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.

Part of an Addiction

I can't imagine much better than something draped in cheese sauce. Probably my greatest weakness (besides homemade mashed potatoes) is something draped in cheese sauce. That something, more specifically, is any part of a starchy family I love so dearly: pasta, rice, and potatoes. At any given moment, I usually have all the makings of a cheese sauce on hand (butter, flour, milk, and cheese), and the starch to boot (potatoes being an exception). Combine these ingredients with a moment of weakness, and you've got some cheesy goodness.

Here I am somewhat of a purist when it comes to these ingredients. I'd like to turn them into a meal, really I would, something that may have nutritional value even. But I rarely enjoy any of those dishes as much as I do their unadulterated versions. I'm talkin' macaroni and cheese, potato gratin, parmesan risotto; from elegant to humble I like mine unfettered by chunks and bits and crumbs. That single texture married with it's velvety counterpart; each ingredient coming through while coming together. Elementary enjoyment.

And then somehow Tater Tots crept into my train of thought. I can't even remember the last time I enjoyed Tater Tots. Little chunks of potato in a crispy jacket with just the right amount of salt sprinkled atop, and they're history. Their texture so perfect: beyond the crispy crunch, each bitty hunk of potato holding its integrity and all the while so, so tender. Next thing you know, I'm searching my brain for any recollection of a potato gratin made with cubed potatoes. Not to imply that I'm the first and/or the only, but really I don't know that I've seen such a thing.

Oh, what has been missed. So lovely, a perfect form of potato swathed in cheese. I chose a waxy potato so each little cube would hold its texture and decided to parcook them in salted water beforehand. Now for the cheese sauce. I am from the school of the bechamel-based sauce, though not literally, that's just what I do. Recently, I read an article in the New York Times (that was not recent, yeah try 2 years old, but new to me), concerning the great debate of cheese sauce. Well not really, but to paraphrase, the author dissed the white sauce base right off the bat. I've always been curious just how cheesy anything can be without the saucy base to get it started. And while I am fully willing to experiment, and plan to (soon, actually), I wasn't ready at this moment.

So I decided to compromise. I made a standard bechamel, instead using much less and to it adding nearly double the amount of cheese I normally would have (for that amount of base), just to see. Alone it was quite cheesy and far less creamy, that is, the mouthfeel was much closer to melted chese than it was to sauce. Baked together with tender nuggets of potato, it very much became what I had expected; the potatoes soaked up what they could and left morsels of melty cheese throughout. And while it was delicious, rich, and decadent, I did miss the creamy sauce, just a bit.

The following recipe would work well for 2½ pounds (give or take) of peeled, medium-diced potatoes, parcooked. Simply mix the potatoes together with the sauce, spoon into a shallow baking dish and bake uncovered in a 350 degree oven until desired bubbling and browning has occurred (30 minutes or so).

This is a creamier sauce. For something cheesier in texture, remove about half of the white sauce from the pan before adding the cheese. You can always add more sauce back into the mix to adjust the texture to your desire. This will, of course, yield less sauce.

Basic Cheese Sauce

2 tbsp unsalted butter
2 tbsp AP flour
1 – 1½ cups whole milk (2% or skim would work also)
1 lb grated cheese such as sharp cheddar, gruyère, gouda, or other favorites
Kosher salt and freshly ground white or black pepper to taste
2 drops each of Tabasco and Worcestershire (optional)
¼ tsp ground yellow mustard (optional)

1. Melt butter in a medium sauté pan (the curved sides of the pan will work better with a whisk); add flour and whisk together. The butter-flour mixture (roux) should be moist with a glossy sheen (add more butter if the mixture looks clumpy and crumbly, but be conservative; a little goes a long way).

2. Lower the heat to maintain light bubbling. Cook the roux to a light golden color, stirring frequently to prevent scorching.

3. Whisk 1 cup of milk (not ice cold) into the roux. The mixture will appear very thin at first, but will reach its full thickness just before coming to a boil. If the mixture is too thick for your taste, add more milk. Remember, allow the sauce to come nearly to a boil before each addition of milk to be sure you don’t end up with a sauce that’s too thin.

4. Cook the sauce over medium heat, stirring often, for at least 10-15 minutes to cook away that raw flour taste. Resist any urges to season the sauce at this point (wait until the cheese is in).

