We’re in wine country: Bordeaux

Here we are enjoying box wine from our neighborhood, Cote de Castillon. And the view:

One of the fields of Cabernet grapes.

Devon driving a tractor

That is all.

Cheesemaking: Aged Goat Cheddar

The first farm we stayed at, Riverside Goats’ Cheese, made two varieties of goat cheese: a fresh cheese with herbs, and an aged cheddar-style cheese.

Yes, that’s mold, but the good kind. This hard cheese is white, with a smooth, mild flavor and a slight earthy tang. This particular specimen is three months old.

I’d never had cheddar cheese from a goat before. I’d always assumed it was a strictly cow thing, and orange like the Tillamook bricks I’ve had all my life. I learned cheddar cheese takes its name from the town of Cheddar, where it has been made for over a thousand years. The “cheddaring” process developed and used there can be applied to kinds of milk beside a cow’s. While we were there, our host prepared a new cheese from scratch.

First, extract a bit of the ol’ goat juice. If I’ve learned one thing about milking a goat it’s that you need to squeeze harder that you may initially be comfortable with. In the words of this farmer, “Don’t worry, you wont hurt them. The kids use their teeth.”

The milk is filtered, then added to a temperature-controlled stainless steel vat. The temperature is raised to around 29 degrees Celsius (84 Fahrenheit).  Several grams of a starter culture is added. This is a freeze-dried bacteria of a very particular strain. It looks like flaky, yellow-ish powder. It’s called a “starter” because it starts the cheese.

Stir it in, and let that bacteria multiply in there. The acidity of the milk will begin to raise, which is a good thing. That is a result of the bacteria, and it helps ensure that ONLY good bacteria exists in the milk, and not the kind that can make you violently ill.

Rennet is then added (20 drops or so to the 25 liters of milk we’re using to make this single cheese). Rennet is a combination of enzymes, traditionally extracted from the stomach of mammals (cows, usually), used to digest milk. In cheese making, it coagulates the milk, separating it into the solid stuff used to make cheese (curds) and the liquid (whey).

Within an hour, the milk became custard-like, with a watery liquid covering it. Then comes the fun part: cheddaring.

A “cheddaring knife” (six dull blades held in parallel) is passed through the curds and whey, dicing it up. The size of those diced chunks of curd affects the ultimate texture and taste of the cheese. The goal is to create surfaces inside the curd for the whey to seep away. Too large, it may become lumpy with veins of mold running through. Too small, and the result may dry and become crumbly. She spent a lot of time ensuring the entire vat was cheddared consistently, and no large chunks remained, especially on the bottom.

You then allow the whey to seep from the curd, then drain that whey away.

You leave those curds to drain again, then cut them again. Drain again, then cut again. Then, finally, drain again. The consistency will become drier on each pass, from custard-like, to soft wet tofu, to hard tofu.

The curds at this point is chewy and fairly tasteless. The flavor of cheese tends to come from the bacteria that inhabit it, and develops over time, as that bacteria consumes proteins and sugars in the curds. But before that happens, the curds are milled (broken up by hand) and salted.

The salt helps the flavor. I read recently that salt functions to open up the tastebuds, to allow in flavors that otherwise would be missed by the tongue. The salt also acts a preservative. Also, thanks to the culture, the pH should have dropped to 5.4 or so — acidic enough to keep bad bacteria at bay.

But this bowl of curds is not cheese yet. First it must be drained more, but in a controlled fashion that limits the loss of the protein-rich curds. For that, cheese cloth, a form, and heavy wood blocks are used.

The salted curds are packed into a cylindrical form with holes in it (for drainage) and lined with cheesecloth. Round wood blocks are placed atop it, slowly squeezing the whey out.

Additional blocks are added as the curds are squeezed down. Cheesemakers tend to use the same blocks. The thought is that a bacterial culture unique to their cheesemaking operation lives on the surface of those wood blocks which adds a unique flavor to their cheese.

