140 animal, vegetable, miraclenatural enzyme), which together cause the milk to set up into a very fi rm
curd in just minutes, rather than overnight. For mozzarella, this curd is
kneaded like dough, heated until almost untouchably hot, then stretched
like taffy, which is a lot of fun. The whole process—from cold milk to a
beautiful braided, impress- your- guests mozzarella on the plate—takes
less than an hour. For hard cheeses like cheddar, the firm curd is sliced
into little cubes, stirred and heated gently, then pressed into a round
wheel and, ideally, aged for weeks or months. We have to hide our cheeses
from ourselves to keep them around this long. Over time, we’ve converted
a number of our friends to the coven of cheesemaking.
At Ricki’s workshop we really did make six impossible things, but only
half of them by noon. Lunch included our queso blanco stir- fried with
vegetables, sliced tomatoes with our mozzarella, and mascarpone- fi lled
dates. We tasted, congratulated ourselves, and headed back for the next
round. We put our cheddar into a mechanical press to squeeze extra mois-
ture out of the curd, while Ricki talked about aging and waxing as if these
really lay ahead of us—as if we were all going home to make cheeses. I’d
be willing to bet we all did. At the workshop’s end, everyone gathered in
Ricki’s office to order the cultures and supplies we’d need for our next ef-
forts. A few dollars’ worth of packaged bacteria will curdle many gallons of
milk. A cheese thermometer costs ten dollars, and the rest of the basics—
stainless steel bowls and pots—already reside in the kitchen of any ear-
nest cook. We left with the confidence to strike out on our own. Our
friends who’d shared the workshop went back to their homes in Virginia,
New York, and Boston. They all called me within the week with exciting
cheese updates.
Why do we do this? It’s hard to say. Some are refining exquisite prod-
ucts, while others of us are just shooting for edible, but we’re all dazzled
by the moment of alchemy when the milk divides into clear whey and
white curd, or the mozzarella stretches in our hands to a glossy golden
skein. We’re connecting across geography and time with the artisans of
Camembert, the Greek shepherds, the Mongols on the steppes who live
by milking their horses—everybody who ever looked at a full- moon pot of
white milk and imagined cheese. We’re recalling our best memories in-
fused with scents, parental love, and some kind of food magically coming