GBD Paradise

I didn't expect that I would find myself coming back so soon. Not like it's right around the corner or anything, and it's only grilled cheese. Oh, but that word, "only," is so unflattering. Particularly because it does not belong here; improper usage, I would say. Between the scent of buttery toasting bread in the air and the unbelievably wholesome and delicious ingredients used, this is more than just a grilled cheese. And here, "just" has no place either.

Once again, I sing the praises of GBD, the place for grilled cheese around these parts and located in the middle of the Point Reyes Farmers Market. There you will find the thoughtful creations of Christian Caiazzo, a talented chef with a bicoastal resume including such spots as Union Square Café (in NYC) and Twenty Four, Globe, and Postrio (all in SF). Currently the proprietor of Toby's Coffee Bar in Point Reyes Station and fostering a handful of other projects, it's a wonder he finds the time to do what he does.

On this visit, I found the same fantastic three I tried on my last visit and one more to boot: The Paradise. This sandwich layers Brickmaiden sourdough bread with gorgeous, vibrant and sweet summer squash, thin sliced and lightly grilled, with a chiffonade of basil and Gruyère cheese. Simply delicious, this sandwich; a tribute to the vegetables that filled it, a salute to summertime.

Oh, how quickly I am falling for the GBD, it's more than just bread, butter, and cheese. Such a dangerous habit, but I can't wait to see what comes next.

A Most Delicious Cheddar

There's something old-fashioned feeling about Point Reyes Farmstead Cheese Company. Maybe it's the fact that they have a hand on every part of the cheesemaking process, from the cows to the foil wrapping around their Original Blue. Maybe it's the old milk can on the label, or perhaps because they pour all of their efforts into only one cheese.

But recently, I discovered an addition to the family, the extraordinary Vintage White Cheddar. There I was, at the Point Reyes Farmers Market, standing in front of a young lady offering only a few selections from both Cowgirl Creamery and Point Reyes. While the cheddar was the last thing I tried, it was by far my favorite; quite possibly one of the most delicious cheddars I have ever tasted.

While it crumbles a bit when sliced, it is incredibly moist and creamy. Rich, milky taste with an amazing sharp tang that lingers well after the last bit has melted from your tongue, this cheese has the flavor characteristics of a long aged cheddar but the texture of a near youngin'. Yet again, Point Reyes Farmstead Cheese Co. has shown us that they know simplicity at it's very finest.

Though it may not be easy to find nearby, it is available through their website, paired with a wedge of Original Blue, and a "knock your socks off" macaroni and cheese recipe. But this cheese is well worth the hunt. And by the way, if you haven't tried their Original Blue, it turns even the "I don't eat blue cheese" crowd into believers.

Down wit' GBD

This is new to me, this GBD. Apparently I'm out of the loop, not hip. But golden, brown and delicious? Now you're talkin'.

And GBD around these parts is more than just an abbreviation, it's a destination. Point Reyes Farmer's Market is home to one heck of a grilled cheese haven, the GBD stand. It's a little secret, I think, to those outside of the Point Reyes area; I wouldn't have known about it myself if not for a friendly, though anonymous, comment. Thank you, anonymous, I was made very happy today.

From what I can gather, of the three creations on GBD's menu, one is a regular (The Breakfast Bobby), one is regular (as in, a plain grilled cheese, though I use plain in the most thoughtful way), and one draws on the pleasures of the Farmer's Market that surrounds it. All sandwiches are served on generously buttered (hello, Strauss Creamery) and crisp Brickmaiden Breads. Hint, hint: the warm, fresh, crusty breads themselves may be yours to take home if you get to the market early enough, for the Brickmaiden sells out quickly.

First, "The Gianni," contained Mezzo Secco Jack from Vella Cheese and Cave Aged Gruyere. I am a huge fan of Gruyere, especially in grilled cheese sandwiches. And the Mezzo Secco? Well, Vella Cheese is one of the few producers of the simply delicious Dry Monterey Jack, a firm, extra aged, seriously nutty Jack cheese; Mezzo Secco is just a less-dry version of the same. These cheeses made quite a team. A bit of pungent ripe Gruyere balanced by a smooth-melting salty Jack. And in the argument for the use of grated cheese: little toasted cheese crispies clinging to the buttery crust. There is no debating it, that's the best part.

Then, "The Lunny Link." This one I wasn't prepared to fall in love with, but I did. Organic grass fed hot link sausage (that's a mouthful), Dijon mustard, caramelized onion, and cheese. I didn't ask what the "cheese" was, and for that, I give myself a slap on the wrist. No matter, it was not the star here; this sandwich was a complete package. It had everything it needed and nothing it didn't. Thin slices of sausage from The Lunny Ranch (part of Drakes Bay Family Farms, also hosting a booth at the market) mounds of soft, sweet onion, a few swathes of tangy Dijon, and just enough gooey cheese to hold it all together. This one's a keeper.

