creative here. You can add diced boiled potatoes and eggs, or use nothing but green vegetables and herbs,  or make your soup as colorful as possible - it will be delicious anyway.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Blue Cheesy Monster


You've probably heard about the horrible storm that hit the Washington area a couple weeks back.  We were away at the time and came back several days later amazed  at the sight of crushed roofs, uprooted trees and fallen light poles. Our house, however,was spared. Even the electricity was on most of the time, and friends and family were able to cool down there and to recharge their batteries. In fact,as somebody told me later, the place looked like a Starbucks- there were people with laptops at every outlet.
It wasn't until 10 days later that I discovered a victim of the storm in my basement. My cheese cave -very modern and electronically controlled- didn't survive the storm, and by the time I became aware of it, alien life was running rampant there. It nested itself on my beautiful, new, snow-white kefir cheddar cheese and turned it into a Blue Cheesy Monster. The thing looked scary.

I can't blame my children who screamed and yelled and ran away, and didn't come back until couple of hours later. For all these scary looks, however, the Monster smelled wonderful and, once I took a plunge and tasted it, tasted great - a bit underripe, but great. So I decided to give it a chance, tidied it up a bit, poked some holes in it so mold could get inside,  and put it for ripening in a cool place. it should be ready in several weeks. I am hoping for something resembling Stilton. Would you like a taste?

Friday, July 6, 2012

Advantages of cheese as a travelling companion



( from "Three Men in a Boat", by Jerome K. Jerome)
 http://www.gutenberg.org/files/308/308-h/308-h.htm

I remember a friend of mine, buying a couple of cheeses at Liverpool.  Splendid cheeses they were, ripe and mellow, and with a two hundred horse-power scent about them that might have been warranted to carry three miles, and knock a man over at two hundred yards.  I was in Liverpool at the time, and my friend said that if I didn’t mind he would get me to take them back with me to London, as he should not be coming up for a day or two himself, and he did not think the cheeses ought to be kept much longer.
“Oh, with pleasure, dear boy,” I replied, “with pleasure.”
I called for the cheeses, and took them away in a cab.  It was a ramshackle affair, dragged along by a knock-kneed, broken-winded somnambulist, which his owner, in a moment of enthusiasm, during conversation, referred to as a horse.  I put the cheeses on the top, and we started off at a shamble that would have done credit to the swiftest steam-roller ever built, and all went merry as a funeral bell, until we turned the corner.  There, the wind carried a whiff from the cheeses full on to our steed.  It woke him up, and, with a snort of terror, he dashed off at three miles an hour.  The wind still blew in his direction, and before we reached the end of the street he was laying himself out at the rate of nearly four miles an hour, leaving the cripples and stout old ladies simply nowhere.
It took two porters as well as the driver to hold him in at the station; and I do not think they would have done it, even then, had not one of the men had the presence of mind to put a handkerchief over his nose, and to light a bit of brown paper.
I took my ticket, and marched proudly up the platform, with my cheeses, the people falling back respectfully on either side.  The train was crowded, and I had to get into a carriage where there were already seven other people.  One crusty old gentleman objected, but I got in, notwithstanding; and, putting my cheeses upon the rack, squeezed down with a pleasant smile, and said it was a warm day.
A few moments passed, and then the old gentleman began to fidget.
“Very close in here,” he said.
“Quite oppressive,” said the man next him.
And then they both began sniffing, and, at the third sniff, they caught it right on the chest, and rose up without another word and went out.  And then a stout lady got up, and said it was disgraceful that a respectable married woman should be harried about in this way, and gathered up a bag and eight parcels and went.  The remaining four passengers sat on for a while, until a solemn-looking man in the corner, who, from his dress and general appearance, seemed to belong to the undertaker class, said it put him in mind of dead baby; and the other three passengers tried to get out of the door at the same time, and hurt themselves.
I smiled at the black gentleman, and said I thought we were going to have the carriage to ourselves; and he laughed pleasantly, and said that some people made such a fuss over a little thing.  But even he grew strangely depressed after we had started, and so, when we reached Crewe, I asked him to come and have a drink.  He accepted, and we forced our way into the buffet, where we yelled, and stamped, and waved our umbrellas for a quarter of an hour; and then a young lady came, and asked us if we wanted anything.
“What’s yours?” I said, turning to my friend.
“I’ll have half-a-crown’s worth of brandy, neat, if you please, miss,” he responded.
And he went off quietly after he had drunk it and got into another carriage, which I thought mean.
From Crewe I had the compartment to myself, though the train was crowded.  As we drew up at the different stations, the people, seeing my empty carriage, would rush for it.  “Here y’ are, Maria; come along, plenty of room.”  “All right, Tom; we’ll get in here,” they would shout.  And they would run along, carrying heavy bags, and fight round the door to get in first.  And one would open the door and mount the steps, and stagger back into the arms of the man behind him; and they would all come and have a sniff, and then droop off and squeeze into other carriages, or pay the difference and go first.
From Euston, I took the cheeses down to my friend’s house.  When his wife came into the room she smelt round for an instant.  Then she said:
“What is it?  Tell me the worst.”
I said:
“It’s cheeses.  Tom bought them in Liverpool, and asked me to bring them up with me.”
And I added that I hoped she understood that it had nothing to do with me; and she said that she was sure of that, but that she would speak to Tom about it when he came back.
My friend was detained in Liverpool longer than he expected; and, three days later, as he hadn’t returned home, his wife called on me.  She said:
“What did Tom say about those cheeses?”
I replied that he had directed they were to be kept in a moist place, and that nobody was to touch them.
She said:
“Nobody’s likely to touch them.  Had he smelt them?”
I thought he had, and added that he seemed greatly attached to them.
“You think he would be upset,” she queried, “if I gave a man a sovereign to take them away and bury them?”
I answered that I thought he would never smile again.
An idea struck her.  She said:
“Do you mind keeping them for him?  Let me send them round to you.”
“Madam,” I replied, “for myself I like the smell of cheese, and the journey the other day with them from Liverpool I shall ever look back upon as a happy ending to a pleasant holiday.  But, in this world, we must consider others.  The lady under whose roof I have the honour of residing is a widow, and, for all I know, possibly an orphan too.  She has a strong, I may say an eloquent, objection to being what she terms ‘put upon.’  The presence of your husband’s cheeses in her house she would, I instinctively feel, regard as a ‘put upon’; and it shall never be said that I put upon the widow and the orphan.”
“Very well, then,” said my friend’s wife, rising, “all I have to say is, that I shall take the children and go to an hotel until those cheeses are eaten.  I decline to live any longer in the same house with them.”
She kept her word, leaving the place in charge of the charwoman, who, when asked if she could stand the smell, replied, “What smell?” and who, when taken close to the cheeses and told to sniff hard, said she could detect a faint odour of melons.  It was argued from this that little injury could result to the woman from the atmosphere, and she was left.
The hotel bill came to fifteen guineas; and my friend, after reckoning everything up, found that the cheeses had cost him eight-and-sixpence a pound.  He said he dearly loved a bit of cheese, but it was beyond his means; so he determined to get rid of them.  He threw them into the canal; but had to fish them out again, as the bargemen complained.  They said it made them feel quite faint.  And, after that, he took them one dark night and left them in the parish mortuary.  But the coroner discovered them, and made a fearful fuss.
He said it was a plot to deprive him of his living by waking up the corpses.
My friend got rid of them, at last, by taking them down to a sea-side town, and burying them on the beach.  It gained the place quite a reputation.  Visitors said they had never noticed before how strong the air was, and weak-chested and consumptive people used to throng there for years afterwards.

