How I learned to stop worrying and love the cheese

I have a hefty amount of resolve. When an idea pops into my head and really sticks, it is remarkably challenging to sway me in any other direction. Sometimes this extreme tunnel vision is a blessing--without it, I doubt I would have had the resolve to take a gap year and leave Colorado for Peru on my own and (mostly) on my own dime at the tender young age of seventeen. Nor would I have made the commitment to go back the following summer under similar circumstances, though this time with my dear friend and travel companion Moira at my side. Yes, sometimes it's good to be resolved.

It is this aspect of my character that led me, about nine months ago, to make another decision (though this time not as extreme as picking up and leaving the country). No, instead I became fixated on something I didn't have to go anywhere to accomplish: making cheese. I actually think the original interest sparked last summer when I read Barbara Kingsolver's moving and delightful memoir Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, in which she talked about going to a cheesemaking seminar in New England with a woman named Ricki. At the time of reading the account I was still pretty committed to my veganism, but that book and another (Kitchen Confidential, required reading for everyone by the exquisitely base Anthony Bourdain) started a ripple effect that led to a phenomenal sea change in my food philosophy and eating habits--albeit for entirely different reasons.* Kingsolver made the case for meat and other animal products, which I am going to drastically simplify, in this way: most of the dairies and meat producers in the country are part of a unsanitary, inhumane (for workers and animals alike) agro-industrial complex--but not all of them. The primary power we wield as consumers lies in where we choose to spend our dollars. If we have the option to support small businesses that offer an alternative to the aforementioned practices, we bolster a sector of the industry that makes animal welfare, food quality, and environmental impact primary concerns. And frankly, we could use more people like that.

So I started to shift my perceptions. Animals are part and parcel of the agricultural food chain that has been in place for the past several thousand years, and it looks like they're not going anywhere well into the foreseeable future. And while I understand that any number of vegans might criticize me for changing my lifestyle to try to work within the confines of a system that I know is almost irreparably damaged, in some ways I think it might be more effective. Veganism is, in part, a food ideology of negation: it is most easily defined by what you don't buy and what you don't eat. Now, don't get me wrong--vegans eat a lot of richly varied types of food. After all, there are thousands and thousands of varieties of fruits, vegetables, nuts, beans, and grains that I think are much too easily ignored so that meat can take center stage. Nonetheless, while more and more people are content to eat entirely on the plant end of the food spectrum, the total number of vegans in this country is only about 1 million--nothing to balk at, certainly, but nonetheless a relatively small piece of the American pie. It seems mighty challenging to convince the remaining 300 million or so eaters in this country to change their eating habits to fit into an ideology perceived as giving something up.

As any vegan, current or former, will tell you, the most common response to finding out someone is vegan (after "so, what do you eat??!?!") is an effusive, nearly tragic waxing on about how utterly unlivable life would be without cheese. At what point would it even be possible to convince a nation comprised of turophiles to abandon the rich, creamy delicacy--even if doing so were the most ethical food decision one could make (which, by the way, I don't think it is)? No, this is one of those cases where the do-gooder in me has realized that sometimes change has to adapt to reality, and the blossoming food-lover in me has realized that while life without cheese may not be utterly unlivable, it is certainly not the most enjoyable option.

I understand that I'm probably not going to win any more hearts and minds with the proposition that we all make our own cheese than I am with the former proposition that we all become vegan. The cheesemaking part of the tale stems from my own personal curiosity to delve right back into a part of the food system that had been absent from my life for almost five years. I didn't just shake off veganism instantaneously, and I resolved that if I were to explore the mostly unfamiliar world of cheese the right way, I should be as close to the process as I could manage.

So for Christmas last year, I bought myself a hard cheese kit from Ricki's company. Admittedly, it sat in the freezer for a long time. I had gone and bought all the necessary components but one--the milk. I couldn't bring myself to do it. The thought of walking in to a grocery store and buying a gallon of milk seemed so utterly alien that I avoided it at all costs. With some sense of shame, I took my kit back with me from Denver to Portland not having made a single attempt to produce my own cheese during the winter months.

By some stroke of fate, however, I found myself sitting one night in March in the middle of a community kitchen at a free cheesemaking class (free for me, anyway--it was kind of like a college field trip). I sat there with the rest of the group from my school and sampled all kinds of wonderful, homemade dairy products--spoonfuls of crème fraiche and mascarpone with lemon curd, feta marinated in olive oil and rosemary, cheesecake with quince paste. We all left, full and blissful, with tools and instructions to make our own crème fraiche and mascarpone. But more importantly, the hosts of the class had given us a list of local dairies where we could get the kind of milk perfect for cheesemaking--whole, not ultra-pasteurized, and completely lacking in antibiotics and bovine growth hormone. You know, actual milk.

Shortly thereafter, I enlisted my friend Sarah's help (and kitchen) to make mozzarella cheese. Fresh mozzarella is one of the simplest cheeses you can make, and I had found instructions to do so in 30 minutes (!). Having done research on the dairies I had learned about in the cheesemaking class, I found out that Noris Dairy sold some of their products at People's Food Co-Op, conveniently located about three blocks from Sarah's house. So, one Friday evening, we pulled out the stainless steel pot, the slotted spoons, the glass bowl, the measuring cups, and two heavy, gorgeous glass bottles of whole milk, a thick layer of cream setting nicely on top. As is prone to happen when you get two overworked and underslept college students into a kitchen, those 30 minutes easily stretched into three hours as we relished in the culinary alchemy that was taking place before our eyes.

Making cheese is nothing short of a miracle, let me assure you. At the end of the night, we had transformed two gallons of milk into a slick, shiny round ball of fresh mozzarella. We served it to a group of classmates a few nights later with just a bit of olive oil, salt, and pepper. It was divine. But beyond just how wonderful it tasted, I felt deeply gratified to eat cheese that I had personally made with the help and company of a new friend (the same is true of all food, I would say). Cheese took on a new importance for me that night, and I sincerely think that cheese made well and treated with respect truly does deserve all the veneration it receives. I love the way the tanginess of goat cheese surprises and invigorates me the second it hits my tongue, or how a new extra sharp cheddar can force me to reevaluate everything I thought I knew about cheddar.

My resolve to learn about cheesemaking has become less about being my own cheese producer and more about becoming more deeply appreciative of the cheese I choose to eat. Now that I know what kind of love and precision goes into making cheese, I want to be able to talk to the people who produce it. Nonetheless, I have not abandoned my own cheesemaking, and after a long cheesemaking hiatus this summer (due to a lack of a stainless steel pot), I finally dove back into it and made, dried, and waxed a wheel of monterey jack last weekend. In a few months I'll get to find out how I did, but in a certain sense, I am simply happy knowing that my initial desire to learn about cheesemaking as part and parcel of my shifting food philosophy has come full circle.

*I direct you to this video, featuring Mr. Bourdain nicely summarizing his view of vegans. The first time I saw it, I was still vegan. I laughed riotously. Touché, Tony. And now I know.