Can’t Beet This Salad by Mike Verano

Growing up in Western New York in the heart of the “Snowbelt,” I’m accustomed to thinking of winter as a time for heavy soups, stews, roasts and since I lived in Buffalo, chicken wings. One never knew when the next blizzard was going to hit, so packing on a few layers of protection was simply a matter of survival of fattest.

Now that I have lived south of the Mason-Dixon line for over twenty-five years, winter dining is no longer associated with calorie-packed, stick-to-your-ribs, “how come my pants no longer fit” experiences. However, until recently, it still had the “I can’t wait for Spring and fresh food” vibe. Since neither my wife, Kathy, or I have ever mastered the secret of canning summer’s harvest in order to bring a bit of sunlight into the dark evenings of the season, we would thumb through seed catalogs dreaming of what will be when the ground warmed.

Thanks to Off the Vine, we no longer go into fresh food hibernation and instead continue to add splashes of color to our plates despite the glow of the wood stove. Our recent fresh creation was the result of a new twist on an old tradition.

To the ire of all of my northern family members, Kathy and I spent Thanksgiving at the Outer Banks with her family. Wearing shorts, sunglasses and suntan lotion, we slept with windows wide open to let in the sounds of the ocean. After days of holiday wining and dining, Kathy and I made our usual stop in Duck on the way home to have a “farewell for now ” meal at the Blue Point www.thebluepoint.com. This tradition helps to ease us out of vacation mode as we linger over plates of extraordinary creations (many using their local fare) while looking across the Inlet.

On this particular occasion we were informed that one of the specials being served was a roast beet salad with an apple cider vinegar dressing. As we were still primed from the Thanksgiving binge, neither Kathy nor I felt like a salad was the proper way to bid farewell to the beach. We did, however, think that it sounded fantastic. As Kathy committed the ingredients to memory she pointed out that we could reproduce the dish entirely by using selections from our recent share from Off the Vine.

Once back home, we used our collective failing memories to make a list of the ingredients we would need. A quick Google search of apple cider vinaigrettes turned up one that would go with a beet salad. Using it as a guide, we tinkered with the levels of cider to cider-vinegar until we got just the right touch of sweetness.

Since neither Kathy nor I bought the salad dish at the Blue Point we were not able to judge our creation against its inspiration. However, we both humbly agreed that we had created a winter masterpiece. Thanks to Off the Vine and our fine local farmers, many of whom I would guess have never seen seven foot high snow drifts as I did in New York, we’re able to put some other colors back into what was once just our winter blues.

Ingredients

3 medium beets
4 cups mixed salad greens
1/2 cup toasted chopped pecans
Crumbled goat cheese
Country ham, cut into strips
3/4 cup apple cider
2/3 cup cider vinegar
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon prepared mustard

Directions

Wash beets, peel and cut into bite-size pieces. Cover lightly with oil and roast @ 385 until tender. Let cool.
Whisk together the apple cider, cider vinegar, oil, salt, pepper, and mustard.
Divide the greens among four salad plates. Add beets, pecans, goat cheese and
country ham. Drizzle vinaigrette over top.

A Short Story About Long Beans by Mike Verano

In the Verano household, the transition from Summer to Fall is often heralded by cries of “Oh no, football again already?” “What happened to daylight?” and, more recently, “Check out what we got in our share this time.”

So it was that on a  late summer day, I found myself mindlessly watching the University of So-and-So dismantling the College of Whomever, when the following conversation took place:

Kath: I’m fixing long beans for dinner
Me: What’s a long bean?
Kath: It’s a green bean only longer…
Me: Hold it. . . no way that was holding, come on! Ok, what?
Kath: (Heading towards the remote.) It’s a long bean, Vigna unguiculata, subspecies sesquipedalis, the yardlong bean, is also known as bora, the long-podded cowpea, asparagus bean, snake bean, or Chinese long bean.
Me: Ok, you’re just messing with me
Kath: I’m not, Mr. Football Head. They’re from our share and they’re a good source of protein, vitamin A, thiamin, riboflavin, iron, phosphorus, and potassium, and a very good source for vitamin C, folate, magnesium, and manganese.
Me: Ok, you’re freaking me out a little. I think we need to limit your access to Google.
Kath: What else am I supposed to do while you are watching football?

Turns out that my fears regarding this strange vegetable were unfounded.  Kath was right; the long bean is the bomb! The “long bomb,” in football parlance.

