A Raw Deal

Once upon a time, my friend Dave and I attended a farmer's market in Middlebury, Vermont. It was a beautiful morning, and as we made the rounds of the purveyor's booths, we stopped and struck up a conversation with an older woman who was selling a modest selection of preserves. I purchased a jar of cherries, and as Dave began asking more and more questions about the woman's farm, the talk became more cordial. Eventually, with a sideways glance and a sly smile, the woman asked if we liked butter.

If someone were to answer no to that question, they'd be no friend of mine.

And so, responding yes, naturally, we followed the woman over to the back of her station wagon, and there she produced from a cooler a dubious looking lump wrapped in white paper. Keeping the lump hidden and lowering her voice to conspiratorial tones, she proudly told us that what lay before us was real, honest-to-goodness raw butter, churned from the cream of her own cows. And for a price, that raw butter could be ours...

The reason that small farmer's market transaction so resembled a back alley drug deal was because in most of modern America raw milk products have the same legal status as controlled substances. Because of our national paranoia about food safety and our governmental commitment to supporting industrial agriculture at the cost of small farmers, raw milk is either illegal or severely regulated by the FDA. Which, to a certain extent, is ok with me; trying to mass market raw milk by industrial methods would certainly lead to illness. But in trying to protect us from the slovenly nature of agri-business, the federal government is also limiting consumer options and the economic viability of small-scale dairying. The butter Dave and I ate was perfectly safe (as well as quite tasty), and we were able to judge whether or not we wanted to take the risk on based on our opinion of the farmer who sold it to us. It was our choice, as it should have been, and the only real danger was in getting caught by the fuzz.

All this leads me to announce with no small amount of happiness that I've been happily drinking raw milk, legally, for several weeks now. Connecticut, in its infinite wisdom, licenses a number of dairy farms in the state to sell raw milk, at the cost of monthly inspections and a lengthy forms process. I get my milk at March Farms, who have no cows themselves, but retail milk from Stone Wall Dairy, in Cornwall Bridge. I need to be on a reservations list to get my weekly gallon, and the milk is at least twice as expensive as pasturized, store bought brands, but for me, it's completely worth it.

The milk is hormone and antibiotic free, and comes from a local source. Not only am I supporting a local merchant, at March Farms, but I'm also giving my business to one of the long suffering Connecticut dairies. Dairies in Connecticut, and in New England in general, are dropping like flies, as wholesale milk prices are set by the federal government at levels too low for small farms to remain financially solvent. Direct marketing of raw milk, a quality product, is one of the few ways for a dairy farm to stay afloat, and I'm happy to pay a premium to support my neighbors. My grandparents' people were dairy farmers once; I think they would have approved.

Of course, I wouldn't buy a product if it was inferior to what was conventionally available, and luckily, I've found raw milk to be superior to pasteurized milk in almost every way. Although raw milk is whole milk by nature, and so skim milk is out of the equation, I've found the milk to be far less heavy than expected. Although creamy and full bodied, the milk is not sweet or cloying. It has a nice piquant and a pleasant bouquet, perfect for that late night bowl of Cheerios...

The milk is pale yellow, and must be shaken up before drinking, as the cream separates out to the top. It's late fall now, and the cows are no doubt already on hay and winter fodder, but I'm curious what the milk will taste like when spring rolls around and the pastures turn lush. It'll be nice to taste the seasons in my food.

Yesterday, I took my lactose-love to a new level. I had an extra gallon of raw milk, this one a gift, from Rich Farms over on the Southbury-Oxford line (great ice-cream there too, by the way), and using a simple recipe from last Sunday's paper, I attempted home-made cheese for the first time. I heated the milk, and used half a cup of lemon juice as my curdling agent. Although I was dismayed by how much whey is left over, I yielded a not inconsiderable little ball of farmer's cheese, about the density of thick mozzarella. The lemon juice gives the cheese a distinct lemony flavor, which I quite like, especially with tomato and basil, which was my breakfast (and the whey was breakfast for my pigs). Next time I'll use half lemon juice, half cider vinegar, and add peppercorns to the milk while it simmers. For anyone interested, I'll give you the recipe I used:

1 gallon whole milk, 1/2 cup fresh squeezed lemon juice, cheesecloth, colander.

In a heavy-bottomed pot, heat milk over medium-low until heated through. Bump up the heat to med-high, and stir constantly to avoid scalding. When the milk starts to bubble around the edges, turn off heat and stir in lemon juice. The milk with start to separate into curds and whey. Avoid spiders and tuffets. Let sit five minutes. Line a colander with a double layer of cheesecloth, and pour milk in. When the curds are cool, fold the cheesecloth over and lift the cheese out. I tied my cheese to a wooden spoon which I suspended across the mouth of a deeper pot, but you can also tie it to your sink faucet. Give the cheese a few squeezes to make it firm, but keep it PG. Refrigerate, and consume greedily.