And finally, "The Breakfast Bobby," the sandwich with a golden center. Yes, the intense yellow you see here is that of a pasture raised Marin Sun Farms chicken egg, blanketed with Bravo Farms Cheddar. The perfect hand-held breakfast, wrapped in a brown paper envelope, ready for the go.

Though truly, for these, you ought to take a seat. And yes, it's worth the drive.

Grilled Cheese, 3rd Gen

And now for something completely different. Thin sliced New York Rye from Acme Bread, Istara Ossau-Iraty, unsalted butter and Kosher salt (makes for a great salted butter substitute) and luscious, red-ripe tomato slices.

I remember the first time I ever heard of a grilled cheese with sliced tomato. It was on the menu, with three cheeses to boot, at Katz's ("Never Kloses") Deli in Austin. Quite frankly, I was shocked and appalled. It would take a couple of years more and a friend who loved the joint ("The fried pickles are awesome," she proclaimed) before trying the contemptible concoction, with a side of fried pickles, no less.

To my surprise, a perfect marriage. Juicy, tart tomatoes, warmed over by mellow, nutty cheeses sandwiched between crispy toasted bread slices. Oh yes. According to my previous convictions, adding something to a grilled cheese, creates something different altogether (i.e. grilled ham and cheese, or any variety of the "melt"), but in this case, the something different was just a fantastic version of one of my favorites.

I haven't had that sandwich in years, and I've never made it myself. I don't remember the three cheeses (Swiss, Muenster, and provolone?), and the bread was nothing special, really. But I did have have the perfect tomato, and as we all know the perfect tomato must be savored quickly, its life is short and sweet.

And as for the cheese, Istara Ossau-Iraty is a sheep's milk cheese from the French Pyrénées. Ossau-Iraty (oh-soh ee-RAH-tee) in general is a firm, mellow, ivory colored cheese with the gentle tang of sheep milk complimented by a robust nuttiness. Perfect for a grilled cheese sandwich, if you ask me.

This has proved to be one of my greatest attempts at the grilled cheese, if I may say. The thin sliced bread crisped beautifully and held up well to the juicy tomato. And the cheese, oh man, so good for this sandwich. I can't say that it is bold enough for the classic, but in this combination, it was everything it needed to be: lightly sharp, salty, and melty.

If you don't know how it's done, a grilled cheese should be cooked so slowly on the first side that the cheese is nearly melted, and upon the turn over, it takes only a quick browning on the other side to melt the whole lot of cheese throughout with little, if any, oozing its way out of the sandwich. The trick here is to add the tomato just to the sandwich just before flipping; this way, you don't have a falling-apart overcooked tomatoes on your hands (literally) and you haven't had to disturb any delicious melted cheese to get those slices in there. It really can't get much better.

And by the way, fried pickles, delicious. Could use a side, right about now.

Not So Long Distance

No, we're not breaking up. I know I haven't been around, but I'm here now. I'm sorry I've been so distant. I just needed some time. Give me another chance. I have some grilled cheese(s) planned for us, and maybe even a pasta dish (National Macaroni Day is next month), oh, and have you tried Halloumi? Please, don't go. We have so much in common. CHEESE.

Sweet, Sweet Burrata

It is the stuff that your cheese-filled dreams are made of, burrata. Though a (somewhat) distant cousin of mozzarella, it is just so much more than that. And this particular burrata, is as good as it gets. I first had the opportunity to enjoy this gift to the dairy world years ago, paired with uber ripe heirloom tomatoes, the juiciest of watermelon, and bright green shags of basil.

Amazing. Where had this been, why hadn't I had this before?

Inside a paper thin skin of mozzarella lies creamy, soft, unstretched curds of the same. It's like no other. This is one of the very things that inspired me to experiment with cheesemaking, albeit I have not yet done so, with burrata specifically, anyway. I simply must study it further before such an attempt. Unfortunately for my schooling in this subject, it is seasonal and highly perishable. On the upside, now is the season and as for perishability? A non-issue once within my grasp. (Technically, it is available year round, but is not so easily procured outside of the summer months.)

And the dear one responsible for bring this creation to this side of the pond: Vito Girardi of Gioia Cheese Co. located in Southern California. Oh Vito, ahem, Signore Girardi, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Grilled Cheese v 2.0

Yes, back to the drawing board, I haven't won anything yet. But if you remember, I'm planning on it. While my last attempt was enterprising, I decided to take a few steps back to the basics.

