The First Attempt

The first mozzarelle! Whilst this cheesemaker may not yet be blessed, at least after this first attempt I think perhaps I am not damned. I used unpasteurized cows' milk and a rennet supplied by a Sig. Blumenthal which was the last bottle supplied by a pharmacist who had obtained it on request for a Sardinian who was making mozzarelle. Not having an accurate thermometer, the temperature of the milk was approximately 38 -40 c when I added the rennet. I followed a more traditional recipe for making mozzarella which avoids zapping the curds in the microwave and instead uses the hot water method which involves immersing and then working the melted curds in water that is just uncomfortably hot. If it is not scorching your hands then it is not melting the mozzarella. The flavour was very fresh and clean and the texture fairly even. However I did notice that in some spots the consistency of the mozzarella was a little rubbery. This may be owing to not cooking the curd consistently; many recipes insist on the importance of cutting the curds into uniform cubes and I think now I understand why. All I have to do now is track down some buffalo; I hear there are some near Mogliano!

Slow Food?

Slow Food?

Hmmmm…I’m not convinced of the expression around here, because around here it’s more like fast food. Why fast? -Because around here it’s right there in the garden and on the trees and in the fields. We have our own speedy service sans the plastic containers! Lettuce, cabbage, fennel, chard, squash and leeks. Or how about apples, grapes, walnuts, or even a last stray fig? Those are the daily specials today- orders to be served immediately. Just pick or pull and shake off the dirt!

Good food is so reliable here that even when returning jetlagged from our summer holiday and flight from Boston –no strength to stop for groceries- we still managed to cobble together a feast. There were cucumbers, tomatoes and basil for a salad. We made bruschetta with Dominic’s sour dough bread (we had some in the freezer) brushed with garlic and our neighbours’ olive oil (we buy it in 50 litre quantities). Melon and figs for our dolce -we did feel like contadini royalty! Though 7 years ago I didn’t quite get it, now I truly understand what the locals mean by NOT buying anything at the supermarket. Just a few packs of pasta, as a farmer’s wife today really only makes tagliatelle or lasagna (vincisgrassi in these parts) from scratch for a Sunday lunch.

We store food for the winter, like little squirrels with acorns. Tomatoes are already in jars, potatoes stored in drawers of an old dresser in the attic. Olives marinating in garlic and peperoncino. Crates of apples. This year I tried to make enough plum and fig jam to last us till spring (one really could stoop to a couple spoonfuls after lunch when no one is looking). We ration it slightly ( like, no, don’t consume the jam in spoonfuls, somebody's looking), and we have a couple other inspired preserves. Dominic is making membrillo this week, the Spanish quince paste, which eaten with pecorino cheese, and perhaps a sip of pecorino wine (ever tried this white wine from Le Marche? It’s cold magic potion!) And because Dominic has a very British side (not to mention the mother-in-law visiting) we are required to keep a supply of proper marmalade. This we address in the New Year by raiding the local nurseries for arancie amare. They’re left on the trees otherwise.

It’s quick to rustle up a soulful, delicious meal with the cupboards full of these divine offerings.
The slow part? Well, that's in the eating itself.
Another glass of wine? Another fig?...

The Blessed

I suppose it was only a matter of time before we discovered right on our doorstep a secret, bountiful and very cheap supply of raw milk. The farm itself is hidden in the depths of what is called a calanche or eroded valley. No signs, no heritage trails, no slow food widgets just a hidden house (the cows, like us, appreciate peace and quiet) and next to it a large barn with some cows kept, as the local vet tells me, in incredibly hygienic conditions and constantly filling two large rotating vats of milk that are emptied every day when the local milk truck comes. Arrive after the truck, no milk, before and as much heavenly white stuff as you can drink at 50 cents a litre. Of course the next question when you find such an abundant source of milk is, how do I make cheese for, as we are told, blessed are the cheesemakers and I hope to join the elect, soon.