Face it: I am Laura Ingalls Wilder

In my ongoing quest to live a life cobbled together with themes from Holly Hobbie and Little House on the Prairie, I tried my hand at making cheese this summer. Settle down. It’s not like I dug a cave in my backyard to house my smoked gouda or something. (Though we do have a new book in which I read last night about burying peaches below ground as a food preservation method: waving to S&K thanks!) I began small. With ricotta. And tonight I tried it again. And at the same time, I had a loaf of homemade bread in the oven.

And I stopped to pinch myself. Was I Laura Ingalls Wilder? No, of course not. But in my desire to cut out processed food, I realize it’s brought me closer to things like this. Like homemade jam made from berries picked that morning. Greens sauted with garlic and onions from farms within my county line. And cheese made in front off my eyes, on my very own stove. Money into my local economy, supporting local farmers, and knowing where the hell the stuff going into my body comes from. Stuff without ingredient listings consisting of chemicals and words I can’t pronounce.

And you know what? Dinner was great. Homemade bread with sauted kale and some ricotta cheese mixed in. So do you want to know about that bread or cheese first? Because the kale part has become a standard in the winter repertoire of the farm CSA recipient. And it certainly doesn’t photograph as well. Even if it is tasty...

Let’s start with the cheese…