As a kid, grilled cheese often meant real cheddar cheese and wheat bread. What's a kid gotta do to get some Wonder bread and a processed cheese slice? Little did I know I would one day look to that lesser-appreciated sandwich for guidance. (Though I gotta say, a girl still loves her grilled white bread, bright-yellow-cheese sandwich with the soggy pickle slice, uh-huh.)

But, nothing toasts up like wheat bread. That crispy sheet on the outside that yields to toothsome bread on the inside, oozing with gooey melty cheese. Mmmm. My ultimate goal would be to find a white-flour bread that could replicate this feature, but until then, I'll stick with a nutty wheat slice. This time I chose a sprouted wheat bread for that extra crispy crunch.

Now for the cheese. They say shred it. I say, "Why?" Don't get me wrong, I understand the concept, but I'm not sure that it really has any true benefit. I think I've gotta chalk this one up to personal preference. And, being low maintenance (lazy), myself, I think I'd go with sliced in the future. Maybe.

I did have two types of cheese going this time, and since they were of different color, I think shredding was beneficial to the aesthetic. Another plus, you can play with the ratios of different cheeses, especially when they are difficult to slice. Case in point: I used sharp cheddar (not hard to slice) and Raclette (pretty hard to slice), so shredding worked beautifully.

As you may recall, I've used sharp cheddar before. Yeah, definitely hung up on sharp (or extra sharp!) cheddar. It is precisely the "sharp" that is the cornerstone of a killer (traditional) grilled cheese sandwich. The only problem with this kind of cheese is its gooey-ness or lack thereof. It melts, sure, but in a stringy (which is good), greasy (not so good) kind of way. I need a gooey melting cheese (i.e. little to no fat separation) to make this a great sammie. Enter Raclette. I chose Raclette for its melting qualities, and while I do love the flavor, unfortunately, it took away from the cheddary goodness of this sandwich.

But, getting closer...

So, yes, back to the drawing board. Can't complain, though, I do love the research.

Oh My Gouda! 10 Months Later

I was hiding one. That Gouda I made back in in July of last year, it had a twin. I had split the curds up into two small molds, pressed and waxed each individually. The second survived a longer life before being enjoyed, but boy, was it enjoyed.

The cheese was sliced in half, wax on (Danielson!). A reddish-orange oil oozed out from between the wax and the the Gouda that had shrunk within. The aroma was of ripe cheddar, bordering on stinky (the good kind of stinky). It was very dry and crumbly, but the texture remained smooth on the tongue, no unpleasant graininess. With the sharpness an aged cheese should have, a very subtle bitterness came through in the finish; not offensive, but something to improve upon.

Fantastic with a simple (or not-so simple) cracker, this cheese turned out to be a-okay. I'm guessing the exceptional dryness was a result of such a small piece of cheese being aged; I can imagine something larger would have fared better. But, it was small because I was unsure. After experiencing several failures, I was not ready to put a pound of cheese away for a year. I had to be sure it tasted good before I waited on its age. Hence, I split the batch; one for now, one for later.

Now, the challenge is being confident enough in my cheese to make one and put it away for long time.

I'm workin' on it. Sheesh.

It's Feta-like

Feta has a remarkable history that I was hardly aware of before now. Literally translated as "slice," the ancestry of this cheese has been chronicled in Homer's Odyssey. That's roughly 8,000 years ago, to you and me.

Though Greek in origin, the name "Feta" has become so commonplace to describe the solid, briny curds that there is little protection for it's true character (unless you're in the EU). Traditionally, and categorically, this cheese is made with sheep milk or a blend of sheep and goat milk, and must be aged wooden or metal containers for at least two months under brine.

And yes, that very special thing I had not too long ago, it wasn't feta. (They said it was feta, but it was really just a decadent adaptation.) Unfortunately, I have not yet had the pleasure to taste a true Feta, a Greek Feta, and it may be a while before I do - it is proving difficult to find outside of Greece. But I do know that my only truly amazing experience with a Feta-like cheese, came from Australia, made from sheep and goat milk. It shames all cow's milk (gasp!) imitations, as well it should.

I set out to recreate this experience. Who am I kidding - I made feta. I hoped it would come out flavorful and delicious; that was the best I could do. The first time, I began the endeavor later in the evening than I should have, and I simply couldn't entertain myself until 4 am when it was time to take down the hanging curds. And when I slept through sounds that should have brought me to tend to this matter (I was an hour late taking down the curds), the result was a hard mass, yes very feta-like, but after a few days in brine, I had salty rubber. On the second attempt, I began the endeavor later than I should have (hello, pattern) and once more depended on the sound of music to wake me from slumber. Yeah, not so much; again 1 hour late. But this time the results were much different.

