Skip to main content

Blessed are the Cheesemakers

Sometimes it seems frivolous to write about recipes and the small events of my own life, when in other parts of the world, awful things are happening and other people's families are being ripped apart.  Sometimes the knowing seems to demand a response, or even a responsibility, to look up from my own affairs for a moment, to say yes, I see this, however powerless I feel to do anything about it.

And I wrote that paragraph yesterday, thinking of the chemical attacks in Syria.  But now there's Stockholm.  And whichever day you read this, there will be something else.  The task of making peace seems too enormous to contemplate.


Maybe we should make cheese instead.  Many years ago, I stayed with a family in Romania who became my friends.  I spoke very little Romanian, though some of them spoke English, and many things in their house were very different to mine.  Welcoming as they were, it was hard to feel at home until the evening we made a cake.  Sitting together, passing a bowl of thickening cream around as we took turns beating it with a hand whisk, simply melted away language barriers and cultural differences.  It's hard to be a foreigner to someone you have cooked with.

Unfortunately, I had no one new to share my first experience of making cheese with.  But it was a cheese from a different culture, if that counts.  Theo gave his baby bottle away and unexpectedly decided that this meant his milk intake should fall to zero.  So I had 8 pints of whole milk to use up in a hurry.  My Indian cookbooks assured me that paneer is very easy to make, so what did I have to lose?  I boiled the milk for the requisite five minutes, added a few spoonfuls of lemon juice - slightly sceptically, I have to admit - and to my surprise, it separated neatly into lumpy curds swimming in a yellowish liquid.  I drained it in a net that I usually use for making jelly, squeezed it flat with a saucepan, and I had my very own paneer!  I felt like the pressing could have been improved on, as it was a bit crumbly, but it tasted fine.



Blessed are the peacemakers.  They need all the help they can get.  But when making peace seems far too difficult, maybe we can be a blessing by making cheese together instead.

Dove image: By Darolu Dove siluette from Vervexca Peace Dove.svg (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A baker's dozen of beautiful moments in 2025

2025 certainly had its times of difficulty, sadness - it seemed like lots of people died - and frustration. But as I read back through my diary, I noticed many moments of beauty and joy, too. I was going to pick twelve, one for each month. But after all, I am a baker: you've ended up with an extra moment tucked into the top of the bag for free. photo: Pixabay 1. Birthday cake in the snow I'd invited some friends to join us for a snowy walk near Cromford just before my birthday in January. At the top of the hill, my friend Jane produced a birthday cake, candles and all! That was a very special surprise.   2. Barn owl and beautiful music It was just a regular drive back from my Thursday Bible study meeting, until a barn owl flew across the road in front of me. I slowed down and watched it soar out of sight. As it disappeared, the haunting strains of Peter Maxwell Davies' Farewell to Stromness came on the radio. The ten-minute car journey had become extraordinary. 3. Songs an...

Portway: Bramcote Hills to Stanton-by-Dale

I parked in the free car park at Bramcote Hills Park and set off, naturally enough, in the direction of where I'd last been. Up some steps through the woods, along the edge with marvellous views northwards, and down past a school to pick up Moor Lane again. At that point I realised I was supposed to be walking this route in the opposite direction. Oops. Well, it didn't make much difference. It just meant that the Hemlock Stone would come at the end rather than the start. Also, I was doing a figure of eight, so I could switch paths in the middle. That sorted, I pressed on along the disused Nottingham Canal. This had varying amounts of water in it. There were good views back up to the double hump of the Bramcote Hills. Nottingham Canal Also Nottingham Canal Just before I got to Trowell garden centre, I crossed a bridge and walked across a green space to a partly built housing estate. The Boundary Brook had been aggressively re-wiggled. I'm sure it will look better in a year...

St Editha's Way, Day 1

St Editha was a Mercian saint who was Abbess of Polesworth in Warwickshire in the 10th century. Mercia was one of the old kingdoms and a powerful one; it covered much of the central part of the country before England was united under Ã†thelstan in 927. St Editha's family tree is unclear, but she may have been Æthelstan's sister. After a brief marriage, she was widowed, and took monastic vows. There are several churches dedicated to her in the Tamworth and Polesworth area. modern statue of St Editha And now, there is a new pilgrimage route connecting St Editha's churches and going onwards to Lichfield Cathedral. Early on a Sunday morning, I set out to walk it. The logistics had taken a bit of working out. I drove to Tamworth (free parking on Sundays!) and caught the 748 bus to Polesworth. It was my private chariot for the first half of the journey, clattering loudly over the speed bumps, although a couple of other people got on before I alighted. Abbey Green Park in Poleswor...