Having settled into a routine disagreement over whether or not to stand still, for how long and how often to kick, Tom and Bessie "The Bruiser" (WCWF Champion 2008) have arrived at a certain mutual understanding. The end result of their daily negotiations is a predictable supply of rich, creamy milk. Rosebud, of course, has been quietly predictable all along, but we all know that the squeaky wheel gets the most attention. Still, reaching this long-awaited stage of development meant to us, among other things, the possibility of butter.
Making butter is simple. We all know that because our grandmothers could do it before they were born. If anyone reading this is from a second-world country or an emerging nation, please just ignore the next few paragraphs and go straight to the post about caterpillars. For that matter, also fast-forward if you are from the “country” in America, which includes most of Southside.
We planned this step precisely. We had purchased a cream separator to separate and collect the abundant cream found in Jersey milk. We also researched butter-making, and from the web site “Cooking for Engineers" (I am NOT making this up), discovered that you can make butter using a Kitchenaid mixer. We were supplied with several gallons of milk, our new separator and our Kitchenaid. We were locked and loaded and ready for action.
We poured our properly warmed milk into the separator and waited for the cream to politely appear out of the little cream spout. We waited. We waited some more. Meanwhile, milk began gushing from the milk spout causing us to keep switching collecting bowls like a couple of nervous sailors bailing water from a sinking boat. The milk that did not manage to reach the bowls, did manage to reach the counter, the walls, our clothes and hair, the floor and happily for them, our three dogs. After about 5 minutes, a very thick, yellow fluid began to collect at the cream spout, about the consistency of mayonnaise. We re-read the directions for the separator and found the part where it mentioned adjusting the setting to reach the right consistency, ONLY IF YOU HAVE EXHAUSTED EVERY OTHER OPTION. We pondered the possible consequences of overlooking an "option" for a few minutes (low credit score, pregnancy, demonic possession) before inserting the little hex key into the adjuster. We will lose this key within a week. After several trials of adjustment and recycling the milk through the tank, we finally produced a mixture that looked a bit like thick, yellowish cream. We settled for that.
The next step was easier. Armed with my detailed instructions and photos from “Cooking for Engineers,” I poured the cream into the mixing bowl. At this stage, it was still very thick and light yellow- not at all like the picture that featured two pints of pure white, store-bought cream. I mixed and waited for the next stage, which was identified in the photos as well-behaved “peaks of cream.” No dice. At no time did the contents of the bowl resemble anything in any picture. For just a second, I saw flecks of butter in the mix and my spirits soared. My hopes were dashed a second later when the entire mixture, took on the consistency of yellow pudding (that’s “custard” for the UK folks). I gave up at that point.
Not wanting to waste anything, I put the weird, custardy mix into a bowl and set it in the refrigerator, just in case I could come up with a possible use for it. An hour later (insert the "Hallelujah Chorus", here), amazingly, we had a bowl of solid butter. I have no idea why, or what happened to the whey that we were supposed to carefully rinse out. The only thing I can surmise is that we started with so much butterfat in the mix that there wasn’t much else in there to begin with. But it’s here and it’s lovely- a lot like Irish butter.
Cost of 1 lb of sweet butter to-date: Approximately $400 after the calves sell.
Somewhere in Heaven, I have a grandmother who is rolling on the floor, laughing at her totally inept granddaughter. Billy and Robin, we haven’t forgotten about you. We just didn’t want to poison anyone until we had this process down a little better. We'll be in touch.
By the way, the butter in the picture is not ours. I know that for sure because it is artfully arranged with rustic French utensils. Ours is sitting in a disposable plastic tub in the refrigerator, next to a bowl of withered jalapenos and a bottle of Kikkoman with a sell date of 1987.
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