Did I mention I used less rennet that second time? No, I forgot to tell you. Anyhow, on this occasion the curds were soft, almost jello like. I was not sure what to make of it. The delicate mass could barely stand slicing. Destined for a small baking dish, I determined that the cheese would not survive brine, so I opted for a generous salting at the base of the dish, and again atop the curds once inside.

Days later, a container full of cheese and brine emerged. I was surprised to find that the salt had leached just enough moisture from the cheese that the brine fully covered the slices. What's more, the cheese had become exceptionally firm. "Uh-oh," I thought, certain I was staring into another dish of bounceable curds.

I broke off a small corner, and was thrilled to find that I was terribly wrong. The curds were firm but so rich and creamy on the palette, with just the right amount of salt. It was amazing, really, I was quite impressed. Rarely do I offer myself a pat on the back...okay, I'm getting ahead of myself, I'll celebrate my accomplishments when I can do this a second time.

At this point, the curds were surely ready to be cut into cubes, destined for an olive oil soak; I'm trying to recreate an experience here. But because this was my first successful batch of this tangy farmer's cheese, I decided not to put any kind of herbs or spices in the oil, I wanted the true flavor of the feta-like cheese to stand on its own. I used my favorite oil, made with Arbequina olives; the green, grassy flavor of the oil is a huge compliment to this cheese.

Enjoyed alone, spread on crusty bread, alongside a crisp green salad - while the possibilities seemed not to end, the supply soon did. I'll have to make this again. I just hope I can make this again.

Now, I must tell you that some of the cheese never made it into the oil. My live-in baker was making pizza that very same day, and who doesn't love feta on pizza? However, we did not have any of the ingredients that would ordinarily (in my little world) accompany feta on this crisped-crust concoction, so an improvisation had to be made, and I was skeptical. Spicy Italian sausage and feta? No, that doesn't sound right. But let me tell you...perfect. It married beautifully with the sausage and truly won me over as a favorite topping combination.

YUM.

Grilled Cheese Invitational, by Absentee

April is National Grilled Cheese Sandwich Month, you know.

If I could have been lucky enough to participate in the 1st 6th Annual Grilled Cheese Invitational in LA on Sunday, I would have definitely tested these recipes first. In theory, I had two winners. (But I always think that, heh).

There were four categories this year: Missionary Position (make a classic: butter, bread, and Cheddar or American cheese only), Spoons (any flavor butter, bread, and cheese), Kama Sutra (grilled cheese sammie with added ingredients), and Honey Pot (dessert grilled cheese). I chose to enter the Missionary and Honey Pot categories (yeah, in my own little world, okay).

Okay, Missionary. Let's start with English muffin bread. If you haven't tried it (English muffin bread), I implore you. It is something in and of itself. It tastes (kind of) like an English muffin, but more importantly, it toasts like one. Crunchy toasted bread holding in all that butter. Yum! (I even went so far as to bake my own, but that's another story.)

Next, cheese. I love sharp cheddar, all the way. Now, to shred or slice. It has only recently occurred to me that shredding is an option. I grew up eating grilled cheese sandwiches with sliced cheddar; that is how it was done. But, shredded? Some authorities swear by it, but this time I chose to stick with a good old-fashioned slab. (I did slice it pretty thick.) Yes, I will try it the other way some time.

Finally, butter. I am a die hard fan of unsalted butter, especially with good bread, but in this case... I'd have to say, go salty. It adds a savory quality to that crispy grilled cheese crust. This time around I would try a salted Irish butter. This beautiful deep-yellow colored butter had me checking the label for colorant. No silly, it's the cows; they're grass fed, and higher nutrients going in equal higher nutrients coming out. (That's quite a picture.)

The cooking experience itself went as expected. Bubbly butter, browning crust, melting cheese. It looked even better than anticipated. Dark golden buttery goodness as far as the eye could see. But here, the digression. It wasn't nearly as crispy as I would have liked. The bread on the outside had a fabulous crunch, but it didn't carry through the sammie as it should. A real grilled cheese (in my opinion) should have a toothsome wall surrounding an oozy center. This type of bread, while very crispy, is truly only so when it is toasted (implying both sides of the slice), which in this case, it isn't. What's more, as the cheese melted it settled into the nooks and crannies of the bread, further adding to its softness. Don't get me wrong, that part in particular was quite incredible, I just wouldn't call that a classic grilled cheese. I would call it crispy buttery cheesy bread. Back to the drawing board, I suppose.