One of the many benefits of belonging to Off the Vine is not just the fresh, local food, but the added benefit of Tess’s suggestions for how to prepare the goodies. This is a great relief as the question, “And what do we do with this?” need not be asked.

So it was with great excitement that Kath prepared the recipe for the Stir Fry Long Beans that Tess had included with the recent order. If you missed the recipe or misplaced it, it’s attached. In a word, “wow!” These babies cooked to just the right texture and the flavors exploded more than any green bean dish I’ve ever tasted. Served with the chicken tenders that Kath prepared (recipe also included) it was one of those dishes that when finished one thinks, “I want to start this meal all over again and this time linger over every bite.”

Ok, maybe it’s the football-induced adrenaline high talking, but I gotta say that the recipe rocked the house! So, if you have been staring at those elongated, green, mutant pods wondering if you should eat them or use them as shoelaces; grab the recipe and hit the kitchen. Not only will you have a wonderful meal, you have yet one more great Off the Vine story to tell your friends that will start with the tag line, “Guess what we just ate?”

STIR FRY LONG BEANS

(from www.foodandwine.com)
1 tablespoon olive or grape seed oil
1/2 small onion, thinly sliced
1 pound Chinese long beans or green beans, cut into 3-inch lengths
1/2 medium red bell pepper, peeled with a vegetable peeler and cut into 1/3-inch dice*
1/2 teaspoon sugar
1/4 cup water
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 teaspoon cracked black pepper
* we used roasted red pepper for and added zing

Heat the oil in a large skillet. Add the onion and cook over moderately high heat, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned, about 3 minutes. Add the long beans and red pepper and stir-fry until the beans are slightly softened and browned in spots, about 5 minutes. Add the sugar and stir to coat. Add the water, cover and cook over moderately low heat until the water has evaporated and the beans are tender, about 5 minutes. Add the soy sauce and cracked pepper and cook for 1 minute. Transfer to a platter and serve.

Z’s FAVORITE CHICKEN
(courtesy of Scott Turner)

Chicken Tenders
1/3 cup Mayonnaise
3 tablespoons Dijon or Spicy Brown Mustard
2 Cloves Garlic, chopped
Black Pepper to taste

Mix ingredients and spread over chicken tenders and bake @ 400 for 15 mins or until done and brown on top .  Before serving, sprinkle with chopped chives.

A Berry Good Time for Off the Vine by Mike Verano

“This is what I’m talking about,” I said holding up a basket of fresh blackberries from our most recent Off the Vine share. “How about these,” Kath responded holding up a pint of beautiful tomatoes. “I see bruschetta in our future, ” I replied. “Here’s a bag for roasting if there ever was one, “Kath declared as she pulled carrots, onions, and beets out like a magician hauling a rabbit out of a hat.

Popping one of the blackberries into my mouth, I mused over the dessert options, combining them with peaches from out last share and fresh plums from the trees in our front yard. Visions of tarts, turnovers, crumbles and cakes danced in my head.

While we have enjoyed our harvests from Off the Vine throughout the winter and spring months, we knew that this was the time of year that we were going to taste the best that Virginia has to offer. The glory of these months is that not only do meal plans become much easier with the increase in variety, but there are so many things that require no preparation ¾ just rinse, chew, and repeat. Berries, melons, stone fruit, carrots, radishes, cucumbers, all with tastes unmatched by anything sitting in the local grocery store. Then, with just a little tinkering, there will be pickles, jams, salads and pies; all presented with the proud declaration of “Everything in here is local.”

Yes, this is a very good time of the year to be an Off the Vine member. And, just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, melon season is just around the corner.

Plum, Peach & Berry Crumble (adapted from recipe on Epicurious)

1 1/4 cups all purpose flour

3/4 cup old-fashioned oats

1/3 cup plus 1/2 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 cup (1 stick) chilled unsalted butter, cut into pieces

3/4 pounds plums, halved, pitted, cut into wedges, 3/4 pounds peaches, halved, pitted, cut into wedges, 1 cup blackberries, whole

1 tablespoon plum brandy or Port

Vanilla ice cream or frozen yogurt

Mix flour, oats, 1/3 cup sugar and cinnamon in medium bowl. Add butter and rub with fingertips until mixture forms coarse meal. Press with fingertips until mixture begins to form moist clumps. (Crumb topping can be prepared 1 day ahead. Cover and refrigerate.)

Preheat oven to 350°F. Toss plums, remaining 1/2 cup sugar* and brandy in medium bowl. Transfer to 9-inch deep-dish pie dish. Sprinkle crumb topping over. Bake until fruit bubbles and topping browns, about 1 hour. Cool slightly. Serve with ice cream.

