Making cheese

My most recent cheesemaking attempt was semi-successful. Successful because it's kind of tasty, but only semi because it turned out exactly like two different types of cheese I've made and not very much like it was supposed to.

The type I made, bondon cheese, uses probably the simplest cheese recipe I've ever seen. I poured a gallon of milk into a big pot, warmed it up to room temperature, and added the starter, which is a bacterial powder that starts converting sugar into acid. Then I added rennet, which makes the milk start curdling and separating into curds and whey (solids and liquids). I let the pot sit at room temperature overnight.

Rennet is traditionally made from an enzyme in calf's stomachs. This cheese was my first attempt using vegetarian rennet, which is made from mold instead. That doesn't necessarily sound more appealing, but I try to be a good vegetarian.

By the next day a lot of the whey had separated to the top of the pot, and I ladled the curds into cheesecloth and hung it over the sink to drain overnight again. After it stopped dripping, I put the curds into my cheese press that Mike made me for Christmas and used 10 lbs of weight to squeeze out more moisture.

(My apologies for the terrible photos in this post. It was late. I was tired.)

I didn't follow the recipe's instructions for the amount of time on these steps, and I think I let the cheese get too dry. I may have also used too much rennet, which leads to toughness. At any rate, my finished cheese is really crumbly and dry, like feta, not soft and spreadable, like it's supposed to be. Oh well; it's good sprinkled on top of tomatoes.

You don't need much equipment or ingredients to make simple cheese, but making a specific type of cheese seems to be tricky. Usually my results are edible, but I'd rarely try to pass it off as the type it was meant to be.

Adventures in camping

Last week we went camping at Great Smoky Mountains National Park, our 11th national park and umpteenth camping trip since we started enjoying each other's company seven years ago. 

Our first camping experiences together involved a number of mishaps, including wildly underestimating how long it would take to walk 1.2 miles in the Colorado mountains with arms full of supplies. But since then, we've pretty much perfected the fine art of car camping. As much as we love the idea of being minimalist backpacking campers, carrying the few things we need on our backs, on each trip we tend to fill up a sedan with the tent, tarps, sleeping bags, pillows, cushy sleeping pads, a cooler of food and drinks, a box of cooking supplies, games, etc. It's probably my fault, but Mike isn't usually complaining by the time he's relaxing in a comfy chair, drinking a cold beer, and cooking a delicious meal over the fire.

All our camping trips tend to have things in common. Mike gets to work building a fire while I pitch the tent and set up sleeping bags. Then he sits down to enjoy the fire, and I take photographs. Of him.

(Clockwise from top left: Custer State Park in South Dakota, Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming, Great Smoky Mountains in North Carolina, and Acadia National Park in Maine)

Then we usually cook dinner in a skillet over the fire. Favorite meals include fajitas and corn on the cob.

Typically, then we play some backgammon.

And none of these things would be possible if we only backpacked. Someday we'll try to make the switch -- maybe like when we can just trek off through our backyard and camp in our own woods.