The next category, dessert: the Honey Pot. Again, English muffin bread, and Irish butter. But I happened to have some Brie on hand, and then there were a few strawberries left over from a recent go at frozen yogurt. Then there was the sugar. I felt the strawberries alone were not sweet enough to turn a grilled Brie sandwich into dessert. So, after I got a wrinkle-nosed response to the suggestion of honey or maple syrup finding their way into the sammie, I decided sugar was the way to go. I would add a bit a sugar to the butter destined for the bread slices. Truth be told, I couldn't resist and I snuck some maple syrup into another bit of butter. I made two versions, both exactly the same, except one with sugar-butter and one with maple syrup-butter, we'll just see which one comes out on top.

Given my response to the bread in my first experiment, one might wonder I would use the very same for my dessert entry. Simple, this cheesy bread-attribute may make it just the thing for dessert. This is not a classic, this is a twist. A little crispy, a little soft and gooey. I like the sound of that.

Oh goodness. This is good stuff. I have to say, the maple syrup won me over. The flavor combination just sang, it was quite good. Even a winner, perhaps. The sugared butter provided a caramelized crunch to the bread, which was pleasing but made for very messy cutting (of the finished sandwich, which isn't necessarily necessary, I suppose) and the maple butter sammie stuck to the pan during cooking, which made for messy flipping. But still, delicious. Lick-your-fingers (and the plate)-clean-good.

Out of all of this, I think next time I'll start with different bread, clearly the foundation of a winning grilled cheese sandwich (and you thought it was the cheese). Overall, I would have made for some stiff competition, but with a year between me and the next Grilled Cheese Invitational, it's on.

Frozen Yogurt for Breakfast

Spring berries are here! And after so many years on this planet I never thought I would utter such words. I always associated berries with summer, and with the modern day conveniences of year-round produce, I have stuck to my guns. But I stand corrected. There at the market were red, ripe, luscious looking berries complete with the imperfections of natures. No sir, no manufactured berries here.

And what goes better with berries than cream? Mmmm, ice cream. Too bad I hadn't thought that through before making it home. No cream, no milk, nada. But I had yogurt.

One quick search for "frozen yogurt" and there it was, the perfect recipe. Only three ingredients: yogurt, sugar, and vanilla. Check, check and check, plus strawberries. The recipe called for a whole milk yogurt, though I happened to have nonfat, but because I had Greek style yogurt, draining was not necessary. Score, I'll go one for two.

I did get a bit impatient, added the strawberries too soon. Because the yogurt was so cold to begin with, it started to freeze so quickly, I thought it was time. The poor little machine strained and struggled to incorporate the berries, but it just couldn't take it. Satisfied with the results nonetheless, I dished out a healthy portion of the frozen treat. (Though in retrospect, I had a very cold bowl of sweetened yogurt with berries. It wouldn't be until later, after some quality time in the freezer. that I actually had frozen yogurt.)

And it was worth the wait. Because I used nonfat yogurt, the texture was a little icy, but I attributed that to having no fat present to smooth it out. I don't mean for that to sound like a complaint. Simply delicious; just the right amount of sweetness (could have even gone with less sugar), tangy yogurt, bursting with fresh berry flavor. I could have this for breakfast.

And I did. Thrice.

Strawberry Frozen Yogurt
inspired by 101 cookbooks

1 16oz container Greek-style yogurt
½ cup sugar (or to taste – though be aware the yogurt will taste sweeter prior to freezing)
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup fresh strawberries

1. Mix together the yogurt, sugar, and vanilla. Set aside, stirring occasionally, until the sugar has completely dissolved.

2. Transfer mixture to an ice cream maker and freeze according to the manufacturer's instructions.

3. Meanwhile, rinse strawberries, hull and cut into quarters.

4. Once the yogurt has reached the desired consistency, transfer to a bowl (or whatever container you plan on keeping the yogurt in) and quickly fold in the berries; place in the freezer.

*If using non-fat yogurt, this frozen treat will be solid once left in the freezer overnight. Remove it from the freezer at least 15 minutes before serving.

Attack of the Artichoke Dip

Remember that "sour cream" I made not too long ago? Well, if you haven't been keeping up, I created some sort of dairy product that was supposed to be cheese (I think) but turned out to be the consistency of yogurt with the flavor of sour cream. I had attempted to bake with the stuff, but that was an experiment I will likely not revisit. (Actually, I still hope to make the original recipe some day, sans brazen substitutions, just to see how it should've come out.)

Now, what to do with the rest...

I had about a cup left over, and I really did not want to send it down, so to speak. During my previous efforts to find sweetened sour cream recipes, I came upon quite a few savory ideas. And the one what won me over? Artichoke dip. Who doesn't love artichoke dip? Or better yet, spinach artichoke dip. I would only need a few more ingredients: artichokes, spinach, Parmigiano cheese, and mayonnaise. A garlic clove might be nice, if I've got it laying around.