* I substituted Wild Rose Raw Honey from Singers Glen for more of the local flavor

The Morel of the Story by Mike Verano

“I wish I had taken a picture of the look on your face,” Kathy said. “Tell me about it,” I replied, “it was literally a dream come true.” I glanced into the back seat of the car and touched the bag that held the treasure, thus reassuring myself that this was really happening. It was there alright, right next to the other local goodies we picked up while traveling the back roads of the Shenandoah Valley with Kath’s parents. There was salt and sugar-cured ham, fresh made biscuits, a strawberry-rhubarb pie, fresh herbs and flowers for the garden. I reached into the bag and grabbed hold of what was, without question, the largest morel mushroom any of us had ever seen. And we had a bag full.

 For the uninitiated, the morel is to mushrooms what filet mignon is to meat, what sea bass is to fish, what Dom Perignon is to champagne and what Chunky Monkey is to ice cream. Since these woodland gifts cannot be cultivated, one must search in hopes of stumbling across this delicacy. Our journey to see Kath’s parents had as its subplot a stroll through their acres of mountain-side woods in search of the elusive fungi.

 The discovery we made, however, was not the result of straining eyes while crunching through a leaf covered forest. It was on a leisurely drive to some of the local markets to see what they had to offer and the serendipitous detour down the road less travel when Kath’s dad missed a turn that would have taken us to a predetermined market in search of goat cheese. (Kath and I are eager to recreate the success of our first chevre making adventure.)

 After making the turn to head back, Kath’s dad happened upon another market that was not on our itinerary. I strolled in and gave a quick look around at their meat and dairy section. It wasn’t until I walked over to a vegetable section that I had a “pinch me” moment. There, in an elongated plastic tray, were the largest morel mushrooms I have ever seen. Speechless, I caught Kath’s eye and simply pointed over my shoulder. The unstated agreement between us was instantaneous; yes, we could spend the rest of the day searching for our own, but we are never going to find anything like this and no one sells them for this price.

Kath carefully picked through the monster mushrooms placing the best of the best in our bag that would finally tip the scales at just over a pound. Even the woman behind the register commented on my facial expression as we bagged the morels. “You looked like you were in heaven,” she stated. She then went on to tell us how her children had just picked them the night before from an abandoned apple orchard and how they were going to get to keep all of the money made from the sale. “Bless those children,” I said with visions of morels and toast, morels and eggs, morels and filet mignon, morels and morels dancing in my head.

 On the drive back to Kath’s parents, her dad, a morel guru if there ever was one, commented that our little detour turned out to be the best thing that could have happened that day. We all nodded in agreement and raced home to celebrate with the strawberry-rhubarb pie served with vanilla ice cream and fresh strawberries. Before ending our day together, Kath’s dad took a picture of Kathy and me holding two of the prized morels. When we returned home later that evening the picture was in our email with the heading, “The morel of this story is: It is never too late; never give up.” Definitely, words to live by.

 

　

　

Cheese Making 201 by Mike Verano

Cheese – milk’s leap toward immortality.

Clifton Fadiman

“Why don’t more people do it? Is it because they don’t know how easy it is? Why would you continue to pay so much more for stuff you can make in a few hours and have fun while doing it?” These were the questions that were running around our heads while my wife, Kathy, and I drove home from the Off the Vine sponsored Cheese Making 201 class on Saturday.

Led by the dynamic duo known as 2 Girls and a Hammer, we were instructed on the methods for making chèvre, ricotta, ricotta salata and yogurt. This wasn’t a class as much as it was a workshop, and not so much a workshop as it was a playground. Here, however, the swing sets, teeter totters, slides and monkey bars were replaced with pots, strainers, thermometers, a cheese press and this totally cool grippy thing for taking glass jars out of hot water, known in canning circles as simply a “jar lifter.” (I think they really missed the boat on this one and a title like The Extracto 2000, with the tag line “You can’t can without it” would move the product like crazy.) The “Girls” weren’t so much teachers as they were gurus, sharing their cheese wisdom with eager disciples who had come in search of the secret to turning a pot of milk into a pot of cheese—the dairy version of alchemy.

Kathy and I found ourselves surrounded by a small group of kindred spirits. There was talk about the benefits of cooking with locally-sourced foods, there was a consensus that Barbara Kingsolver’s book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle should be required reading for all Americans, and it was unanimous that homemade Greek yogurt rivaled even the most pricey store bought version. I think that a majority of the folks in attendance even thought that owning a goat, if for no other reason than to get its milk to make chèvre cheese, was an awesome idea.

