Although I followed all of the precautions, every single one of the last 16 mushroom jars I did got contamination:
Pretty sure I know what the cause is, not sure if I can recover. It’s a shame because that would meant about 24 lbs of mushrooms over two to four months.
I also have these, the spent straw bags from my previous mushroom adventures:
So I made what is affectionately known as a “crap pile,” an outdoor pile of all the crap you’ve accumulated when growing mushrooms.
First the grain:
. . . which has some interesting colors!
Straw:
Then some other stuff:
Despite the contaminated grain, and very dependent on the weather, I might get some mushrooms in the fall or next spring.
After my previous fail, I felt a need to redeem myself.
Pretty much the same crust:
And leftovers of the same sauce, but watered down a bit and used more sparingly:
. . . and I made some ricotta, which I should have done for the previous one. My excuse is that I’ve grown used to making ricotta from leftover whey, so didn’t even think about making it from scratch.
More in one part for a reason 🙂
Ingredients:
This time two seasons were given over to a mix of veggies, my fave, the rest relegated to two months each:
Done perfectly.
What, you ask, could possible go wrong now?!?
. . . it’s always something!
I was so delighted to find a 16″ non-stick pizza pan (at Aldi) for $3.99 that I forgot the age-old adage “if it seems to be too good to be true, etc.” and t’other one, “non-stick coatings don’t last in high heat.”
So the pan was fine the first three times I used it, then the pizza started to stick the fourth time. Fifth time I used some oil, and it wasn’t easy — I spent far more time trying to get the pizza out of the pan than I did eating it. Sixth time, disaster. Even with using a sharp cleaver, it was almost impossible to separate the crust from the pan:
For some reason, this mostly affected the veggie part, the part I was most looking forward to:
But, you ask, how did it taste?
All three of the pieces I mostly successfully separated were very good:
. . . especially char siu (Chinese roast pork):
and (lots of) ricotta with goat cheese and scallions:
But the best part was the veggie scrapings, which despite looking a bit like the dog’s breakfast:
tastewise were the dog’s bollocks.
So, next time, I’ll try using oiled parchment paper in the pan. That may not work either, but fiber is good for the digestion 🙂
This is another cloth-bound Cheddar, which has gone through an interesting succession of molds, at about seven months. Promising!
As usual, the try-not-to-wet-your-pants- (either in hopeful anticipation or fear) moment as you cut into it:
Oh dear.
That doesn’t look good.
Gaps in the paste where there shouldn’t be any:
And this just looks bad:
With something between fear and temerity, I tasted a bit, and the reason for its fail became immediately obvious – – I forgot the salt!
Cheddars are the only cheeses where you salt the curd before molding it. All other cheeses are salted after molding (either by brining or just sprinkling the salt on). That’s my flimsy excuse and I’m sticking to it.
Of course, salt is not only important to the taste of the finished cheese, but also acts as a preservative, and kills most of the nasty wee beasties that you don’t want in cheese. Basically what I had done is to leave a gallon of milk out for seven months.
Especially disappointing because cheddars take quite a bit longer than most cheeses to make, on top of which doing the cloth binding is a complete PITA.
I’ve been hankering for pizza and itching to use more of my sourdough starter, but didn’t have any mild (ricotta/provolone/mozzarella) cheese, so I decided to try an experimental 16″ Quattro Stagioni.
Basically, the idea was to use some of the more strongly flavored cheeses I’ve made, load up on the toppings (mostly vegetables), and with a nice tomato sauce, it will all come together in a delicious mix and they’ll all sing “kum-by-yah.”
These cheeses are not only more strongly flavored, but also salty, so I didn’t add any salt to the crust or sauce.
Alas . . .
Stir together 1 C. of sourdough starter, 2 C. of flour, and 1 C. of water, then leave overnight at room temp.
Far too goopy for crust, so I added just shy of 1 C. of this (first experiment!):
That’s better!
Lightly oil the pizza pan:
And spread the dough:
Push the dough over the edges of the pan, because it will shrink (less or more) during baking:
This must be the first time I spread out the dough in the pan NOT on a kitchen counter, because it left a groovy pattern on this place mat 🙂
I like it better than the original design. Another excuse to put off doing laundry? 🙂
Now you can leave it out for as long as it takes for the yeast to rise to your pleasure, or use as is. Like my men, I prefer my pizza crust thin and somewhat dense, so I didn’t wait.
