Milk Archives - Bloom.

There is a little part of me that has always -secretly- wished I was Italian.

But, I am Irish.

Very Irish.

My name is Claire, after County Clare in Ireland. My sister is Kerry, after County Kerry (the home of Dublin). And my brother is Danny… Danny Boy. My maiden name? Sullivan.

My dad was raised the sixth of eight Irish Catholic children and went to Notre Dame for undergrad. “Cheer, Cheer for ole Notre Dame” was in my childhood repertoire, just behind “The ABC’s” and “Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star.” I even went to high school in Dublin, Ohio where our mascot was “The Shamrocks.”

Very Irish.

As a housewarming gift my dad gave me this little garden fairy.

My “Green Gal”

He said, “It’s an Irish Fairy for your garden!”

Let’s be serious for a quick second… The “Luck of the Irish” is not exactly what anyone wants in their garden.

The Irish are famously bad at gardening. Umm, hello?! That’s why we are all here.

Not to mention, we are not that good on the culinary front. Outside of Shepard’s Pie and Guinness, it’s pretty bleak.

Don’t even try to argue with me on this one. Especially with Irish Soda Bread.

In third grade we had “Culture Day” where we had to bring in food from our background. I remember my mom looking over the assignment and reluctantly saying, “Well, I guess we could make Irish Soda Bread…?”

She knew something I didn’t know.

But, I was excited. Soda and bread? Mixed together? My ancestors had it right!

Boy, was I in for a surprise.

On top of the weird flavor in something that looked like a dessert, there were raisins in there. Yuck.

Not something to build a deep connection back to the homeland on…

I have been to Italy twice and, despite my Irish roots, I couldn’t help but fall in love with their lifestyle and food culture. The fresh, light food. The importance and enjoyment of a meal. The wine. The gelato. At times it has felt like I was meant to be there.

And with my dark skin and dark hair I could maybe pull it off?

At Trevi Fountain cerca 2008; caught by papparazzo Dad.

So, last week I decided to give Italian my best effort. With tomatoes flowing from the garden I was confident this would be great.

I started my Italian adventure with canning marinara sauce made completely from scratch.

I used this recipe I found on Pinterest: http://www.theyummylife.com/marinara_sauce

I chose it because it featured lots of fresh herbs like parsley and basil. I was excited to use these in addition to the tomatoes from the backyard.

The recipe also called for a cup of red wine, which obviously called for a cup for me too. I figured this was what a true Italian would do.

This marinara is flavorful and sweet. I am excited to have it in the pantry for quick weeknight dinners in the winter.

The Italian adventure I was most eager to try was making mozzarella. I know, it sounds crazy, and a little ambitious, but I really wanted to make a caprese salad with my tomatoes, my basil and my mozzarella.

In Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, Barbara Kingsolver writes about a family vacation when they visit “The Cheese Queen.” She was located in New England, and while there, they all learned to make mozzarella. Ever since reading the book last winter, I had been looking forward to making my own mozzarella.

The Cheese Queen is a woman named, Ricki Carroll. Ricki has established a true name for herself in the world of making cheese. She puts on workshops in her Massachusetts home for new and experienced cheese makers. She also sells cheese making supplies and kits online.

I purchased the citric acid and rennet on her website that I needed to make mozzarella. After the supplies arrived at my post office, I couldn’t wait to get started.

I went straight to the grocery store to grab a gallon of milk and head to my kitchen.

Making mozzarella is a little scientific. You have to dilute the citric acid and rennet in water before adding it to the milk. The temperature has to be controlled, and the milk cannot get too hot, too fast. Thank goodness Adam was willing to help. It requires a lot of hands at the stove.

I was following this recipe from the Pioneer Woman: http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2012/07/making-fresh-mozzarella/

By the time I got to the point where we “cut the cheese” (…which Ree and her friends thought was hilarious. My friends –embarrassingly- would too), I knew we were doing something wrong. The cheese wasn’t becoming solid. It was runny and resembled ricotta when I tried to drain it from the whey.

Blast!

I had failed.

I had a lump of cheese that didn’t want to hold together and by no means was mozzarella. It did taste like cheese.

