There are some days when sitting down in quiet isn’t going to happen. I think we’re there today. So I’m leaving the lectionary for now and sharing other table thoughts.
Last week, I had a doctor’s appointment, and he congratulated me for being up on my feet. That surprised me. Plum is five weeks old, and sure I’m tired but my family is eyeballs deep in happy, beautiful circus mode. Of course, I am on my feet. Life changes with a new little one; it doesn’t stop. Anyway, the doctor must have noticed my surprised look because then he said “But you’re not cooking the meals, are you?”
Some lovely assumptions buried in this little exchange, aren’t there? But my doctor means well. He just doesn’t get food preparation isn’t a chore for me.
It definitely fits into Eugene Peterson’s pray and play model of sabbath which makes sense to me. And for Sabbath, read babymoon.
I remember stirring up a large pot of risotto when Blue was four days old. Friends from around the corner had popped by meet him, so I wanted to feed them. Of course. With Beangirl, the impulse struck earlier. The midwives had just settled me into bed with my newborn when I realized that I was ravenous. I thought I’d head into the kitchen and put together a tray. (Really, it was strawberry jam that seemed imperative in that moment and I knew my mum had given me a box of scones which would make an excellent jam-delivery method.) I was stopped by the wise women around me who kept me firmly planted in bed. They said I needed more fluids and stuck an IV in my arm – I’m quite convinced it was more tether than medically necessary. Ah well. The Spouse got the jam and scones, and chilled champagne to boot. There’s a glorious postnatal win.
But, as I said, we’re five weeks in now with little Plum. That’s more than enough time to get back on my feet. And long past our champagne moments. Which brings me to the cheese.
Maybe it’s just that slightly sour milky smell that permeates life with a newborn. Or maybe it’s my body’s increased need for calcium in these post-partum, early breastfeeding days that’s making me dream of cheese.
So last week, post-doctor, I decided to make cheese. Well, ricotta anyway. Some people will tell you that it isn’t really cheese but I’m not so sure. There are curds and whey involved, and the result is pretty fantastically creamy but usefully low in fat – a bit like cottage cheese, but far more gorgeous. It’s versatile, too: lasagne and cheese cake both need it, and I use it in baking both savoury and sweet.
I turned to the Spouse’s DIY cookbook. The recipe there was convincingly easy and looked like a good place to start messing around with cheese.
Here it is:
Equipment Preparation: Line a colander with butter muslin or a thick layer of cheesecloth and place it in the sink for when you are ready to drain. I clipped the muslin to the colander using bulldog clips so it wouldn’t slip down.
You’ll also need a thermometer, a pot to hold the milk and a large bowl.
Ingredients:
Juice of 1 lemon
1/8 cup of white vinegar (this works out to about 1.5 tbsp – I just filled my ¼ cup measure half way)
2 litres whole milk
1 tsp salt
How to:
Measure the lemon juice and vinegar and set it to one side.
Heat the milk and salt to 85° while stirring frequently to stop it from scorching.
Remove from heat and slowly add the lemon juice mixture, stirring as you do. Then let it sit and separate. This takes about 8 minutes and when it has finished, you will have solid curds and translucent whey.
Gently, gently, pour everything into the lined colander and let it drain for 8 minutes. You don’t need to touch it at all during this stage.
Then, gently again, transfer cheese from the cloth into a large bowl. If you have any large chunky curds, break them up a little.
Chill in the fridge for two hours – and then eat within 5 days.
Nothing taxing there. And it worked. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, as Beangirl would say. I actually made it while I was making tomato sauce for dinner. And then put a bowl of it on the table alongside the plates of pasta. (I couldn’t quite wait the 2 hours chill time and kept scarfing little spoonfuls – all in the interest of recipe testing, you understand.)
And if you need more (better?) ideas of what to do with it, here are a couple.
Torta Pasquale: There is a large patch of chard growing in front of my Italian neighbour’s house and his wife told me that he’s been perfecting his mother’s pastry recipe which uses olive oil instead of butter. Something like this recipe, I should imagine with fancier pastry. I think that homemade ricotta would make it even more beautiful. Maybe we’ll swap tutorials.
End of the Summer Blackberry Scones: This recipe started out on the Smitten Kitchen blog, but I found it via 101 Cookbooks. All I can say is do. It’s the right season and worth every bramble scratch.
Or you can spoon your beautiful ricotta into a bowl and drizzle it with honey all over and dig in. If you need a reason, dig out Isaiah 7. Prophetic precedence for good food. Enjoy.