Bake in a 425 degree oven for 7-10 minutes, until *very* lightly browned.
(Cook’s tip #1: It will look anemic and under-done, but don’t be tempted to cook it for longer, or the bottom may burn during the final baking.)
Meanwhile, make the sauce:
If you have canned diced or whole tomatoes, whizz them in a blender until you get the texture you like. This one (from Aldi), which I hadn’t used before, was perfect, slightly chunky:
Add the tomatoes and simmer the sauce as long as you like, but at least 30 minutes please!
Sauce on crust (there’s a reason for the quadrant disparity):
And have all the toppings ready to go:
Bake at 425 for 15 minutes, then check every few minutes until of desired doneness.
But, you ask, how did it taste? Which season was best?
Let’s clear up that pesky burnt part. It was the “two blue cheeses + scallions” part, and because it had less sauce, burned. Definitely the winter of my pizza despair.
The Manchego/Feta/Thyme was okay, but you couldn’t taste the salmon. A drab fall.
Things were perking up with Broccoli and Feta, spring:
But Taleggio with Onions/Peppers/Tomatoes, despite Taleggio being the strongest of the cheeses (maybe because I used less?) was the best. Finally summer!
I’ve tried to put a positive face on it, but this was a failed experiment. So, a couple of observations. Like any experiment, failures increase your knowledge.
So here’s how it increased: (1) I never thought I’d moan about tomatoes being too “tomatoey,” but the sauce was very intense. Maybe next time I can make a sauce with tasteless supermarket tomatoes, but that somehow seems like an admission of defeat.
(2) Even though I had sliced them fairly thinly, there was too much strong flavor of the cheeses. Strong sauce flavor and strong cheese flavor made for, at best, awkward bedfellows, so you couldn’t really taste the other toppings.
So, next time, if I want to use some of the cheeses I’ve made, I’ll probably make a white pizza (necessitating blander cheeses, but that will make the stronger flavors stand out), maybe with a bit of red sauce, use crumbles rather than slices of my cheeses, and double up on the veggies. What do you think?
After crowing about how I had reduced making sourdough bread to a science, my starter of mostly a year crashed.
Breads made with commercial yeast are easier, quicker and more bullet-proof than sourdough breads, but not as good (and not nearly as much fun!), and yeast is thin on the ground these days, so I started over.
HOW TO MAKE A SOURDOUGH STARTER:
It’s a doddle, with just three ingredients: (1) flour (2) water, and (3) patience.
Stir together 100g (a scant cup) of flour and 1/2 C. water, and leave it out at room temperature overnight.
Then, each day, remove about 2/3s of it (you don’t have to be exact), and add another scant cup of flour and 1/2 C. water, then stir.
Save the rejects if you’re thrifty. Keep them in the fridge, not at room temperature.
In five to 10 days, depending on the temperature, the starter will be nicely bubbly, like this:
. . . and will have a pleasant slightly sour smell. If it turns green or blue and/or smells nasty, start over!
The yeast in a sourdough starter is of course what makes the dough rise, but its other characteristic, a slightly sour flavour, is caused by some of the same bacteria (Lactobacillus sp.) that are used in making cheese. (I’m a font of useless knowledge.)
To make bread, stir 1 C. of the starter into the rejects:
. . . and leave it at room temperature overnight. It will get bubbly:
Stir in 1 tsp. salt, 1 Tbsp. sugar, and enough flour (I used two cups) and stir, until the dough starts to come away from the bowl:
If you didn’t save the rejects, just add more flour . . . but that means it will take longer to rise.
On a floured surface, knead for about seven minutes, or until the dough is elastic:
Sprinkle a baking tin with corn meal (or you can use oil), place the loaf, then cover it with plastic wrap or a damp towel:
Then wait . . . because you’re growing wild yeast, the rising time will vary. Maybe a couple of hours, maybe overnight.
But … EEK … what happened here?
Partially it’s due to the nature of sourdough bread, which because it takes longer to rise, the dough spreads out more, and is often baked in a vessel, but also because I didn’t add enough flour to the dough, and didn’t correct for that.