5. Stir in grated cheese. Add salt and pepper to taste and additional flavorings as desired. Applications are unlimited.

Something Special

We must have charmed our cheesemonger a bit, because not long after asking for some recommendations on what we should try, he directed us to little tubs of soft and crumbly curds in olive oil. It was an Australian feta made with sheep and goat milk and aged in olive oil with garlic and herbs in the mix. And with only a handful of those little tubs left (the producer has discontinued to import this cheese into the States), I would later come to realize why he seemed to be guarding it.


Feta is one of those cheeses that I love, but I go through phases of sorts. I'll be on a kick for some time (i.e. it is consumed at every opportunity), and just like that it falls off the map for some time longer. (Though at any moment I will take it on a pizza or yet another restaurant version of the Greek salad.)

But these nearly broken curds bathed in olive oil told me that this was different, maybe not even as close as second cousins to my conventional sense of feta. I barely got into the kitchen before tearing into a baguette and popping off the lid to that tub, diving right in. I took the creamy curds from the bread with my lips as if it were ice cream, savoring the unctuous creation on its own. It was very moist, very soft, and the oil imparted a taste far beyond the oft overwhelming salty-tangy flavor most associate with feta. You could taste the sweetness of the milk after the mild but up-front tang subsided. Creamy, rich, decadent, and bursting with herbed nuances, this cheese should have its own classification. I recalled our moment at the store amongst the cheese and the impression this particular cheese left on the young man that steered us to it, "It's something special," he said.

And that, is without a doubt.

(Hmm...maybe I could...)

What Exactly IS Quark?

Have you ever tasted quark? I haven't. What inspired me to make somthing I was so unfamiliar with? I haven't got a clue. Maybe it was because I was on a make-cheese-on-the-furnace kick. But while I am certain that I did not end up with quark, I am positive that I made something tasty. In the end, anyway.

First of all, my only knowledge of quark was from the old stomping grounds. We had a quark souffle at the restaurant that was quite a signature of our up-and-coming Pastry Chef. When the staff would ask, "What is quark?" I would explain that it is a fresh cheese originating from Europe with a texture and flavor between that of a cream cheese and sour cream. I have no idea where I got this explanation. I think I had translated it from chef-speak coming out of the kitchen, or maybe I just made it up all together. But I never tasted it. Wait. Not true, I was given a "taste" by the most humble of proportions; it was so frugle that I was not able to form any new opinions other than those which I had been fed. Like I said, I haven't (really) tasted quark.

And so, I set out to make quark and I'm not quite sure what I ended up with. The texture was very dry (but creamy); I let it drain far too long. It was also rather piquante. As described in one of my cheese making books, quark is less sour than yogurt. I'm not so sure about that in this case. Maybe I let it sit on my furnace for too long, or maybe the excessive draining only exagerrated the present flavors. I've got a whole lot of "maybes" workin' here.

Nonetheless, I decided to doctor things up a bit. Added some dried herbs, salt, cayenne, and a small clove of garlic smashed into a paste. Mixed thoroughly, and voila! I made Rondele (insert trademark here). You know, that whipped, flavored cream cheese-like mixture that you find in the deli section of most grocery stores, is horrendously bad for you, and one of my many junk food weaknesses. This one is similar to the garlic and herb flavor, I'd say.

After sitting in the fridge overnight, allowing the flavors to come together, it was ready to taste. Yum! This stuff goes great with crackers, spread on sandwiches, and hold up(!), I think I found a low-fat substitute for cream cheese (this stuff is made with whole milk instead of cream or half and half). That could get dangerous.

Garlic and Herb Quark
inspired by Making Artisan Cheese by Tim Smith

1 Gal whole milk (non ultra-pasteurized)
2 tablespoons buttermilk
1 tsp salt
2 tsp dried herbs (your preference – chives, parsley, basil, tarragon, etc.)
1 garlic clove, mashed into a paste*
Pinch cayenne pepper
Kosher salt and black pepper to taste

1 microwave safe bowl (no plastic or melamine)
1 instant read thermometer (you can find this in any cooking store, some markets, and online)
2 sq ft (more or less) fine cheesecloth or butter muslin
1 colander
1 bowl (to go under the colander)

1. In a sanitized, microwave safe bowl, heat the milk to 88°F (on 100% power this only takes a few short minutes, check after 2 minutes and then every 30 seconds thereafter). Naturally, if you don’t have a microwave, this can be done in a clean pot and transferred to a sanitized bowl after heating.

