1950s Archive

Tricks of my Trade

Originally Published August 1953

There are many scenes of my childhood which I remember with pleasure, but one in particular stays with me always. I shall never forget the cellar under our big farmhouse where Grand1 mere performed her cheese-making ritual each summer. How refreshing it was to come from the fields, where the hot sun beat down on the ripening wheat, and take refuge in the cool cellar, with its clay-like soil floor and thick stone walls. And what wonderful smells! As I think back to it now. once more I inhale the fragrance of grapes and the vin du pays in wooden casks. And best of all was the soothing aroma of the cheese-making: the sweet moisture of fresh milk and the hint of faintly acid curd.

I loved to watch grandmother make cheese, though I probably got under her feet more than I helped her. Grandmother. cheese maker par excellence of our family, started the job in the cowshed, milking the cows rhythmically. Indeed. grandmother did everything in a rhythmic, orderly manner. She was tidy and petite, and her strong hands belied their size just as her quiet manner belied her efficiency. Naturally her farmhouse was the most spotless, her meals the most succulent and bountiful. Naturally. too, it was part of Grand'mère's nature to find time for everything, and yet never seem hurried. She trained each daughter in the travaux ménagers, the skills she had learned from her own mother. Twice a week, without fail, she churned the fresh sweet butter, and each day she went through the chores connected with cheese making. Nor did she ever miss her weekly trips to the village, to mass on Sunday, and to market on Wednesday with her freshly churned butter and firm rounds of good fromage du pays, her contribution to the farm income.

But Grand'mère's devotion to her cheese-making duties was not alone for the income. In our family, as in most other French families, country-style cheeses played an important role in the day to day meals. La fromage, in its many forms, was as basic and universal as bread. Each section of France has its own favorite cheeses, and nearly every Frenchman eats cheese once a day. My father expressed the sentiments of many when he said, as he often did, that he would willingly fore-go his meat, but not his cheese.

The way Grand'mère made cheese typified the country cheese-making style of her day. She used the big straight-sided earthenware jars that country people everywhere like for making pickles and sauerkraut, and putting up fruit in brandy. Each jar held ten quarts of milk. You could always see eighteen jars lined up on the cellar floor ready for their work. Grand'mère scalded six of them freshly each day and filled them with the results of the day's milking. In another six jars, the yellow cream had risen to the surface of yesterday's milkings to be skimmed off for the butter churn, It was grandmother's custom to take a little of the slightly sour milk from these jars, after skimming off the cream, and add it to the fresh milk as a “starter.” although some people used rennet for this purpose. In the final six jars the milk had been curdling long enough for the big snowy curds to become so firm that they separated from the cloudy whey. Grandmother lined with cheesecloth round wicker baskets or round metal molds pierced like a colander, and poured the curds into them to drain for a day or two.

When the curds formed themselves into a compact mass, we had frontage blanc, something like American cottage cheese. We usually took some of this upstairs for use at table or for our country cuisine. Grandmother added a little fresh cream to this cheese to make the local spécialités like cheese and potato pie or cheese fondue in the country style. In summer, we especially enjoyed mixing chopped chives and fresh tarragon in our cheese and eating it with crusty French bread.

But we took only a very small part of our cheese to use as fromage blanc. We put most of the compact rounds outdoors to cure in a shelved contraption with wire sides that looked like an enormous cage, It was built on stilts to keep it away from the dampness of the ground. In about a week each cheese was turned from its mold, unwrapped, and covered thickly with layer upon layer of fresh grape leaves. Then we returned the rounds to the cellar to ripen, or maturer, between thick layers of straw. A week or ten days later, the outside of the cheeses would be firm and fairly dry, while the inside would be soft and creamy, just right for the market. Our cheese resembled the Camembert so much admired by everyone, but it had its own distinctive flavor and we made our wheels about twice the size of the familiar Camembert cheese.

What I found out from my experiences on the farm where I grew up stood me in good stead all through my later professional years. Cheese making was no exception. When I took charge of the kitchens at the old New York Ritz, for instance, I decided to introduce coeur à la crème. I remembered well what Grand'mère had taught me: The best coeur à la crème demands the best crime. It must be very heavy unpasteurized cream with a butterfat content of 60 to 70 per cent. I found that a Vermont farm would supply this excellent cream, and from the Bazar Franca is I obtained the little heartshaped baskets I needed. But beureusuement, happily for me, the dessert rapidly became so popular that we had CO order special metal molds, pierced with holes. This is the way the French make coeur à la crime: Line a heart-shaped basket or mold with cheesecloth and fill it with heavy unpasteurized cream. Store it in the refrigerator overnight to drain—above twelve to eighteen hours are usually needed, Unmold and serve with Bar-le-Duc or wild strawberry preserve.

Subscribe to Gourmet