The contraption in this photo is a spring-loaded squeezer that applies a delicate downward pressure. Too much pressure, and you squeeze out too much moisture. Not enough, and it can rot. The draining can take a full day, or more. Once drained, you extract your squeezed, round-shaped block of curd which is looking more and more like cheese. This particular cheese is only half-drained. It still had more time to go.

Look how small it is compared to the initial vat of milk. Once drained thoroughly, you extract the cheese for the last time from the form and cheesecloth, then set it on a shelf in a cool, ventilated room.

After a few days a fine white mold will cover the cheese. Here is our cheese, about two days old. This mold is a good thing, as it helps hold in moisture, necessary to the bacteria inside. As time passes, other molds may form (as can be seen in the first photo on the three-month cheese). If it gets too nasty, you can wipe the excess mold off with a damp cloth.

For this particular variety of cheddar, there’s not much to do now but wait for the flavor to develop to the desired sharpness. There’s many other things one can do, from poking tiny holes hrough the block so mold can grow inside (as seen in blue cheese), to placing it in a bath of brine. There are hundreds of cheeses out there, and a different method for each.

Full Irish Breakfast

The full Irish breakfast, as served by The Moorings restaurant in Portmagee, County Kerry, Ireland. Egg poached, pork sausage, bacon, fried tomato, baked beans, black pudding and white pudding (both sausages).

We ended up here after the weather ended our hopes of crossing to Skellig Michael. The full Irish breakfast cheered us up (Halbe had porridge). We watched the choppy waves in the port from our window-side seat.

How well do you know your veggies?

For the last month and a half Devon and I have been working on organic farms (certified and non-certified) in Europe. While here, we’ve actually learned quite a lot about the fresh produce we find on our plates for breakfast, lunch and dinner. What’s surprised us both is how little we know about the actual plants from which our produce grows.

Here are a number of pictures of produce growing from the vegetable and fruit farm we worked on in Wales. I could identify but a few without help when we first got there. Can you guess what’s what? I’ve put the answers in the comments section. How many did you get right?

In addition to learning what my veggies and fruit look like in the ground, I learned a few things about how the plants grow which surprised me. To a farmer, this is basic knowledge, but to a city girl, it was quite the revelation. The most surprising thing to me was that when we eat broccoli, we’re actually eating the immature flower. If farmers  didn’t cut the broccoli head from the plant, it would blossom with little yellow flowers.

The second thing that surprised me was the potato plant. I hadn’t really thought about what a potato plant looked like just that the potato was a “root vegetable.” The potato is really a modified leaf. It isn’t a root at all! Potatoes grow underground inside ridged mounds. The higher the dirt covers the plant, the more potatoes it grows. If a potato breaks the surface it turns green, like a leaf, and becomes poisonous.

Lastly, when I was in Devon I learned about the bay leaf. Whenever I’m making soup, it usually calls for a bay leaf or two. But where does one get a bay leaf? Usually, we go to the herbs section of the grocery store and it’s conveniently in a little container for us. But, we have no idea it comes from a tree and what we use in our soup are the dried leaves.

There is tons more I can share, but I fear I’m inching into geek territory. The point though, is that we eat broccoli, bay leaves and other fruits and veggies every day. We don’t even consider what they look like in the ground. It’s all so conveniently located in the store or the farmers market that we don’t have to worry about it. I think though, that in order to truly appreciate what’s on your plate we need to understand where it comes from. And, well, now you know what eight more veggies and fruits look like when they’re growing on the farm. Don’t forget to click in the comments section to see how many of the veggies/fruit plants you got right!

