WHEREIN I CHEEZ MY DAIRY (ALSO, SHARDS OF GLASS)

You know how, when you're doing research, you're supposed to use primary sources more than secondary sources, because that way you get to formulate your own conclusions and sound brilliant instead of citing lots of footnotes and having your thesis advisor repeatedly ask you why you're not doing close readings of the poems?*

Well, lately I've been enchanted with the idea of doing the same thing with my food and trying to make various simple things from scratch.  This is mostly for the sheer novelty of it all, but I've also been on this self-sufficient/survivalist bent where I'm trying to prepare myself for the downfall of civilization and build up a skill set so I can barter my way into one of the better post-apocalyptic societies.  Of course, there are flaws in this plan, since I can't keep cows in downtown PHX and there's a world of difference between a butter churn and a Kitchenaid mixer; as such, my plans rely heavily on (A) my local dairy also surviving the apocalypse and (B) there being a reliable source of electricity in our dystopian futureworld.

But I digress.

So far, my excursions into the wonderful world of dairy-making include butter (pour cream into mixer, turn on, forget about until it starts sloshing) and ice cream (pour batter into mixer attachment, turn on, forget about until it starts clicking).  Both have been successful, but since our dairy CSA gives us copious amounts of butter and ice cream every week, I needed a new challenge.

Enter creme fraiche.

For the uninitiated, creme fraiche is a lot like sour cream, only a bit thicker and with a more restrained tang.  It can be used just like sour cream, and is also found in pasta sauces and in some baked goods.  More importantly, it is right expensive, so it's not something I can just toss into my basket while I'm roaming around the local Fresh and Easy trying to figure out what the cut-off number is between "acceptable" and "besotted lush" in regards to buying cheap wine.

ANYWAYS, I picked up a pint of cream and a pint of buttermilk and decided to try to make some magic.  Essentially, all creme fraiche is is cream plus buttermilk, left to sit at room temperature until the bacteria get feisty and it thickens up.  I am normally of the opinion that dairy left out over night = horrible stomach ache, but I had eaten some sourdough starter (not recommended) and didn't die, so I figured I'd give it a shot.  I mixed one cup cream with half a tablespoon of buttermilk, gave it a stir, and set it on the counter.  In theory, I would wake up to creme fraiche, which would then lead to figgy chocolate scones, which would lead to joy.

In actuality, I woke up to cream that had resisted all efforts to change, save for the addition of a slightly sour smell.  "Perhaps it hasn't sat long enough," I thought.  "Maybe it wasn't warm enough to kickstart the bacteria."  (This is FALSE, given how it is summer in the desert and it is never not warm enough for anything, except maybe for nuclear fusion.)  So I left it out all day.

When night fell, I gave the bowl a stir, and I discovered that while a thick skin had formed on the top, the rest was still just plain cream that smelled a little funny.  I had cheezed the creme fraiche.

this lolcat will never stop being funny

So, there were no scones in guhlersville, for mighty Heather had struck out; or, more accurately, she hadn't paid close enough attention to the recipe to realize she needed cultured buttermilk, not just the leftovers from making butter.  Fortunately, I also have recipes for scones made with cream and buttermilk, of which we are in great supply.  Tomorrow I will drown my sorrows for my lost creme fraiche in sweet sconey goodness, and will start on plans to make cheese (which I will hopefully not cheez).

ALSO!  I started my glass fusion class tonight.  Here is what I have learned so far:

1.  Glasswork is an expensive hobby.
2.  Over the next 10 weeks, I will cut myself.  Probably frequently.
3.  Apart from me, no one under the age of 50 takes art classes.
4.  The softening point for glass is 1100º F.

Next week we will actually start playing with glass, so I'll let you know how that goes (assuming I don't slice off a finger/limb in the process).


*FYI, the appropriate response is "Because I don't actually like poetry, and I especially don't like overanalyzing word choice in poetry, and besides Robert Burns is pretty straightforward about how much he loves the ladies and Scotland and more ladies and the simplicity of farm life and OH DID I MENTION THE LADIES and the point of my thesis is to examine the various ways his entire body of work can and has been co-opted, so if I were to focus on every line of every poem, I would never graduate."