Well, I didn't follow a recipe per se. Rather, I tried to work from the memory of the slew of recipes I had read. It seemed pretty straightforward: prep ingredients, mix ingredients, bake ingredients.

I really didn't mean to make enough of this baked dip to outlast my desires for it, but I suppose that's what you get when you don't follow a recipe. But let me just tell you, before I went into a mild food coma after uncontrollable gorging (I like spinach artichoke dip)...wow! Creamy, cheesy, rich and bubbly, bursting with chunks (big chunks) of artichokes, and covered in crunchy gratineed cheese. Heaven. Seriously.

The following recipe is half of what I made originally. It's easy to double if you really do need more dip than you could ever possibly hope to eat on your own. When purchasing artichokes hearts, I prefer jars over the can; not to say there is anything wrong with canned artichokes. If you find that the quantities available by can or jar do not easily translate to what is listed below, do not fret, adding a bit more or less couldn't possibly hurt. This is the kind of recipe that lends itself very well to your own additions and subtractions.

Spinach Artichoke Dip

1 clove of garlic, roughly chopped
1 tbsp olive oil
1 bunch spinach, washed thoroughly and de-stemmed
1½ cups drained artichoke hearts, roughly chopped
½ cup sour cream
¼ cup mayonnaise
4 oz Parmigiano Reggiano, freshly grated (separate out 2 tbsp)
Kosher salt and fresh ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 350°.

1. In a large pot over medium heat, sweat the garlic in olive oil. Add spinach, season with salt and wilt, 2-3 minutes. (Your goal is to cook the spinach as little as possible. Cover the pot initially to get it going, then “turn” the spinach in the pot, stirring the spinach at the bottom up to the top to expedite the process.) Remove spinach from the pot and spread out onto a cookie sheet or plate to cool.

2. In a medium bowl, combine artichokes, sour cream, mayonnaise, all but 2 tablespoons of the Parmigiano.

3. Once spinach had cooled, gather it up in your hands and squeeze out as much liquid as possible. Place the ball of spinach on a cutting board and cut ½” slices in one direction, turn the spinach 90° and cut ½” slices again. Break apart the chopped spinach into the bowl holding the artichoke mixture and mix well. Add salt and pepper to taste (if you need a measure, start with ½ tsp and ¼ tsp, respectively), tasting after each addition. Be conservative with the salt, the salty Parmigiano cheese contributes well to this dish.

4. Spoon the mixture into a shallow baking dish, approximately 9 X 9 or similar, and sprinkle top with remaining grated cheese. Cover loosely with foil and place on a middle rack in the oven. Bake for 15-20 minutes, or until hot and bubbly.

5. Remove foil and bake for another 10 minutes, or until the top has browned. For an extra crispy top, broil the mixture until golden brown (but watch closely to avoid burning). Serve immediately with crackers, bread or tortilla chips. Beware of overindulgence.

Must We Call it Lactic?

Lactic cheese, there's just something about that name. It sounds so...technical, or biological, or something. I guess cheese is very much those things, but I prefer monikers of historical or geographical significance, graced with whimsy, even. But lactic? Must I? Well, I suppose...

But one thing this cheese does have going for it is simplicity. Heat milk to temperature, add culture and rennet, mix well, and leave it until tomorrow. Can't really get much easier.

For this trial, I misguidedly thought the room temperature was just that, which is what this cheese needed (72 degrees). As it has warmed up a bit, by San Francisco standards, the furnace was retired days ago and the cheese stood alone. And nearly 24 hours passed (12 longer than suggested by the recipe), and the milk had less than fully coagulated before I was informed of my error in judgement. Yes, the cheese spoke.

And not only that, it was less than generous with me. A gallon of whole milk yielded less than 1 pound (rather than the expected 2), which by volume came to just under two cups. This was my first attempt at such a cheese and had little idea what to expect. The result: pleasantly piquant (make that extremely, though still pleasant, like a very active-cultured yogurt) smooth and rich in the mouth, but not heavy. I suppose I could've allowed it to drain further, but I wanted a softer, creamier texture.

But I didn't know what to do with it. It didn't seem "ready." On it's own not altogether exciting, it needed something more than just the ole salt, pepper, and herb treatment. Then I remembered coming across a recipe for labneh, a Middle Eastern (Lebanese) yogurt cheese commonly served (or marinated) with olive oil, herbs, and spices.