Five days left in Ireland

And five days left without dependable internet. In in a nutshell, in a bulletted list, here’s what we’re doing:

– Goats: water, hay, straw, milking with machine, clean machine, repeat in the evening.
– Muck out stalls (remove all the old urine and feces-laden straw)
– Walk greyhounds twice a day, clean out their stalls
– Watch our waistline balloon on the solid diet of potatoes and meat (i.e., Tuesday night’s meal (per person): two hamburger patties, two sausage, pork loin, chicken breast, steak, jacket potato with butter, roll with butter)
– Watched greyhound races
– Watched greyhound time trials
– Watched greyhounds exercise on beach
– Go to local pub (Marine Bar) for traditional music

We leave on the 15th for Paris, where we’ll remain for five days.

We’re still alive

Halbe and I are alive and well, but with a limited internet connection. I’m literally writing this on a laptop balanced on a fencepost on the edge of a goat field. We’ve been taking tons of photos and enjoying our time on a goat farm in Ireland. We worked at a farmer’s market today, and talked to many of the other vendors about their own experiences. Fascinating stuff which we hope to write about soon.

A few Anglo-Nubians are waiting for their turn, so I need to hop. Updates soon!

How to pour the perfect pint of Guinness

The highlight of my trip to the Guinness Storehouse was the “Perfect Pint” bar, where they instruct visitors on how to pour, you guessed it, the perfect pint. They’re very specific about it, largely to ensure the correct amount of the creamy head. I took copious notes (not really, I photographed the instructional poster), and here is the method as described to me by an official Guinness bartender:

1. Take a cool, dry, Guinness-branded glass. The distinctive, bulbed pint glass is important. The traditional, straight-side glass leads to either too-much or not enough head.
2. Hold the glass “firmly” at 45 degrees under the tap, logo facing you.
3. Pull the handle fully forward towards you. Straighten the glass when the drink reaches the “Guinness” text. Stop filling when it reaches the middle of the harp, or about 3/4 full. Do not allow the nozzle to touch the side of the glass, nor penetrate the surface of the drink.
4. Leave the surge to settle, allowing the creamy head to form. The head should be 10-15 mm high. The head is formed by nitrogen gas, released from the liquid by friction from a mid-line filter. It first runs down the side of the glass (hence the cascading dark/light effect), then up the middle. The gas, temporarily caught in the top of the liquid, forms the head.
5. Top up the glass by pushing the tap handle away from you. Stop when the foam is proud of the rim (slightly above it). Do not allow spillage.
6. Present to customer with a steady hand, logo facing forward.

There. Now that’s a perfect pint.

Dublin!

Halbe snapped this shot of a sodden Dublin pair, enjoying the sunshine/sidewalk on a Monday afternoon. Taken in Temple Bar.

We’re back in sightseeing mode, and have spent two days checking off items in Dublin: Guiness Storehouse, Trinity College, Long Library, Book of Kells, Temple Bar, St. Stephen’s Green, Ha’Penny Bridge, St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Any recommendations of things to do or see?

Best meal for me so far: bangers and mash from Gruel on Dame Street.

Two sausages on mashed potatoes, covered with onions cooked in a balsamic vinegar. Hearty and delicious.

Since arriving, I’ve been living a fairly Henry VIII-style diet. Lotsa meat. Dinner the night before was a grill selection: thick cut bacon, steak, and more sausage, accompanied with potato wedges.

I haven’t seen the emphasis on organic and local food here that was near-omnipresent in England/Wales. We did eat at “Nude”, an eco-conscious cafe created by Bono’s older brother, but its €2.25 wheatgrass shots did not appear to be attracting many customers.

Next, we’re considering renting a car to visit the northern coast of the island. Next week we begin work on a commercial goat dairy farm in County Cork.

The American Tourist and the Sea

Me over the Bristol Channel and sporting a very fashionable camera bag. This hillside of grass grows increasingly steep, gives way to rocks, then plunges into the channel. From there I couldn’t see anything of this, but instead a clean line where land and water seemed to meet. A slip would certainly have been painful, if not fatal. But at this moment, my feet firmly planted, the view was calming and peaceful.

Today was our last full day in Wales. Tomorrow we travel to Dublin and begin our time in Ireland.