Tasting the fruits of the Girls’ labor, full mouths mumbled with approval. The chèvre was mild and creamy in texture and the ricotta stood strong and tasted great next to a slice of sausage. The yogurt was smooth and velvety and cried out for ingredients like fresh fruit, honey, vanilla and, as Tess from Off the Vine commented on more than one occasion, chocolate.

As the class ended, recipes were bandied about, leftover cheese and yogurt were spooned into plastic containers, final questions were answered and I’m sure I heard one person state she was going home to convince her husband that a goat would make a wonderful house pet. Meanwhile, Kathy and I were trying to calculate just how much of the fresh milk we had at home was going to take the “leap toward immortality.”

“I think most people would try making cheese at home if they had someone to show them how easy it really is,” said Kathy, as we got closer to home. “Maybe that should be the focus of the blog we’ll write for Off the Vine,” I responded, “I even have the title.” “Oh yeah,” Kathy replied with both a knowing and skeptical look. “Yeah, how about It’s So Easy Making Cheesy?” After a long pause, that I have learned from experience means there was no way that was going to be the title, Kathy just shrugged her shoulders and wrinkled her nose. If I wasn’t still on a cheese buzz, I might have argued the point, but we had already shifted gears to planning the meal of baked polenta with kale and cheese (see recipe below) using fresh ingredients from Off the Vine and our homemade cheese.

“We can add the recipe to the blog,” Kath pointed out. “Great,” I replied, “then we can use the title The Little Curd that Could” . . . shoulder shrug and nose wrinkle, “or, You Gotta Love Ricotta”. . . shoulder shrug and nose wrinkle, “Cheeses that Pleases”. . . shoulder shrug and nose wrinkle, “Stars of the Milky Whey”. . . shoulder shrug and . . .

Ciao

Mike

　

Baked Polenta with Kale and Cheese*

makes 8 servings

Ingredients

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1/2 medium white onion, thinly sliced

3 cloves of garlic, minced

1/4 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper

1 pound kale, stems and ribs removed, leave cut cross-wise into 1/2 inch-wide strips

3 1/2 cups water

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup coarse corn meal (polenta)

1 cup ricotta cheese

2 large eggs

2 cups grated mozzarella cheese (about 8 ounces)

Preparation

Preheat over to 350F. Lightly oil 2-quart glass baking dish. Heat oil in heavy large deep skillet over medium heat. Add onion; sauté until tender, about 15 minutes. Stir in garlic and crushed red pepper, then kale; cover and cool until kale is tender, stirring occasionally, about 6 minutes. Uncover; stir until any excess liquid in skillet evaporates. Season with salt and pepper.

Meanwhile, bring 3 1/2 cups water and salt to boil in large saucepan. Gradually stir polenta into boiling water. Reduce heat to medium-low; simmer until polenta is very thick, stirring frequently, about 10 minutes. Remove from heat.

Whisk ricotta and eggs in bowl; whisk in 1 cup hot polenta. Stir ricotta mixture into polenta in saucepan. Spread half of polenta mixture in baking dish. Spread half of kale mixture over. Sprinkle with half of mozzarella. Repeat layering with remaining polenta, kale, and cheese. Bake until puffed and brown on top, about 45 minutes. Cool 30 minutes.

*adapted from Epicurious recipe Nov 2002

Bags o' Ricotta

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Slice of Life by Mike Verano

You better cut the pizza in four pieces
because I’m not hungry enough to eat six.
Yogi Berra

Recently, my wife, Kathy, and I decided to turn our new locally sourced meal activities to a food that could arguably be called a national obsession. According to reliable Google searches on the topic, most Americans, when asked which food they would choose if they could only eat one for the rest of their lives, would choose pizza. Americans are so devoted to this food choice that we actually have National Pizza Month (October, for the uninitiated) and pizza has obtained icon status by having its own app for iPod.

The ease with which we planned our Localvore pizza was a testament to how quickly Kathy and I have made the transition to the “as close to home as you can” crowd. The crust was going to come from homemade dough using our fresh batch of whey that had been skimmed off the mozzarella cheese made only two days before. The sauce would be made from fresh tomatoes from the garden that we had frozen whole last summer. Toppings would include caramelized sweet onions from Georgia (if you can’t get it here, go near), the fresh mozzarella, whose successful production we owe to Kathy’s attendance at the Off the Vine sponsored cheese making event, and local sweet Italian sausage from our Off the Vine order.

