I have yet to successfully make cream cheese. There’s always a thin layer of milk that settles to the bottom and then sets up into cheese, and then the milk cheese nubbies mix in with the cream cheese and wreck the texture. However, I have figured out a workaround, at least for making cheesecake: mix 1 part quark to 1 part mascarpone and voila! Creamy, luscious cheesecake.  

***

Twice now, I’ve tried to make cup cheese and twice now I’ve failed. Want to know the worst part? It’s my own recipe I can’t follow, gah! Talk about pull-your-hair-out frustrating. Everything goes swimmingly until I get to the part where I heat the curds in the double boiler. They’re supposed to go all melty-soft, like marshmallows, but mine just seize up. Maybe it’s an acid level thing? 

quark on the left, failed cup cheese number one on the right

Anyway, the cheese turns out not as it should, but edible. Kinda like a not-entirely-smooth cream cheese. The last time I blended it up and it got pretty darn creamy.

It still wasn’t the right texture for cup cheese, but I dipped potato chips in it for breakfast and called it good.

And then I dolloped it on pizza.

And tonight I threw the last of it into a white sauce for tomorrow’s baked mac and cheese.

***

The one good thing about the failed cup cheese is that I get sour cream from it. When making cup cheese, the milk is mixed with buttermilk and then sits at room temp for a good day or so and then, before proceeding with the cup cheese recipe, I skim off all the cream that’s risen to the top.

The cultured cream is thick and — I know this sounds gross — kinda stringy. But hear me out! The flavor is delicate and sweet, and the texture isn’t that far off from the Central America’s beloved “crema”. 

We eat it with beans and rice — kinda pour it over — and I’ve used it to sauce up pasta dishes. It’d go great in potato soup, I think. It’s still not the thick, spoonable sour cream that we’re all used to, but for now it’ll do. 

***

The other day I cut into a Gouda Divino that was so divino it gave me goosebumps.

Repeatedly! Seriously, it was so good it was like I really did die and go to heaven. 

Two things about Gouda:
1) I just learned that it can be aged for years and years and years and will get sweeter and harder over time.
2) I think I need to try smoking it. 

(I also cut into a Gruyere which was kinda disappointing because it didn’t taste like Gruyere but then I realized it was more like a cheddar and then I was like, Hang on a minute. I just made a Cheddar Gruyere! and got all strutty proud for creating my own unique cheese, toot-toot!) 

***

Believe it or not, I didn’t make whipped cream with our own raw milk cream until this last week. I wasn’t sure it’d whip properly but it did great.

We ate it spooned over wedges of fresh nectarine galettes.

***

And speaking of galettes (this is turning into quite the “if you give a mouse a cookie” post), for the first time ever, I’ve been making pie pastry with 100 percent homemade butter. 

brown sugar and bourbon peach pies

The resulting pastry is softer and more pliable, almost like an oil-based crust. It’s delicious but also entirely different from pie pastry made with store-bought butter.

The deeper I get into making things from scratch (in this case, dairy), the more I notice how wildly my homemade creations vary from the store-bought versions. These variations, I think, underscore just how industrialized our food has become, just how far afield we are from real food in all its nuanced glory.

***

And finally, here’s a video that’s all about the cheese.

It thrilled me to the tips of my tippy-toes, it did. Viva el queso!

This same time, years previous: the coronavirus diaries: week 76, the quotidian (8.19.19), passion fruit juice, starfruit smoothie, garlicky spaghetti sauce, an August day, how to get your refrigerator clean in two hours.

After a full month of raging heat and crushing humidity, the sudden drop in temperature is giving me whiplash. I’d been lusting after fall, but now that I’m shuffling around in wool socks and drinking hot cocoa before bed, I’m feeling a little melancholy. Maybe I wasn’t quite as ready for summer to be over as I thought?

We still have some summery things to wrap up. I haven’t done any sweet corn yet, and I want to do another couple batches of salsa. Also, I didn’t quite get my fill of ice cream experiments, or summer evening visits with friends.

There’s something so relaxing about sitting on the porch with friends while the sun disappears behind the ridge and the dark closes in. When the cool air tickles bare arms, I fetch candles and a few throw blankets. The twinkle lights click on and conversation meanders. The shadows obscure the dirty dishes cluttering the picnic table. It grows later, and then later still.

Once again friends are coming over tonight, so today I’m making groundnut stew and nectarine galettes, and thinking about how many more friend-filled, porch-sitting evenings I can wring out of summer.

Want to come over?

This same time, years previous: physical therapy, the quotidian (8.17.20), a bloody tale, a little house tour, the Peru post, a new room, miracle cat, kale tabbouleh with tomatoes and cucumbers.

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

August takes the kitchen.

Salsa.

Nectarines: thick rounds are faster and tastier than thin wedges.

Breakfast.

Prepping to drink me some garden goodness.

And I was even standing right there!

For packed lunches: my secret weapon.

So. Much. Rain.

A halter for Butterscotch.

Vaccinated.

Three duplicates, all starting with M: can you name them?

My husband is trying to train me out of leaving water stains on the table.

It’s a plan.

This same time, years previous: almond apricot pound cake with amaretto, breaking horses, knowing my questions, a piece of heaven, peach cornmeal cobbler.