• yogurt: the water bath method

    Let’s talk yogurt!

    berry preserves, leftover from the diner

    I have been testing, and retesting, my methods, trying and trying and trying to nail down a yogurt making process that a) sets up decently firm even though my milk doesn’t have much cream, b) does not taste too sour, and c) doesn’t leach out whey. 

    This last one was surprisingly tricky. I’d been making my yogurt in the dehydrator, using an ambient thermometer to keep tabs on the temp, and after just 3-4 hours at 110 degrees, as per the instructions (though they said it should take 6-8 hours), my yogurt had set up firm, but with several inches of whey on top. I’d pour off the whey and, while the yogurt tasted fine, having only a partial jar just didn’t seem right. Plus, it looked gross.

    I had the same problem with the yogurt maker.

    So I tried things, like incubating at slightly lower temps, or experimenting with boiling my milk to evaporate off some of the water — maybe less water would equal less whey? — but nope. I still got the same separation. 

    And then sometimes I wouldn’t.

    I never knew how it would turn out, and the inconsistency was making me mad. 

    Oh, also: a friend recommended not stirring the yogurt culture into the milk — just put the starter in the bottom of the jar and then pour in the milk — so I tried that. But my yogurt didn’t set up as well that way: the yogurt in the bottom of the jar was always substantially thicker than the yogurt at the top. (I think this no-whisk method was supposed to eliminate the stringiness that supposedly comes with whisking in the starter, but I’m not sure. So far, I think I’ve been spared the stringy problem, but maybe that’ll come later?)

    So then I started to wonder if the incubation temp was simply too high and too fast. Maybe a lower temp and more relaxed incubation time would yield a more consistent product? Many of my friends make their yogurt by wrapping it in an insulated sleeping bag, or sticking it in the oven with the pilot light on, or putting it in a crockpot or cooler filled with warm water. And lots of them let their yogurt incubate over night. The way I was doing my yogurt, if I let it go overnight, the final product would’ve been pucker-tart.

    Having heard about my quandary, one of my friends sent me a photo of her yogurt. Set solid — in the photo she was holding the jar upside down (just to taunt me, I’m sure) — and with an enviably gorgeous cap of cream, it was just the type of yogurt I was lusting after. She told me her methods — heat to 160-180 degrees, cool to 115, stir in some culture, pour into jars, and then incubate in a cooler with 95 degree water. 

    95 degree water? Hmm…

    So I tried it. I followed her method to a T, thermometers and all.

    After about 7 hours: yogurt without whey!

    Granted, my yogurt didn’t have a cap of cream, and if I’d held it upside down, the yogurt wouldn’ve glugged right out (dang Holstein) (sorry, Daisy — we love you), but it was definitely set all the way through and it tasted deliciously sweet to boot. Woot!

    And THEN, I started experimenting. One of my friends had told me that when her kids were little they weren’t crazy about yogurt so she added a tablespoon of sugar and some vanilla to each quart and they gobbled it right up. And then I wondered about using honey instead of sugar….

    Now, after lots of tests and quite of few gallons of yogurt, I’m consistently making (sometimes, upon request, for local friends) three different kinds of yogurt: plain, honey, and vanilla. The plain is, well, plain. The honey has about a tablespoon of honey per quart — the honey’s floral notes shine through, making me think yogurt might be an excellent way to showcase different varieties of honey — and the vanilla has a little sugar and a bunch of vanilla.

    Last time my writing group met at my house, I served them honey and/or plain yogurt and granola. One of the guys who claims he doesn’t like yogurt — not store-bought, not flavored, not homemade, not in a box, not with a fox — had three (four?) servings of the honey yogurt and then put in an order for a quart next time we meet.

    I understand his enthusiasm. I am not a big yogurt (pudding, jello, custard) person either, but I can not — I repeat, can NOT — get enough of this yogurt. I eat it for breakfast, snacks, dessert, and before bed. The other day when I went writing, I packed some for a late breakfast and, partway through the morning, I slipped out to the car to get my yogurt fix. 