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Quicky Quark

Several  months ago,  Whole Foods called and asked if I'd like to teach a cheese-making class for kids.  I said yes. "Ok," they said, "It's an hour-long class, and we'd like something done with yogurt." So how can you make cheese in one hour with some time left for tasting and enjoying the results? I was beginning to think that the whole thing was impossible, but then I thought about quark. Quark, or tvorog, as it's known in Russia, is a staple in the Eastern European diet. Soft-textured, nutritious  and very versatile, it's well loved by most people-- except for me. I have always hated the stuff with a passion. When I was little, my grandmas were sure that tvorog was essential for my survival. Once, when I was about five, I was scratched by a cat and taken to a doctor. The doctor, not really concerned about my human rights, entered into a conspiracy with my grandma.  He told me sternly that I had a choice: either I agreed to eat a tablespoon of tvorog every day, or he'd have to give me rabies shots, thirty of them, in the tummy. I thought hard for a moment and said: "Give me the shots!".

Anyway, now and here, tvorog, or quark, came in handy . So here's how we made it:

Ingredients:

  • 1 Gallon of Whole Milk;
  • 2 small yogurts or 1 large yogurt, whole milk (Dannon Plain works just fine; Trader Joe's European Style Plain works great)
  • Rice vinegar (1/2 - 1 cup, depending on your yogurt)
  • Water

Equipment needed:
  • 1 large pot
  • 1 colander
  • 1 cheesecloth or a muslin cloth
  • 1 spatula
  • 1 skimmer/slotted spoon
  • 1 pair of 2 cups (disposables OK)
  • Thermometer 
  • Draining vessel
The process:
  1. Pour some milk into the pot, turn the heat on and add the yogurt. Stir till smooth.
  2. Add remaining milk.
  3. Continue mixing and warming up the milk to 120 F.
  4. Watch for curdling and separation!
  5. If the cheese is not fully separated by the time the temperature reaches 120 F, slowly add vinegar, while stirring continuously. Turn off the heat.
  6. Wait till the milk separates into curds and greenish whey.
  7. Drain through the colander with a cheesecloth.
  8. Push and knead to get the liquid out.
  9. Your quark is ready!! Add your favorite topping and enjoy.





The kids had a blast, and the quark was delicious with brown sugar and honey. Even I liked it!