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MAKE SIMPLE WATER WHEEL : MAKE SIMPLE
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Make Simple Water Wheel
Garden Patch Grow Box Terra Cotta
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Attempts at cheese making with foraged rennet is not going so well. It was a great excuse to take the baby for a long walk in the neighbor collecting feral fig leaves, we do live in the Mediterranean where Ficus Carica are abundant and volunteers in many cases. We have two in our little yard that appeared one day and refuse to leave as most ficus tree types do. Fig buds oozed their white elixir, but not into my bowl, onto the blade of knife, or accidentally on the wood table only to evaporate into a sticky film though my milk had not even started to heat, nor separate yet. No one taught me the recipe; it was not passed down between the generations; this type of activity is no longer shared. The Mediterranean Martha Stewart died in the 1700’s and with her she took all her secrets.
Collecting a teaspoon that I needed for my future mozzarella to congeal was laughable and my husband thought for sure I was trying to poison the household. Benji’s grandmother thought my kitchen antics were going to kill us the year that I collected dandelions to make wine. I even made the recipe, fermented it, but guilted by his family, not allowed to taste it.
If only she could see now, his kitchen witch with my bark shavings, branches laid on the table, pulling on lime green fig stalks trying to milk the sap out of their stems. Impossible. I look over at my daughter who is squeezing the nipple of her bottle and shooting sticky baby formula into her hair and onto her face. She laughs (at me). In the olden days, they used everything: figs were harvested, dried and eaten, then the leaves collected to make rice stuffed dolmas and while they picked the leaves—I am guessing during Culpepper’s time, they let the tiny bead of sticky sap from each cut leave accumulate in some sort of capillerary shaped rennet/cheese making vessel.
Lofty aspirations of being an alchemist in the kitchen are quickly dashed as my patience level is at a bare minimum. Who ever coined the term “sleep like a baby” needs to be slapped upside the head. Babies do not sleep. Ever. It’s a myth to make us procreate and then keep them. Now that she has 6 wheels and unlimited petrol, she runs around the house pulling down candlestick holders, drags brooms around the house only to jackknife her crab car in the kitchen, and especially the old oven which radiates heat is a favorite toy to bang on. “Is the bread ready mommy?” she seems to say while ting will all her might on the dilapidated oven door.
I wanted to make cheese yesterday, but instead I made ricotta and it was absolutely delectable. Eating warm, freshly made ricotta is akin to heaven. Inspired, I unloaded my supply of flour onto the kitchen island and made, at the same time, in a fury of action: Nut and Honey Whey Bread and easy pasta for homemade Ricotta and herb Raviolis. If I relax and let nature take the lead she will show me her secrets, revealing them slowing like the sap of the Ficus Carica tree seeping into my repertoire.
For the ricotta:
* 1/2 gallon milk (one liter)
* 1 Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice or White Vinegar, at least 6%
Combine the milk and acid (lemon juice or white vinegar) in a heavy pot and turn the heat to very low.
Gradually bring the temperature to 180 degrees F. It takes about 30 minutes. What you will notice is a ring of very fine bubbles around the edge of the pan. Stir the milk once in a while to keep the milk from burning on the bottom. There will be some movement below the surface of the milk, which will be covered by a fine skin. You will see curds breaking away from the whey, a yellowish liquid. Remove from heat and let it sit and curdle. (I always think of camels in the desert with their riders goat sacks full of curdled milk, warming in the hot sun, making cheese)
Line a colander with cheesecloth and set it over a bowl to collect the whey. Ladle the curds into the sieve and season them with salt, a pinch of fleur de sel. (The whey, which will drain into the bowl, can be used for baking in place of buttermilk for biscuits, pancakes, waffled and especially whey bread).
When it's done dripping, fold out into a container. You can add heavy cream and stir to have loose ricotta. Either way, this cheese will last for 5 to 7 days in the refrigerator. For me it lasted about an hour from me dipping into it and then making this fabulous raviolis.
For the Nut and Honey Whey Bread save the whey (the water that runs off of the curds) recipe coming soon!
For the Raviolis: Mix one egg with a cup of ricotta, add fresh herbs, basil, sage, oregano, etc and chopped fine sun-dried tomatoes, cracked black pepper and sprinkle of sea salt. This is your raviolis filling.
For the Pasta:
2 cups flour
2 large whole eggs.
Make a well in the center of the flour rand break the eggs into the well and using a fork (or your fingers pinched together like a whisk, beat the eggs, gently drawing in flour from the sides. Continue dragging flour into the center well, stirrin
When a Little Farm I Keep
By Katharine Hinkson (1861-1931)
When a little farm I keep,
I shall tend my kine and sheep,
And my pretty lambs shall fold
In deep pastures starred with gold.
On green carpets they shall tread,
Gold and purple be their bed,
Honey clover make their food
In a watered solitude.
Garden places I shall tend,
For a welcome to a friend,
Make for him a roomy seat
By the box and privet sweet.
And my kitchen garden shall
Grow me fruits on tree and wall,
Give me blossoms in the spring
And an autumn gathering.
An old dial and a cote
Where the pigeons fly and float,
And a well so green and dim
Where the little fishes swim.
Hives of honey I shall own,
Bees with drowsy monotone
Toil all day to bring me home
Heather honey at the gloam.
Twixt the mountains and the sea
There my little farm will be.
In a heart-remembered spot
I shall have my happy lot.
In a heart-remembered place,
Where the mountains lift their face,
I shall tend my sheep and kine,
And a thankful heart be mine.
When a little farm I keep,
I shall sleep the happiest sleep,
To my simple meals invite
Thanksgiving and appetite.
In the heart-remembered place
I shall wear a shining face,
And my quiet nights be praise,
And a prayer my innocent days
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