Tomatoes are in season, and so is basil. You know what that means, don’t you? That means it’s time to make cheese. What? Not what you were thinking? Well, shoot. You better think again.

I realize that also in season are corn and beets and green beans and peaches and nectarines and apples and chard and raspberries, but let’s forget about those for the time being, okay? When tomatoes and basil are flourishing, no matter what else is flooding your kitchen and no matter how many hours you’ve been standing over a hot stove, the steam making your hair poof out to China and your feet so sore that you feel like your heels have become imbedded in your knee caps, you simply have to make cheese. It’s one of those laws, just like “an object in motion tends to stay in motion,” “for every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction,” “company and fish are alike—after three days they start to stink,” and “when it rains it pours.” When you have tomatoes and basil you must make cheese. It’s a law. Do I make myself clear?

It’s really no big deal. I say that—“It’s really no big deal”—all the time and it makes Mr. Handsome cringe. For example, take this real-life incident: we’re supposed to be getting ready to turn four bushels of apples into applesauce and he comes out to the kitchen and finds me washing a pile of beets and he says, “Wha—?” and I say, “The beets needed to be done, so I thought now would be a fine time—it’s really not a big deal.” And then he hits the roof and jumps about and rants and raves while I go about finishing what I started and then we get on with the sauce, my “no big deal” project only setting us back about thirty minutes.

And that’s all that you’ll get set back when you make this cheese—a half an hour to make the cheese and about five more minutes to wash up all the kettles.

What are you waiting for? (If you don’t look out the window at your garden, it’s not there. That’s another one of those laws, you know.)

(Back to that true-life example, I cooked the beets, but didn’t get around to pickling and canning them till the next day because if I had done that and 102 quarts of applesauce in one day, it might have become a big deal, and I certainly didn’t want to run the risk of not staying true to my word.)

Fresh Mozzarella
I first learned to make this cheese from Barbara Kingsolver’s must-read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, but another good cheese making book that I have referred to with much frequency is Home Cheese Making by Ricki Carroll.

You can make this cheese from any kind of milk—skim, 2%, or whole (do not use ultra-pasteurized)—but I recommend starting out with whole milk as it makes a creamier, tastier cheese.

Also, you need a thermometer for this recipe, but once you make it several times you can abandon all scientific paraphernalia and go by feel.

Note: If you live in the area, I would be glad to sell you some of my rennet. Last spring when I was on a big cheesemaking kick I ordered an entire pint of the stuff from The New England Cheesemaking Supply Company. I don’t know what I was thinking.

1 gallon milk, preferably whole
1/4 teaspoon liquid rennet
1 ½ teaspoons citric acid
1 ½ teaspoons cheese salt, or another non-iodine flaky salt

Pour the gallon of milk in a large, thick-bottomed kettle, attach the thermometer to the side of the kettle, and heat the milk on medium-high heat.

While the milk is heating, dissolve the citric acid in 1/4 cup cool water. In another small bowl, dilute the rennet in another 1/4 cup of cool water. Set both bowls aside, taking care to remember which is which.

When the milk reaches 55 degrees, slowly stir in the dissolved citric acid, then leave the milk alone till it reaches 88 degrees (the milk should be curdling) at which point you can slowly stir in the diluted rennet. Put the stirring spoon down and watch the kettle closely. Within a couple minutes you will see the milk solidify—the curd pull away from the edges of the pot and a yellowish whey will form, surrounding the curd. It is like magic; gently touch the top of the silky smooth curd and give a little whoop of joy.

When the temperature reaches 100 degrees (I move the thermometer around, alternating between inserting it in the center of the curd and then in the surrounding whey, since the kettle’s contents don’t all heat up at the same rate), take the kettle off the heat. Allow the curds and whey to sit undisturbed for another ten minutes.

Now comes the fun (and messy) part: getting all the whey out of the curd. Ladle the soft, jiggly curd into a large glass (microwave-safe) bowl.

Once you have all the curd in the bowl,

carefully tilt the bowl, using one hand to gently press on the curd while the whey trickles away (hey-hey).

Put the bowl of curd in the microwave and heat it on high for one minute. Using your hands (or a spoon, if your hands are sensitive to heat), press on the curd to release more whey. Repeat the heating, pressing, pouring-off process one more time.

Is there still more whey? Then heat up the curd again, this time for only 30 seconds.

Once all the whey has been extracted, add the salt and begin to knead the cheese until it is smooth and shiny and elastic.

If it gets too hard, reheat it for 20 seconds at a time. Stretch the cheese into a rope to see if it has reached the proper stretch-ability-factor—once it can form a rope (one to two feet long) without breaking, the cheese is done.

Form the cheese into a ball and set it on a plate. Now you can slice it and eat it, cook with it, or wrap it in plastic wrap and store it in the refrigerator.