As we tinkered with the finer details of the dish, I found myself drawn down the mozzarella-paved streets of my youth. Pizza was one of the four food groups on the Verano family food pyramid. No party was complete without steaming slices piled high, no local food shop worth its oregano would leave it off the menu, and no one, and I mean no one, ever uttered the phrase, “What, pizza again?”, unless it was followed by cheers.

Eating pizza meant three sure things in our home: you were going to be reminded not to stretch the cheese to the ceiling, you would always burn the roof of your mouth on the first bite, and you were always going to hear dad tell the story about how his Italian family invented pizza.

The “pitta” story is family lore and the short version goes like this:
One of the Verano children: This pizza is great; we ought to open up a pizza shop.
Dad: You know, my family was making pizza long before it became popular, only Pop called it pitta (which for some reason my dad pronounced “pitha.”)
Another one of the Verano children: Pitta?
Dad: Yep, that was our pizza. If only we had known, imagine what we could have done.
All the Verano children (laughing silently to themselves): Pitta?

Was dad trying to tell us that we had the pizza rights stolen out from under our long Italian noses? Could there be proof that the Verano’s were due a slice of the billion dollar industry that is Pizza Hut? For most of my upbringing, there was never any attempt to verify this story and I chalked it up to dad’s love for food and telling stories about food. Then it happened; at an annual family reunion, my father was reminiscing with one of his seven brothers and the pitta story came up. However, this time there was more, there was a recipe! Finally, after all these years, not only was the story being corroborated, but also I was finally going to learn how the Verano name almost became as popular as Chef Boyardee.

My uncle explained, “Mom would get a big loaf of bread, cut it in half and cover it with olive oil. After that, she’d put cheese, garlic, tomatoes, peppers, whatever she had on top.” “That’s not pizza, that’s an olive oil sandwich,” I almost said aloud. Instead, I looked at my brother with the shared understanding that we had no claims to culinary espionage and that we were never going to be pizza, or pitta, moguls.

The final slice to this story came a few years ago while my father was visiting and we were engaged in one of the three family traditions still going in the family. When not eating food, when not talking about food, we would watch someone on TV making food. On this particular evening, we were watching the show Ciao Italia. When the host, Mary Ann Esposito announced, “We’re going to begin the show by making a Calabrian pitta.” (Click here for the YouTube video of that show http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sBTXxbShJ8Y) Stunned, I turned to my dad and said, “Calabria, that’s where we’re from.” Mary Ann then went on to create a wonderful dish that so closely resembled what my father had been talking about all these years, I actually got the shivers.

When it was over, I remembered being surprised by my dad’s lack of reaction to the program. Here I was faced with the realization that the timeless pitta story was true and was expecting, at the very least, a “That’s what I’ve been talking about all these years.” It was only later that it occurred to me that my dad’s non-reaction was most likely the result of two important factors. The first was that he knew all along that the story was true and that this was a common dish for Calabrians. The second was that I’m sure he sat through the whole program thinking, “She’s not making it like Pop would.”

The evening that Kathy and I successfully created the Localvore Pizza, we sat marveling at its fresh taste. The caramelized onions played nicely against the sweetness of the fresh tomatoes in the sauce. The whey- infused crust was firm and held up to the extra load of fresh mozzarella. The chunks of sausage had their own balance of sweet and spicy, as well as a slight crunch from being baked in a 500-degree oven. I held up a piece to Kathy and said, “This is definitely not how Pop would have done it, but he would’ve loved it.” “To pitta,” Kath replied, raising her wine glass. “To Pop,” I replied.

This was not photo shopped...that dough is in the air.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Localvore Pizza

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whey to Go!

I like reality. It tastes like bread. –Jean Anouilh

The day before my wife, Kathy, was to attend the cheese making class sponsored by Off the Vine Market, we had the following exchange:
Kathy: (From the bedroom) What do you think you do with whey?
Mike: (From the kitchen and only partially listening) With what?
Kathy: Whey.
Mike: What way?
Kathy: Not way, whey.
Mike: Why whey?
Kathy: What?
Mike: Who’s doing what with whey?
Kathy: We are.
Mike: When is this?
Kathy: When is what?
Mike: When is this whey, whatever it is?
Kathy: At the cheese making class.
Mike: Where is this whey thing being held?
Kathy: (Entering the kitchen obviously frazzled by my Abbot and Costello routine) Who, what, when, where, whey? Really? Your cheese humor leaves something to be desired. What I was trying to tell you is that I’m bringing home the whey left over from the cheese making process and I need to find out what we can do with it.
Mike: So you want to know what ways you can. . .
Kathy: Don’t do it. . .
Mike: . . . use the whey?
Kathy: I warned you. (Snaps my backside with a rolled up kitchen towel.)