    I love looking in my fridge and seeing all the cute little jars filled with yogurt. But they kind of bug me, too, because I want to eat them all, right now, but I can’t. Or shouldn’t, at least. 

    If we don’t eat through the yogurt fast enough to suit me, I make smoothies for dessert/snack/breakfast: a pint or two of yogurt, fruit, preserves, frozen bananas, coconut cream for sweet, if we need it. Like so, we can eat through boatloads of yogurt and fast

    Still, my favorite way to eat it is with granola.

    This granola, to be exact, and the vanilla yogurt. Berries, too, if I have them. 

    PS. Last night, I was telling our dinner guests about my yogurt making ventures and, lo and behold, one of them, turns out, despises yogurt of any sort. It makes her gag, she says. Something about the acid taste. The thickness, too, maybe. She has to spit it out. So I asked her if she’d like to try mine? Why, yes, she said bravely, she would. And she liked it! It’s not acidic at all, she said, and it’s so gentle and light, almost like cream. Which is funny because there is almost no cream in our milk.

    Yogurt: The Water Bath Method
    Adapted from my friend Kris’s instructions.

    Milk
    Roughly 1-2 tablespoons of plain yogurt per quart of milk

    Heat milk to 180 degrees, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat and cool to 115 degrees: to make this go faster, I pour the milk into a bowl and then set the bowl in a tray that I’ve filled with ice and water, changing out and refreshing the water as needed, and giving the milk a stir every 5 minutes or so.

    While the milk is cooling, fill a cooler half full of 95 degree water. The water should come at least three-fourths of the way up the jars and/or, making sure the lids are screwed on tightly, cover them completely. 

    Place the starter culture — the plain yogurt — in a small bowl. If scaling up the quantities, slightly reduce the amount of starter. Label the jars with tape on which you’ve scrawled the date and/or type of yogurt. (Why, yes, I do work in a restaurant!)

    Once the milk has cooled to 115 degrees, whisk about a cup of milk into the starter to thin it and then add it back into the big bowl of warm milk. Give it a good whisk. Pour into the jars, cap tightly, and place in the cooler of tepid water, along with the thermometer. Check the temp every 3 hours or so, adding more hot water as needed. The yogurt should be set in 6-9 hours — to check, unscrew one of the jars and dip in a spoon. If it’s firm — scoopable/semi-sliceable — it’s done. 

    Transfer the jars to the fridge and chill thoroughly before serving. Don’t forget to reserve some plain yogurt to start your next batch.

    Variations
    Honey Yogurt: prior to adding the starter, whisk 1 tablespoon of honey (per quart of milk) into the milk.
    Vanilla Yogurt: prior to adding the starter, whisk 1 tablespoon of white sugar and 2 teaspoons of vanilla (per quart of milk) into the milk.  

    This same time, years previous: hill of the martyrs, in the kitchen, injera and beef wat, a trusty skirt, the quotidian (7.28.14), rest and play, the boy and the bike ride, a quick pop-in.

  • the quotidian (7.26.21)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary;
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace

    Running again!

    About my chocolate chip cookies, I am particular: thin, soft, chewy.
    Additional pb candies a bonus.

    That’s a really long time to wait until I find out if it’s any good.

    To eat with zucchini and lots of butter.

    How many eggs is that? Four? Six? I think the diner staff is messing with me. (I ate them all.)

    Bakery baby.

    Snapping the photo right next to him so you can feel how much taller he is than me.

    Emptying the drainer one final time before a week at camp: in his new (size FOURTEEN) boots.

    Sporting a new, black-rings-around-the-eyes look.

    My husband: Parallelolambs!

    Look who’s relocating to Massachusetts! (But even before that, to the front seat.)

    The night kitchen.
    photo credit: my husband

    This same time, years previous: Magpie, happenings, proofing baskets, dance party, we’re back!, the girl and the tea party, classic bran muffins and banana bran muffins, spicy Indian potatoes.

  • peach pie with bourbon and fresh rosemary

    Last week in the bakery, I made peach pies. 