Perfect. This lactic cheese was very much like the consistency of drained yogurt (or so I thought). Now, I would only need a jar-like accoutrement and some olive oil (I decided to marinate this one). Forgoing any seasoning at this step, I wanted to remain true to the cheese itself with only the additional flavor of olive oil; I began spooning up the soft cheese.

Um, yeah, this may not work. The gooey cheese barely fell off my spoon, and if it had, I largely imagined the eventuality of one big smear of cheese drenched in oil. (That might not be so bad, actually.) So I filled the bottom of my glass container with a generous pool of olive oil and scooped up dollops of cheese large enough for gravity to help me do the rest. Keeping each little gob separated by olive oil, I dropped the last bit into the dish.

I tucked the container into my cheese cave (i.e. my temperature-controlled dorm fridge) for the next 7 days, anxiously awaiting the next taste. I'm not sure where temperature played a roll here, as my "cave" is kept at approximately 10 degrees higher than your every day home fridge. I would have expected the flavor to develop even further, perhaps becoming more intensely sharp. Instead, the cheese had mellowed. It was tart at first, just as I had remembered, but it finished very softly. Still rich and creamy, and ever so slightly more coagulated. It did need salt, that's for sure, so with that I was generous. Fresh ground pepper, a rough chop of parsley, a fiery drizzle from a jar of oil-packed (hot!) little peppers, and now you're talkin'...

Sorry, I really shouldn't talk with my mouthful.

The following recipe is for yogurt (rather than lactic) cheese. You'll get similar results with much greater ease.

Yogurt Cheese in Olive Oil

inspired by 80 Breakfasts

1 quart plain yogurt (without stabilizers)
Kosher salt
Extra Virgin Olive Oil, at least one cup
Black peppercorns, dried chilies, herbs, garlic cloves, the choice is yours (and optional)

2 sq ft (more or less) fine cheesecloth or butter muslin
1 colander
1 bowl (to go under the colander)
1 Large Mason jar or glass or ceramic bowl for storage

1. Line a colander placed over a deep catch bowl with cheesecloth. Spoon half of the curd into the cheesecloth and add a sprinkle roughly ½ tsp of salt over the surface. Then add the remaining curds to the cheesecloth and another ½ tsp of salt.

2. Allow the yogurt to drain in the refrigerator for at least 6-12 hours (or longer, even), depending on the consistency you desire. Once the cheese has reached the desired texture, remove it from the cheesecloth and place in a clean bowl. At this point you may add any salt, pepper, herbs and spices to the cheese, otherwise they will be added to the oil in the next step.

3. In a large Mason jar, or similar container, pour a generous quantity (enough to coat the bottom with at least ¼ inch) of good quality olive oil (something you enjoy the flavor of). With a clean spoon, scoop up a dollop of cheese and drop into the oil. If you have a drier textured cheese, lightly roll the cheese into balls before dropping into the oil. Drizzle oil over each layer before adding more to the container to help keep the balls of cheese separated. If you are adding flavorings (herbs, spices, etc.) you may choose to do so between layers, otherwise, lay them in at the top when you have finished with the cheese.

4. Add olive oil to cover and seal the container airtight with its accompanying lid or plastic wrap.

5. Store in the refrigerator for at least 5 days to allow the flavors to meld.

6. To serve, spoon out some of the cheese and oil into a dish and garnish with salt, pepper, and herbs if desired. Spread on toast, crusty bread, or crackers, and enjoy! Remaining cheese (covered in olive oil) will keep in the fridge for weeks.

No Ordinary Snack Cake

I'm not sure exactly what I made, and that is where it began. One gallon of milk and several packets of store-bought Yogourmet freeze-dried cheese starter later, I ended up with something that resembled yogurt in consistency but sour cream in flavor. I thought it was supposed to be cheese. Okay, so I didn't have it at the proper temperature during its developmental stages (a bit too cold). Yes, I know, I'm sure I didn't drain it enough; but I had already taken it away from the cheesecloth, and I simply didn't feel like putting it back. Well, that was silly.

In the ensuing willfulness, I found myself scouring the web for some sort of recipe requiring substantial quantities of sour cream (I decided that's what I had, and I had nearly 1 quart of it). Initially sour cream pound cake seemed like a natural choice, but I didn't have a loaf pan and dammit, I wasn't going to buy one (though I plan to within the next few days). What about cookies? That might be interesting, I don't think I've ever made cookies with sour cream.

Along the way I found a recipe for lemon mousse containing either yogurt or sour cream as one of the main ingredients. Hmm...before I had decided I had sour cream, I thought I might have had yogurt, so there we go. Next, I stumbled upon this delightful sour cream cake jammed full (in the best way) of lime curd. The sparks flew. Sour cream cupcakes filled with a lime curd-mousse combo and topped off with...I can't decide...sour cream icing? Would the lime mousse alone do? Bare naked, perhaps? I know...twinkies!

