Friday, June 27, 2014

Adventures of the (18)50s Housewife: Dairy

It was the strangest drug deal ever. We drove over an hour to end up in a busy gas station parking lot just off the interstate. Two black cars side by side with a plastic tub in the trunk. We've got miliary personel on one end of the parking lot, a state trooper writing a ticket on the other. She hands him the money and they start the exchange.

In about 10 minutes, 14 half gallon jars of raw milk had been successfully exchanged for 14 empty jars.

The first of potentially many stashes to come. The great white gold. Unprocessed milk straight from the grass-fed cow. Dreams of cheese, and butter, and buttermilk dance in our heads on the way home, making deliveries as we went.

So begins the adventures of what Daddy jokingly calls the 1850s housewife. He patiently ignores me while I ramble on about gardens and chickens and homemade soaps. Although, he tells me I can't have a butter churn in the front yard because he doesn't want people thinking he's Amish.

He persists with this joke even though I've told him butter is made a hell of a lot faster in a blender. When it works, anyway. We had a teensy bit of a problem getting the raw cream to form butter. We started with a mixer, which just splattered stuff everywhere. We moved it to the blender, but we never got to the whipped cream stage, so we ended up throwing it in the fridge and trying again the next day. Still couldn't get the butter to form.

We eventually gave up and made cheese instead.

I had a bit of whipping cream in the fridge, so we decided to see if that would work better. We had butter in like 5 minutes. A cup of the stuff made 4.2 oz of butter and 2/3 of a cup of buttermilk

I'm super excited about this. I'm moving out of my parents' soon to spend a while living with my friend before I eventually move to Daddy. I can't wait to try more homesteading stuff and learning new recipes and projects for when I'm with him.

I won't be able to do the raw milk there, because the sale of it isn't legal in his state. He already said I can't have a cow. He did, after much poking, say I could maybe have a goat if we move out to this one house he's got scoped out.

He's not so keen on unpasteurized dairy. We've been going back and forth about it for days, with me trying to convince him that raw dairy isn't as dangerous as he's been trained to think. I even sent him a picture of me drinking out of a glass captioned: "This is me. Drinking raw milk. And not dying. :P"

I expected a more amusing response, but he didn't take the bait. Boo.

I'm not sure he knows what to do with me and all my ideas. But, I want to be useful if I'm not going to work. And I would love to get away from ultra-processed food.

More adventures to come.

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