    It took several tries to arrive at one I was happy with. First, I made the one I wrote about here, but the bourbon flavor wasn’t strong enough and it was too sweet. So then I made a new recipe that called for macerating the peaches and then mixing the juice with two cups of dry rosé and reducing it down to almost nothing. Which made a good pie — I loved the delicate pink color — except I couldn’t detect the rosé, and what’s the point of using all that rosé if you can’t taste it?

    And then I tried a bolder method: a whole cup of bourbon cooked down to just a few tablespoons and then infused with fresh rosemary. With this pie, while I didn’t detect the bourbon and rosemary outright, those two ingredients added complexity and depth, turning the ever-insipid peach (sorry, peach lovers) into the flavorful, more peachy, affair I was pining after.

    pre-ordered pie awaiting pickup

    Also! I left the peaches unpeeled, and then carefully arranged them in the pie shell, skin-side up. This way, with the peaches packed in tight, they didn’t cook down into mush and the skins added a lovely peachy color. The skins, I was delighted to discover, did not, in any way, detract from the texture of the pie.  

    Because I baked the test pie on a Friday and it was still too warm to cut into by the end of the day and the bakery and diner were closed that weekend (Redwing!), I was forced — FORCED — to take the whole pie home with me so it could be properly taste tested. 

    And boy oh boy, did we ever taste-test the heck out of that pie. We had it for dessert that night, and then I had it for breakfast the next morning, and then I had it again that afternoon, etc, etc., until, within just twenty-four hours, we’d managed to taste test that pie straight into oblivion. 

    My job is so hard. 

    Peach Pie with Bourbon and Fresh Rosemary
    Adapted from Erin Jeanne McDowell’s recipe in the Poughkeepsie Journal.

    1 recipe (2 disks) rich butter pastry
    4-5 firm, juicy peaches
    1 cup bourbon
    2 sprigs fresh rosemary
    ½ slightly-rounded cup dark brown sugar
    ¼ teaspoon salt
    4 tablespoons butter
    3 tablespoons cornstarch

    Roll out one disk of pastry and place it in a 9-inch pie plate, allowing the excess to hang over the edge of the plate. Roll out the second disk of pastry and cut it into strips: you can either make a lattice directly on the filled pie, or weave it on a piece of parchment and then flip it onto the fruit-filled pie. At the bakery, I make stacks of lattice weave and then store them in the freezer to have on hand for easy pie assembly. 

    Pour the bourbon into a medium-sized saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer until it’s reduced to one-fourth cup. Remove from heat and add the rosemary. Steep for a couple minutes — or longer, if you want a stronger rosemary flavor. Remove the rosemary and squeeze/press to get every drop of the rosemary-infused bourbon reduction. Add the brown sugar and return to a boil. Cook for a minute, stirring steadily. Remove from the heat and add the butter and salt. 

    Measure the cornstarch into a small bowl. Add a little of the hot bourbon caramel sauce and whisk until smooth. Add the cornstarch slurry back to the bourbon mixture and, whisking constantly, boil for one minute. Remove from heat. (At this point, the caramel can be refrigerated for a few days — maybe even weeks — until ready to use.). 

    Pit and slice the peaches. Do not peel. Toss with the caramel sauce and then arrange the slices, cut-side down, in tight, concentric circles, tucking in peaches where needed to make a well-filled (but not heaping) pie shell. Pour the remaining caramel sauce over the peaches. Top with the lattice weave and crimp to seal. Brush the lattice and edges with an egg wash (1 egg yolk mixed with a pinch of salt and a bit of heavy cream). 

    Bake the pie in the bottom half of the oven at 400 degrees for about an hour, or until the center is bubbling and the crust is golden brown. If needed, cover the tops and/or edges with foil to protect from burning. Cool to room temp and serve with vanilla ice cream. 

    This same time, years previous: Italian meringue buttercream, lemony cream cheese frosting, all practicality, on his own, the quotidian (7.21.14), how to beat the heat, braised cabbage, salvation’s chocolate chip cookies.