Yield: A ball of gorgeous mozzarella, weighing in at a little less than one pound.

About One Year Ago: Dehydrating Food.

Today I invented a new candy: Pickle Spice Taffy.

It was really quite simple. All I did was measure 2 quarts of vinegar, 16 cups of sugar, 1/4 cup of pickling spice, and 1/4 cup of salt, mix them all together in a large stainless steel pot, set the pot on the stove and turn the burner to high, and then go upstairs to put the children down for naps and totally, completely, positively forget about the pot of boiling sugar-vinegar for the next forty-five freakin’ minutes!

Yes, it was an accident. Yes, there is such a thing as vinegar candy (and yes, I’ve made it before), but that recipe does not call for pickling spice, of that I am sure.

I did sample my disaster (cooks are constitutionally unable to not taste things), and it wasn’t too bad (I did about lose a couple of teeth due to the extreme sticky factor), though certainly not a keeper. The compost pile ate that syrupy mess, and now I’m left with a severely bemired kettle.

I need to get cracking on that brine redo (this time no leaving the kitchen while the stove is on)—the cukes are patiently waiting for their sweet-and-sour soaking liquid.

Okay. Now that the brine is heating up (the computer resides in the kitchen, folks—I’m right here), I’ll tell you the correct way to make sweet pickles. I really do know how to make them; this is the second double batch of the season and the first batch proceeded without event (if you don’t count the fact that I used a different kind of cucumber and that after undergoing four days of hot water soaks, the cucumber centers disintegrated into a liquid that sloshed about inside the newly hollow cuke and reminded me of snozzcumbers; though I couldn’t slice them like I do normally and had to settle for a chopped sweet pickle, they tasted just fine).

Sweet Pickles
Adapted from the Mennonite Community Cookbook by Mary Emma Showalter

These are deliciously crisp. We put the slices on grilled cheese sandwiches, or I chop the pickles up and add them to egg, tuna, and chicken salads. The kids adore them.

These pickles take seven days to make, but as you can see from directions below, you are really only doing work on days one, four, and seven.

Sometimes I have trouble with my jars staying sealed for the long-haul, so I tried a trick that my Aunt Valerie shared with me—preheating the jars in a 200 degree oven before adding the hot pickles. We’ll see how it works.

A few notes about the ingredients:
*I usually use Straight Eight Cucumbers, though this year I also planted an heirloom variety called A & C Pickling Cucumber, which I think, considering their disintegrating insides, would make excellent dill pickle spears.
*I use apple cider vinegar.
*I buy pickling spice in bulk, but for those of you who are curious about that sort of thing, it is comprised of black pepper, allspice, bay leaves, cinnamon, and cloves.

7 pounds of pickling cucumbers
8 cups sugar
4 cups vinegar
2 tablespoons salt
2 tablespoons pickling spice

Day One:
Wash the cucumbers. Put them in a container (I use a five-gallon bucket that we keep reserved for food projects) and pour boiling water over them till they are completely covered. Place a pie plate (or some such thing) on top of the cukes to help push them down in the water, and cover the container with a lid of some sort.

Day Two:
Drain the cucumbers and pour fresh boiling water over them.

Day Three:
Drain the cucumbers and pour fresh boiling water over them.

Day Four:
Drain the cucumbers. Cut them into 1/8th inch slices and put the slices back in the bucket from whence they came.

In a large, heavy kettle, combine the sugar, vinegar, salt, and pickling spice. Bring the mixture to a boil, stirring occasionally. Do not leave the room.

When the brine has reached a full rolling boil, pour it over the cucumber slices. Cover the container.

Day Five:
Drain the pickles, reserving the brine. Boil the brine and pour it back over the pickle slices.

Day Six:
Drain pickles, boil brine, and re-cover the pickle slices. (I’m getting tired of repeating myself.)

Day Seven:
Wash your canning jars (half-pints, pints, quarts, whatever you want) and lay them on their sides in the oven. Turn the oven to 200 degrees. Assemble your lids and rings.

Drain the pickles. Bring the brine to a boil. Working in batches (because you don’t want to cook the pickles for too long), add some of the pickle slices.

When the brine has come back to a full boil, scoop the pickles into the jar, tamping them down with a fork. Once the jar is well-packed, ladle in enough brine to cover the pickles, jiggling the jar to release any air bubbles. Wipe the jar rim with a very clean, wet cloth, put the lid on top and screw the ring on tightly. Set the jar (careful—it’s hot!) on a corner of counter where it won’t be bothered for a day.

Repeat the process till you have used up all the pickles. Discard any leftover brine.

Yield: about eight pints.

About One Year Ago: Ups and Downs, including yet another kitchen flop.