2. Stir the buttermilk into the heated milk and cover the bowl with plastic wrap. Leave the milk to ripen at room temperature for 24 hours. *This is where I diverged. I decided to place the bowl in a warm spot, on my furnace (seriously, it’s not that hot), just like I had for the cream cheese I was making at the same time. This could account for the more tart than expected flavor. I made this choice because room temperature in my apartment this time of year is below “room temperature.” I’m wonder if this would have worked at a cooler temperature (?). Try it, get back to me.

3. After 24 hours, check for proper coagulation. Gently lean the bowl on its side; if it does not move, you are ready to move on. If there is still some movement, the cultures need more time to develop; allow the cheese to sit and check it again in 6 to 12 hours. Once you have a firm mixture, move on to the next step.

4. Line a colander placed over a 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.

5. Tie the corners of cheesecloth and together in a knot and hang the bag of curds to drain for 2 hours. Next, transfer the bag back into the colander to finish draining in the refrigerator overnight (or longer if a stiffer, drier texture is desired).

6. Once the cheese has reached the desired texture, remove it from the cheesecloth and place in a clean bowl. Scatter the dried herbs evenly over the surface of the cheese, add the garlic clove, cayenne, salt and black pepper (be conservative - you need less than you think) and mix well. Return the cheese to the refrigerator for at least 2 hours to allow the flavors to meld. Before serving, taste again for seasoning and add more salt and pepper if desired.

Hey, if you thought that was easy, try the cream cheese!

*To mash the garlic into a paste (without the help of a garlic press), add a pinch of kosher salt to a roughly chopped garlic clove and mash the garlic between your knife and the cutting board until it is…paste. Or, watch this.

This Cream Cheese Rises to the Top

Now we've got cream cheese! After my last attempt, I was still determined to make a successful batch of cream cheese. This time I used a recipe that was far more simple and it used half-and-half instead of heavy cream (okay, it uses a little cream) as the main ingredient. It required nearly no equipment; time was all I needed. And a bowl. And a warm space. You get the idea...

After heating the half and half, then combining ingredients as necessary, I wrapped the bowl in a bundle of towels and placed it on my heater. I just so happen to have those old-time radiator heaters that provide just the warmth this cheese needs (too bad it's not big enough for the two of us). After about 24 hours, it was ready to drain. The recipe indicated that the cheese be drained in the refrigerator, but per the usual, I forgot about that part and allowed it to drain on my counter for about 12 hours. I reread the recipe at that point and then moved it into the colder environment of the fridge for another day and a half. While that sounds like alot of time, I was going for a stiffer consistency and it drained very slowly after the first couple of hours.

When it was time, I removed the cheese from the cloth and noticed that there was clear separation of the fat within the ball of cheese. I had to get that back in there, back together. Now, given my last experience, when I ended up making butter (practically) out of my cream cheese, I was a little reluctant. But I'm dealing with half and half in this instance, after all, so get stirrin'! I added salt, but only to enhance the flavor, you couldn't taste it.

And let me tell you. Wow. Creamy, spreadable (not as hard and thick as store bought), delicious. I had so much, I decided to divide the batch and add herbs to my schmear. But one can not live on cream cheese alone (but I did live on cream cheese and crackers for a couple of days); luckily I have a live-in baker. Homemade everything bagels, yeeayah! It just doesn't get much better than this.









Cream Cheese
adapted from Making Artisan Cheese by Tim Smith

4 cups half and half (non-ultrapasteurized)
1 cup heavy cream (non-ultrapasteurized)
2 tablespoons buttermilk
Salt
Herbs (optional)

1 microwave safe bowl (no plastic or melamine)
1 instant read thermometer (you can find this in any cooking store, some markets, and online)
1 colander
1 bowl (to go under the colander) 2 sq ft (more or less) fine cheesecloth or butter muslin


1. Combine the half and half and cream in a sanitized, microwave safe bowl. Heat the milk to 90°F (on 100% power this only takes a few short minutes, check after 2 minutes and then every 30-60 seconds thereafter).

2. Stir the buttermilk into the heated cream mixture and cover the bowl with plastic wrap. Wrap some kitchen towels snugly around the bowl, this will insulate the bowl and help the cream maintain its temperature. Keep the bowl in a warm place and allow it to sit undisturbed for 24 hours.

3. After 24 hours, check the cream mixture for proper coagulation. Gently lean the bowl on its side; if it does not move, you are ready to move on. If there is still some movement, the cultures need more time to develop; allow the cheese to sit and check it again in 6 to 12 hours. Once you have a firm mixture, move on to the next step.