I was gifted a twinkie pan (actually a twinkie kit) sometime ago, and this was the perfect opportunity to use it. Little did I know that I was getting myself into something much bigger than a mere salute to the impregnable little snack cakes.

While I am positive that this recipe would have worked for me had I not made extraneous substitutions (my so-called-sour-cream instead of the real thing paired with a mini-mini loaf versus the prescribed 9X9 pan), these cakes resembled little rubber door stops. Oh goodness, there I go with these substitutions. This is the cook part of me that clashes horribly with the wannabe baker in me - you can't just do what you want in baking, there are recipes and chemistry involved, it's the melding of art and science. This lesson I'm not sure I'll ever learn.

So the mousse recipe, in my limited experience in mousse, seemed wrong in so many ways, but I was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt; obviously it's worked for someone before. Now, here is where I should have just let my own judgment take over (nevermind the fact that I was once again making a substitution), but alas, I ended up with lime soup. It was tasty soup, but certainly not the beginnings of a cake filling by any stretch of the imagination. "I'll add gelatin," I thought. I was conservative with this one. (Nothing quite as unpleasant as too much gelatin in anything, really.) Oh, not enough. I'll add more. What the..?

I added twice what I had before. What happened to conservative? What am I doing? Making lime sealant, apparently - could've bounced a quarter off this mess. Hmmm...okay: warm it up (make it fluid again), whip some of the cream I have left, fold a small amount of the lime putty back in...and voila! Lime whipped cream mousse filling! This final incarnation was admittedly quite good, but the 1+ day of trail and error became comedic and downright annoying, though through it all, I refused to give up.

Meanwhile, I opted for sponge cakes courtesy of the recipe in the little booklet that came in the kit, as I was certain that my "sour cream" calamities were unstuffable. Amazing. They looked amazing. Proud mama I was, they looked just like the real thing. So why can't they be filled? Indeed, those atomic yellow submarines truly are cream filled air cakes, there would be no other explanation for how they can get that whipped sugary substance inside those things. Yes, I was forced to create the illusion of cream-filled goodness for the aesthetics of this piece.

Put your hands in the air, and back away from the twinkie.

Next time, I'll just let the cheese drain longer.

Cheese Scones and Great Expectations

I just happened to come across this cheese from Neal's Yard Dairy called Coolea (coo-lay). An Irish cheese from and English dairy? Interesting; I must taste. (As it turns out, Neal's Yard Dairy became the market when the business grew out of its britches and now the Creamery is the cheesemaking entity.) Upon purchase I intended to add it to some cheesy potato creation I had been dreaming up, but upon tasting I realized it was far too unique to share the stage with any other cheese.

Firm but densely creamy texture, this cheese was similar in ways to Gouda, but still in its own class. Striking butterscotch flavor; if you've ever tasted a cheese and thought, "They say 'butterscotch,' what do they mean, 'butterscotch,' this is cheese, not dessert," then you haven't tasted this one. Sweet caramelized dairy, it was amazing! The quietest grassy herbal notes mingled in with the finish, oh! Words can not explain. I prefer grunts.

In later conversations with myself, I debated the pros and cons of cooking and/or baking with such a fine cheese. "Would they cast me away forever?" I wondered of the countless cheese lovers who would consider the thought of doing something to such an awesome cheese sacrilege. But throwing all judgments and paranoia to the wind, I decided to make scones, soft and tender and riddled with broken nuggets of my new found gem.

Using the same recipe as for the failed cream cheese that turned into a delicious cultured butter, I had only to make a few random substitutions for lack of required ingredients. No AP flour, so in goes bread flour with a touch of oat flour to tone down that gluten. And then there was the buttermilk; it continued to do things in its container, so it was, how should I say so as not to offend, gloopy. I used it anyway. (I must say I've gotten much more adventurous with my dairy products.) In the end, the substitutions created negligible differences. The dough was stiffer than before, probably due to the buttermilk, but the results were just as soft and tender as my first attempt. Then there was the cheese.

Cheese purists of the world, forgive my misdeeds. While the cheese melded into the scone just as I had hoped, it became bitter and chewy. Robust flavors of butterscotch, no more. Delicate sweetness and notes of green pasture, gone. I had killed the cheese.

A bit melodramatic, perhaps. But I can tell you that doing something with this cheese did nothing for it. I was disappointed; I expected a better than expected experience. And while I am certain that I will attempt cheesy scones again, I am also certain that I will be saving dairy of this caliber only for my lonely gullet.