The next day Kathy and our 13-year-old friend, McKinzie, came home from the cheese making class. McKinzie proudly held aloft a jar of the cheesy residue. “I got an extra jar,” she beamed, “and the cheese ladies used it to make bread, which was awesome!” Kathy added, “It was an artisan bread, called five-minute bread, and it was delicious and apparently high in protein.”
“So how was the cheese?” I asked, “After all, that’s what this was all about in the first place, right?” McKinzie, still enamored with her jar of spent cheese juice, barely heard the question and replied, “I told them you’d make the bread, Uncle Mike, and Daddy can make me waffles with it tomorrow morning!” “She mentioned that several times,” hinted Kathy, “the cheese came out great but she was more excited by the culinary potential of the whey.”

Not wanting to disappoint a budding bread enthusiast, I did a quick Google search and within minutes had in my hand a recipe for five-minute artisan bread from the book Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day by Hertzberg and Francois. (See my version of the recipe attached). It looked simple to make and the only adjustment would be that I would add the whey in place of the water.

Following the directions, I mixed the flour, whey, salt and yeast. The mix was easy to work with, and with the addition of the whey, smelled divine. After letting it rise for several hours, I tore off two grapefruit sized portions and let them rest on a cornmeal covered pizza peel. After 40 minutes, the loaves were dusted with flour, carefully sliced in a tic tac toe pattern and placed into the waiting oven. On the top rack sat a preheated pan that we poured water into, creating a good steam.

Why someone hasn’t bottled the smell of cooking bread just before it is about to come out of the oven is beyond me. With the air thick with this aroma, I ran to grab the camera, having already decided that this was going to be one for ages. After placing the loaves back on the peel, and taking their picture like a proud parent on graduation day, I told Kathy that we were going to have to wait for them to cool down some before cutting a slice. We both then agreed that the time it took me to say that sentence was plenty of time and out came the electric knife (we have found this to be the best way to slice fresh bread without deforming it).

I would tell you that the bread tasted amazing with a big pat of melted butter on it, but neither of us were willing to wait the extra seconds it would have taken to get the butter out of the fridge and swipe it across the still steaming white canvas of crusty goodness. Eventually, the butter (fresh from Trickling Springs) made its appearance and the combo left us high-fiving each other to exclamations of “Whey to Go!”

It was a baking triumph that helped take the sting out of our recent cheese making tragedies. The extra bonus, of course, is that when we do dive back into the waters de fromage, even if we end up with ricotta rather than mozzarella, there will be plenty of whey on hand to kick up our pancakes, waffles, pizza dough and breads. How cool is that? That’s whey cool.
Ciao

Mike Verano

THE RECIPE

Artisan Whey Bread

1/1/2 Tablespoons yeast
1/1/2 Tablespoons course salt, kosher salt, sea salt or Himalayan pink salt
3 cups of whey
6 1/2 cups unbleached all purpose flour and extra for dusting dough
Cornmeal

In a large bowl, mix yeast and salt into 3 cups warm whey. Add flour and stir well. Let dough rise in a warm place for several hours (recipe says until it rises and then collapses but we got impatient). The dough can be baked at this point or refrigerated for later use. We baked 2 small loaves and then refrigerated the rest and made fresh loaves throughout the week by pulling off grapefruit sized pieces. If you want to refrigerate it at this point you cover it but not airtight. (We found that it made 5 loaves when we used grapefruit sized pieces.)
When you are ready to bake it, cut off size desired and turn it in your hands to smooth the surface, stretching the surface and tucking in under. The top will be smooth and the bottom will be bunched.
Dust a pizza peel or rimless baking sheet with cornmeal and placed the smooth loaves on it. Allow dough to rest in a warm place for 40-90 minutes, depending on size of loaf.
Twenty minutes before baking, preheat oven to 450 degrees with baking stone or baking sheet on middle rack and an empty shallow pan on top rack (these need to get hot, too). Toss small amount of flour over top of dough and slash several times with serrate knife in tic tac toe or crosshatch pattern. Slide loaves into the oven. Quickly pour 1-2 cups of water into the shallow pan on the top rack and close the oven door quickly to capture the steam. Bake for 30 minutes or until the crust is well browned and the bread sounds hollow when tapped on the bottom.