"lard" news and stories

City slickers at Jasper Hill Farm. Photo: Dimitri Saad

The cows knew something good was going on. There they were, chewing their cud and jamming out to R&B. One was visibly swaying to the beat.

The beasts behind a few of the brilliant cheeses at Vermont's family-owned Jasper Hill Farm and its extraordinary, 22,000-square-foot cheese-aging cave, built right into the earth (one of only two like it in the nation), are up on their current pop for two reasons. As sales and outreach specialist Zoe Brickley told a group of self-proclaimed dairy enthusiasts, it's both because "the barn boys like it" and because the cows do: "If cows are stressed out, their production goes down. Happy, contented cows are best for milk quality."

Jasper Hill seems intent upon making its fellow cheesemakers happy and contented too, by providing aging facilities for 10 to 12 farmers throughout New England. With their enormous cave, they have recreated an atmosphere that has been "historically used" to create cheese, which is a boon for many local cheesemakers, who traditionally had to rely essentially upon tricked-out refrigerators. Owned by two couples (brothers Mateo and Andy Kehler), Jasper Hill is helping keep artisanal cheese alive in New England, and sustaining some of the top fromagers in the country.

After the jump, how they do it and a look at the caves and aging process.

• Sommelier Charles Baker takes the singleton approach to winemaking, using a single vineyard, grower, and varietal to produce his distinct Riesling.
• Toronto bakers and sweets experts put their love of bacon on the line and whip up porcine cupcakes, chocolate, mints and even crème brûlée.
• Quebec is home to Canada's most flexible and creative beer brewers, such as the divine Unibroue and St. Ambroise.
• In beer-fixated Toronto, cocktail lovers are trying to get some respect for their creative libations.
• Recipe: Pasta with Kale, Chickpeas, and Parmesan
• You don't have to buy pre-made pretzels anymore: Auntie Anne's now offers pretzel kits so that you can reproduce that addictive aroma at home.
  

I do not come from a biscuit making people. That's not to say that I led an entirely biscuitless youth -- just that the addition of water to a measure of Bisquick, and the joyless lumping thereof on a cookie sheet does not, what I consider a biscuit, make. Though this is a matter of great conjecture for folks from all walks, my particular biscuit paradigm is a balance of moist, fluffily layered, lard-laced innards and a crisped-up, nearly brittle top and bottom. A crunch through should grudgingly yield to a just off-sweet, pillowy, melting mass of deliciousness. With shards of salty country ham, a rich swipe of sweet butter, or just steaming hot from the oven, it's handheld heaven.

I can't make biscuits like that to save my life. In '09, that all changes.

With the aid of every cookbook, internet tip, and friends' advice at my disposal, I'm on a mission to perfect my biscuit making. I shall seek the counsel of Southern grandmothers and hound professional chefs until they begin to assail me with dough blenders. I shall become tiresome on the subject. I'm sure my husband would assert that I already have. 'Sokay -- he'll get fresh biscuits out of the deal, as will my colleagues, dogs, dog walker, friends, neighbors, cashiers, subway train drivers. Heck, I probably don't even know you, and you'll likely end up with a leftover biscuit from me.

I dig 'em with the tang of buttermilk and lard's sweet, creamy kiss, but for the sake of scientific exploration, I'll entertain alternate liquids and fats. I've been a good li'l stockpiling squirrel and plundered the shelves of several Harris Teeters and Food Lions during a recent sojurn to North Carolina so that the ingredients may possess the ideal terroir as borne by Southern flours like White Lily, Red Band and Southern Biscuit. I have chilled my lard, readied my sifting hand, and offered a small homage to the spirit of the dearly departed Edna Lewis. I am ready to begin.

This may not be my heritage, but it is my destiny.

Read on for the results of the first effort.

Flour is the basic structural ingredient. It's the starch in the flour that will, when mixed with liquid and heated in the oven, gelatinize and set when cooled. Flour also contains the proteins you need to make gluten, which is great for baking bread but not so desirable for making pie crusts. All you have to do is use a flour with a lower protein content, which generally means all purpose flour (cake flour might be too weak).

Fats are considered tenderizing agents for baked goods like cakes and pie crusts, rather than shortening agents like they would be for bread. In pie crusts, fats like oil, vegetable shortening, butter, and lard prevent gluten from getting formed in the first place by coating the flour granules, thus ensuring tenderness. Flakiness is achieved by the way you mix the dough: larger chunks of fat from less mixing make for more flakiness while more mixing and smaller fat chunks make a less flaky crust. They also add a lot of flavor, especially in the case of butter and animal fats. Lard and butter are also generally considered to have a better feel in the mouth, and lard is reputed to create a flakier crust than other fats.

Water and milk are the most common liquids, while buttermilk, eggs, and cream can also be used. Liquids function as a binding agent: they allow all of the ingredients to be evenly dissolved and incorporated. They also hydrate the the starch and protein in the flour and activate whatever leavening is being used. If you're using a liquid besides water, you're also adding fats, sugar, and acidity which is a good thing. The fats add tenderness, the adds to crust color, and the acidity makes the dough more stable and easier to roll out as well as taste better. Make sure to always use a cold liquid to keep the fat nice and cold, so it'll retain its shape/temperature and produce a flaky product.

Eggs are used for hydrating the dough, creating structure, giving color to the dough, and flavor. The whites are 90% water and the rest protein, so that aids in hydration and structure. The yolks are 50% water with the rest being mostly fat, contributing to hydration and tenderness as well as flavor and crust color.

Sugar adds sweetness and contributes the most to crust color. Ths crust turns golden brown because the sugar in the dough caramelizes as it's baked. Also, the texture of the dough can be changed by using sugar ground to different levels of fineness. For instance, powdered sugar makes a dough that is smoother, even if it doesn't taste as good as granulated.

After my latest Midnight Snack, I think I know how to say lardo in Polish: smalec. I found this small tub of Smalec z miesem in a small grocery in the suburban Long Island town where I grew up, which never had a Polish presence to my knowledge. The English translation for this mysterious meat spread is seasoned pork lard with cured pork added. And not just any cured pork, but pork dewlap, or the skin and meat below the hog's chin, pig wattle, if you will. I'm sure there are people who think that products that contain pork dewlap should be emblazoned with red stickers bearing the legend, "WARNING: CONTAINS PORK DEWLAP." As many of you already know, I am not one of those people.

Who am I to look down my snout at pork dewlap, much less lard? Though I must admit that this was the first time I've ever tasted either. When I tore the cover off the little tub, I was greeted by a lake of snowy white pork lard with a little island of cured dewlap in the center. After I mixed it up I spread a bit on some hearty rye and found it to be pretty tasty. But when I smeared a goodly amount on toasted rye with a little onion I was in porcine paradise. The lard melted onto the warm, crusty bread so perfectly that the fat sensor in my brain went off immediately, leaving me woozy with satisfaction. And with good reason, a mere tablespoon of this Polish wonder spread contains 3.5 grams of saturated fat.