The blog world said at this point we had cheese spread. So I added some seasonings, busted out some crackers and another glass of wine and sat down at the computer with Adam to see what we had done wrong.

Ten minutes later Adam and I looked up from our designated screens.

“You want to try again?” I asked.

“Yes,” Adam responded without hesitation.

Adam went back to the store to get more milk and I prepared the stove top.

We got the milk mixture going following directions from The Cheese Queen’s website: http://www.cheesemaking.com/howtomakemozzarellacheese.html

We made it to the “cutting the cheese” step, same result.

What the heck?!

We read that over pasturized milk can be the problem. Whole milk is a necessity, which we had been using all along.

This “cheese spread” became part our dinner as I whipped up a quick pizza using a splash of the marinara that didn’t fit into the canning jars, cherry tomatoes, and basil from the backyard.

Overcome with determination, I arrived at a natural food store the next morning ten minutes before they opened. I bought the most expensive gallon of milk I had ever bought in my life. It was from a local Indiana dairy and had minimal processing.

“This is it,” I excitedly thought as I got to work back at home.

Same result.

Grainy cheese curds that wouldn’t come together.

Now I really did resemble an Italian lady. “Fired up” was the best way to describe me. I had not had so much trouble trying to make anything since a lab in college where I had to make chocolate mousse with chocolate (… that I had to chop off the largest, most dense block of chocolate ever) and eggs on an industrial kitchen double boiler. I continually wound up with chocolate scrambled eggs. YUCK.

I remembered the gallons of raw milk at the natural food store. Raw milk isn’t processed at all. It is straight from the cow. It had to work, so I went back to the store to give it a try. I continued to talk myself into the $8.00 purchase by saying this is probably what cheese mongers in Italy use too.

Raw milk is actually illegal in Indiana for human consumption. As scary as it was reading that on the label, I got to work. I figured I was altering the milk. The heat would kill anything lingering in there… right?!

Within twenty minutes I had the same blob I had seen three other times.

Scusami!

This was the last straw.

This cheese blob was thrown in the corn. Mainly out of frustration… and, if we are being honest, a little bit out of concern of the illegal raw milk.

So, all in all, my attempt at being an authentic Italian was a failure.

But, what is so great about being an Irish American is that I can still enjoy the Italian food I love without having to pretend to be anyone.

… And, that the grocery store sells mozzarella year round for less than a gallon of raw milk.

You could say that I can have my caprese and eat it too.

… and so I did.

Or you can say this Irish Meal Time Prayer:

“Bless us with good food,
The gift of gab,
And hearty laughter.
May the Love and Joy we share
be with us ever after.”

And if that’s the Irish Food Culture, I am proud to be a part of it, and I know it’s where I am meant to be.

So, was anyone else struggling yesterday?

After the long, fun filled, holiday weekend I had a little trouble getting going Monday morning. It was a great weekend though. We had friends over for a big bonfire on the third, spent the day at the lake on the fourth and fifth skiing and boating. Then Saturday, Adam and I had to split forces to make it to our third and fourth wedding of the year. (… Don’t worry; we still have seven more before Christmas.)

Both were beautiful and a lot of fun, but we both thought it was pretty weird to go stag after all these years of weddings with a permanent dance partner.

We were together at a wedding just a couple weeks ago near Chicago. It was a beautiful Roman Catholic Mass full of neat traditions, not to mention a rocking reception where we were able to catch up with a lot of Adam’s fraternity brothers and their wives.

As we headed home down I-65 on Sunday, I commented on all the billboards for Fair Oaks Farms, a relatively big dairy just off the interstate. I have driven back and forth on 65 for years going from Indy to Chicago for work and visiting friends, but had never stopped. Adam had been a couple times when he was younger and suggested that we stop.

With nothing better than laundry to do at home, I happily agreed.

… Plus, one of the billboards said they had ice cream. It’s hard to say “no thanks” to ice cream.

We parked and walked into the building built like a huge barn.

Inside, we paid and the staff member told us the tour would begin in about twenty minutes. In the mean time we looked at all sorts of exhibits with facts about the farm and cows.

This is where I began to learn that I knew absolutely nothing about cows.