Thus, unintended focaccia.
Enjoy some finger poking:
Then:
. . . which looks like a lot, but was only about 1/3 C. Use an olive oil you like, because you’ll definitely taste it in the bread.
Add spices or cheese of your choice. I added Mexican oregano and some epazote. Epazote is a Mexican spice that has a slight smell of kerosene if you use too much, but lovely if used sparingly.
Bake in a 450 degree oven for 20 minutes or until browned and delicious:
If you’re going to enjoy it another day, wrap it tightly, coz otherwise it will dry out quickly.
This is my second attempt at a Shropshire Blue. We won’t talk about the first one 🙂
Five months in:
The blue mold (Penicillium roqueforti)Â in blue cheeses needs to breathe, so that’s why there are holes in the top of the cheese:
Also why, even with commercial blue cheeses, they are skewered, and often the mold is in lines, rather than being randomly distributed. Here’s one I made earlier (SWIDT?):
The most fraught time in cheese making is after the aging, and you’re hoping you won’t be embarrassed when you cut the cheese:
Pretty nice. More orange, less blue and drier paste than a commercial version:
. . . but I wasn’t especially bothered, because with blue cheeses, it’s mostly a question of aging. More blue means they can be sold earlier (2-1/2 months for a commercial SB), but during aging, the blue goodness continues to penetrate the paste.
But, you ask, how did it taste?
Delicious. The first thing that hits the palate is the denseness of the paste, then there’s the tangy complexity of a cheddar, then the blue kicks in and makes your taste buds tingle.
See my previous post (https://tiabr.com/i-rub-mine-every-day/) for how this started.
Now it has been five months, almost every day wiped with “special sauce,” so much so that I had to re-up/re-do the herb tincture/soda lees mix:
Looks pretty good, if I do say so myself :
It got an attack of cheese mites. Not necessarily a bad thing, and in fact some French cheesemakers encourage them, e.g. for Mimolette. So the rind is a bit pitted:
After five months of loving care, I had more trepidation cutting in to this one than any previous cheese:
Pretty nice. I’ve learned not to expect round holes, so that’s fine, but EEK! some wayward blue cheese spores insinuated their way in:
. . . which, luckily, was only in two small places in the cheese.
The paste was nice, slightly springy.
But, you ask, how did it taste?
Pretty good. Mild (“sweet”) as expected, and a nice balance with the slightly bitter herbs (no vodka taste!), and unsurprisingly more herby taste from the bits closer to the rind. I’m giving it a solid “B+.”
It’s the first “big” (four pound) cheese I’ve made, so there are leftovers.
Washed-curd “sweet” cheeses (think Edam, Gouda, Alpine types) are delicious when they’re young and tender; with aging, they become harder, more complex, and more interesting.
T’one bit I’ll enjoy now, the rest waxed. The smaller one I’ll cut into in about six months, and the larger one will stay in my fridge for another year:
Not my best wax job, but I had many holes to fill:
Beef curry (#1) was easy because I had made Red Curry Paste a few months ago, languishing in my freezer and and crying out to be used:
Appetizing, non?
Fish curry (#2) was easy because I used this, also languishing, in my fridge and calling out to be used:
I don’t have enough experience to make a judgment about refrigerated vs. tinned curry pastes, but so far they don’t seem especially better. Usually when I can’t be arsed to make curry paste from scratch I use Maesri brand from Thailand, which some of my friends may have personal experience with. With one or two exceptions, they are all very good:
Beef Curry (#1):
Scrape the cream from two cans of coconut milk and put into a large skillet:
Cook over medium heat for five minutes, stirring constantly, until the oil separates from the cream:
(I used one can of “Top Coco” brand, which is very oily, so if you don’t get as clean a break, don’t worry about it.)
Add the curry paste:
And stir for a couple of minutes until well mixed and fragrant:
Add aromatics of your choice (I used onions, chopped ginger and chopped garlic) and stir again for a few minutes until again fragrant:
Add 1-/2 to 1 lb. beef, sliced 1/4 – 1/8″ thin, then again stir for a few minutes. It will look like this:
Add the rest of the coconut milk, then add the vegetables of your choice, starting with the one that will take the longest to cook, with a few minutes between each:
When the vegetables are done to your liking, add 2 Tbsp. fish sauce and 1 Tbsp. sugar (I used palm sugar, but any is fine) and stir for a bit. Taste and add seasonings until you get to the balance of sweet/sour/salty/hot that you like.