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

5. Tie the corners of cheesecloth together in a knot and hang the bag of curds* to drain for 2 hours. Next, transfer the bag back into the colander to finish draining in the refrigerator for 36-48 hours longer, depending on the consistency you are looking for. To finish, add seasonings as desired (or none at all) and enjoy! Keep in a sealed container in the fridge up to two weeks (if you can get it to last that long).


*For tips on draining, read the recipe at the end of this post.

They Must Do Things Differently in Philly

I wanted to make cream cheese. I love cream cheese. For the most part, I try to stay away from the stuff. Technically, I just don't buy it. But I eat it (when the opportunity presents itself in the form of bagels and cream cheese in the office, mail order cheesecake, etc).

Between two books, I've got five recipes. Hmmm, where to begin. Naturally, I thought the more cream the better, so I chose the recipe for Swiss-style cream cheese. This particular recipe is a bit more complicated than some of the others, but I let the ingredients lead the way, nothing but cream. Don't you make cream cheese out of cream? It's not called half-and-half cheese.

As instructed, I heated the cream to 65 degrees using the ol' microwave method that I love so much (it is my preferred method for making goat cheese; we'll go into more detail later). I then added the necessary starter culture and rennet, covered the bowl of cream with plastic wrap and set it aside for 24 hours (or so). After that period of time, the cream was ready to drain. Half the cream goes in the cheese cloth, then a sprinkle (well, a teaspoon) of salt, then the remaining curds, and another teaspoon of salt. I was leery of the salt. I couldn't imagine salted cream cheese tasting good, but the recipe indicated it was present to help the cream drain, so I did as I was told.

After draining the curds required a short amount of time under pressure, though not much (time or pressure). Then it was time for the unveiling. I should've taken a picture; it was so pretty. But as anyone who loves putting that first dent into the fresh jar of peanut butter knows, I couldn't resist getting a taste before the cheesecloth was even off. Wow. Rich creamy, and buttery. Really buttery. In fact, I shouldn't have done what I then did: stirred vigorously. While my intentions were good (make it smooth and creamy) I wasn't thinking that when you beat cream (as I did, essentially) you get butter.

I kept eating it, thinking, "This tastes kinda like butter." Hmm. Them I toasted some crumpets and applied generously, thinking, "This kinda melts like butter." I don't know, maybe I just made butter. Given that I don't know what "Swiss-style" cream cheese tastes like and I gave a good whipping to a batch of cultured cream, I think that's precisely what I made. Cultured butter, I decided.

Note to self: not only was the salt in the recipe undetectable, I would've liked more.

And what does one do with slightly sour, very rich, yummy butter? Why, bake, of course! I decided to play up that tang and make buttermilk scones. Now I don't pat myself on the back often, but hoo! These were (are) probably the the tastiest, most tender, moist, delicious scones I have ever made. They even had that slightly crispy outer crust holding in all that soft, steamy goodness. Add a slap of that cultured butter, and you've got something magical. And gone.

Buttermilk Scones
adapted from Baking with Julia by Dorie Greenspan

3 cups AP flour
1/3 cup sugar
2½ tsp baking powder
½ tsp baking soda
¾ tsp salt
6 oz cultured butter, cold
1 cup buttermilk (approximately)

2 oz cultured butter, melted
¼ cup sugar, for dusting

Preheat oven to 425°

In a medium bowl, stir the dry ingredients together with a fork. Cut or break apart the cold butter into small pieces with a fork (or knife) and add to the dry ingredients. Using your fingertips, work the butter into the dry ingredients by pinching and flattening it together until it resembles coarse cornmeal. Don’t worry about a few stray pieces of butter larger than the others, this will add to the scones’ flakiness.

Pour in 1 cup of buttermilk and mix with a fork just until the ingredients are just moistened. Though dough will look rough and soft, but if it looks dry, add another tablespoon of buttermilk. Gather the dough together and turn out onto a floured surface. Knead gently (gently!) and briefly, only about a dozen times (or less, even). Divide the dough in half and pat the dough into a ½” thick circle, brush with melted butter, sprinkle with sugar, and cut into triangles. Repeat with the other half. Place the scones on an ungreased baking sheet and bake until the tops are golden 10-12 minutes (if you follow the recipe, or longer if you weren’t paying attention like I wasn’t and patted the whole sum of dough into a 1” thick shape of some sort cut into triangles of various sizes that took much longer to bake but turned out beautifully just the same).

Serve warm. And if you must keep longer than one day (impossible!) freeze airtight and reheat on a baking sheet at 350° for 5 minutes.