My first lesson in Cow 101?

Females are called Heifers. Which, I just thought was what just a cow in general was called. Not to mention, quite an unlady-like nickname.

Adam laughed. I questioned, “So, bulls are the boys? Right?”

“Yep. And steers are boy cows without their balls,” he ever so eloquently put. Thank God he doesn’t do the school field trip tours…

Soon we hopped on to a big cow print bus (Seriously. Cow Print. Awesome.) and headed to the cow stalls. They are at a separate destination for the sake of sanitation. The property is 19,000 acres and began in 1998 thanks to a few dairy farmer families.

The bus ride had a recording playing with information about what we were looking at. The recording drove home their concept of “Cow Comfort.” The stalls are cleaned three times a day. They maintain a seven mile per hour breeze and there are heaters in the winter. They also have veterinarians and animal scientists on staff to make sure the cows are healthy.

Calf’s in their pens. They will move into the larger stalls once they are larger.

What we saw next blew my mind.

The bus stopped and we headed up a flight of stairs to an observation deck. We were overlooking the machine that milks all the cows.

The machine was similar to a carrousel as it spun in a slow circle. The cows were getting on and off this carrousel on their own.

The guide mentioned that the cows are creatures of habit so they know exactly how to get off the carrousel and want to get on because they want to get milked. Each cow is milked three times a day and they only take five minutes to milk. The machine runs for nearly twenty four hours a day. The guide said that it takes seven hours to milk the whole heard. The hour after the milking is used to clean and sanitize the machine.

Fair Oaks Farms produces 25,000 gallons of milk each day and nearly 99% of it is sold to a major grocery chain in Indiana. The farm obviously also produces a lot of manure, but it’s used to benefit the farm too. The cows waste is turned into energy that powers the whole operation. It’s equivalent to the power needed for 750 homes.

The bus took us back to the attraction area we did a little more exploring. There were a lot of fun rides for young kids, an awesome garden that Adam and I “ohh-ed” and “ahh-ed” over, and even a room where you can see a cow have a calf. There are eighty calf’s born a day! It was really neat to see.

A cow tending to it’s just born calf.

The awesome garden and grounds at Fair Oaks.

Before we hit the road we stopped by the café and gift shop. They sold all sorts of cow souvenirs, milk, cheese, sandwiches and that homemade ice cream I had been waiting for. We both grabbed a delicious single scoop. Vanilla for the both of us. I wanted to taste the natural cream at it’s most simple state and not covered by mint or crumbled Oreos. (Although, any flavor sounded excellent.)

Next it was onto the cheese. I think if I was asked to select one food that I had to eat everyday for the rest of my life, it would be cheese. I love it. Any kind. Plain, on a sandwich, in a salad, with wine, paired with crackers. It doesn’t matter. Adam picked up some dill flavored cheese cubes and I choose a wedge of aged gouda. The gouda made for a great little appetizer a few nights the following week. I loved it’s creamy, slightly salty texture.

I really enjoyed our agroturism adventure at Fair Oaks and would love to go back, especially with children. There was so much to learn and lots of interactive activities for little ones. I also loved to see how much care was given to the cows. They have taken great steps to make sure the animals are comfortable and treated well.

… I will also be much more apt to stop there now that I know how fabulous the café is.

The gouda back at home with some moscato from an Indiana winery.

Fair Oaks Farm Quick Facts:
856 N 600 E
Fair Oaks, IN 47943
(… in simplest terms, halfway between Chicago and Indianapolis on 65)

Make sure you have a little time. The tour is about forty minutes and there is a lot to see. It’s not a place you want to be if you’re in a rush.

The Farm is open seven days a week with shorter hours on Sunday. For more information about hours and admission (and everything else Fair Oaks) visit: http://www.fofarms.com/en/home

If you are in the area and have kids or are a teacher, look into the field trips offered.

They have a “Pig Adventure” opening in August! They will have a similar tour, just with pigs. Wonder if this means there will be bacon in the café? Mmm… bacon.

Mozzarella and Marinara: An Irish Girl’s Attempt at Italian

An Udderly Fabulous Afternoon at Fair Oaks Farm