Fish Curry (#2): IM (limited) E, Thai fish curries tend to be more “delicate” in flavour (but no less tasty) than meat-based ones. So, less frying of aromatics, often no coconut milk. This one seems typical:
Boil 3 C. water, then, as usual, add the longest-cooking veggies first:
Add more:
When they are nearly done, add the fish and 3 Tbsp. curry paste:
And cook until done. Again, taste and adjust seasonings until it’s delicious.
I didn’t mean to do a smackdown, but wanted to make a curry, and discovered that I only had about 1/2 cup of long grain rice, which is my favourite. (#1)
I have most of a 10 pound bag of sticky (aka sweet or glutinous) rice, which isn’t my favourite. There are a number of ways of cooking it, but I like it best steamed. (#2)
I went to 7-11, mostly to stock up on these:
(and a little treat):
The only rice they had was this, which I haven’t made before:
#1 I did what I usually do, rinsed the rice, added water to a 2:1 ratio, brought it to the boil, covered the pot, cooked it under the lowest heat possible for 20 minutes, then removed it from the heat and let it sit for 10 minutes.
#2 was rinsed and left to soak for four hours (the minimum time if you’re going to steam it), then steamed until done but not too sticky (unsurprisingly, it gets stickier the more you cook it.)
#3 I treated just like long-grain, went to wash it in the pot . . . and it floated!
Then I read the directions. Boil the water, add the rice, stir, then remove from the heat and cover.
I put the rice into a strainer, then followed the directions:
Here they are, from left to right, long-grain, sticky, Minute:
They don’t look that different, do they? But what differences!
The long grain was perfect, each grain separable and with a consistent slightly chewy “al dente” texture. The sticky rice had about the the same texture, but unsurprisingly the grains stuck together much more than the long grain.
I had high hopes for the Minute rice. After all, it’s just rice . . . you can’t f*ck it up that much, right? But this was really, really bad. Granted, rice is pretty bland, but it does have *some* flavor. The Minute rice was completely flavorless. Far worse is that it was an odd mix of mushiness and nasty hard bits, even in the same grain. Maybe this is due to my mis-cooking (or unconscious food snobbery), but I’d almost rather go hungry than eat this.
I started making cheeses about seven months ago, and about two months ago they started to get cheese mites. This is not atypical, and it’s not the end of the world — in fact, at least one French cheese type (mimolette) encourages their growth.
They attack the rind of the cheese.
How do you know if you have cheese mites? Your cheeses will start to look dusty, like this Parmesan:
Eventually they can make holes, like this Appenzeller:
But the best evidence is that when you lift the cheese, there’s a pile of dust, like this extreme case:
There doesn’t seem to be much information about cheese mites on the net, so I’m following the suggestions in Caldwell’s book.
She suggests as one possible remedy diatomaceous earth. I’m familiar with this because it’s part of my “standard” potting mix for my cacti and other succulents. This is what I use, sold as oil absorbent by Napa Auto Parts:
As its name implies, it’s made up of diatoms, which are wee beasties with silica (glass, sand) skeletons, like this one:
Not only does it have excellent moisture retention/release properties, but also the sharp ground-up bits of their skeletons get between insects’ exoskeleton plates, causing them to dry up and die. That means I haven’t had any problems with insect pests, notably mealy bugs (otherwise almost impossible to eradicate without noxious chemicals), for years.
Diatomaceous earth needs to be rinsed before use, just as you would with rice before cooking it. So my thought is that the rinse liquid should be loaded with tiny sharp bits of silica, and I could dunk my cheeses in it for a while.
But that’s obviously not food-safe, so I’ve followed Caldwell’s other recommendation, ozone. I bought this one:
. . . which at $27, seems like a good compromise between the cheapy (and probably useless) versions, and the higher-end “industrial” units, which start at about $80. It puts out 50 mg/hr, which seems like it should be sufficient.
If that doesn’t work (and I won’t know for a month or so . . . ) I’ll go for the diatomaceous earth.
