A few days ago I made my seventy-first consecutive batch of yogurt. It all started in 2016, when I attended a workshop in yogurt-making as part of the biennial Les Dames D’Escoffier Symposium. The technique I learned there was way better than I had remembered from my fleeting fling with an electric yogurt maker back in the 1970’s.
These briefly popular, but entirely superfluous, appliances rank right up there with bread-makers and popcorn-poppers as a single use, counter space-wasting fad. Four little cups sat in a base that provided continuous, low heat. One put milk and starter in each at bedtime, and, presto! In the morning, it would be yogurt!
The problem (and the secret), then as now, was obtaining a starter which would successfully propagate a culture over indefinite batches. Supermarket yogurt was only good for a few iterations before it petered out. No wonder I lost interest in making my own! I went back to macramé, pickling and kitchen-table winemaking.
This was where the first benediction of the workshop was bestowed: a gift of Stonyman Gourmet Farmer’s mother culture. Stonyman sells green and aged cheese at farmers markets around Washington, DC. Their yogurt contains a community of diverse bacteria in contrast to the two or three strains active in the product you find in your supermarket. This allows it to grow happily through batch after batch. I believe it adapts and changes, acquiring a unique character profile; a terroir, if you will. Mine has changed over time, becoming creamier and sweeter, while retaining the distinctive tang of a fermented product.
And it couldn’t be easier. Yogurt-making doesn’t require sterilization, just ordinary cleanliness; no post-packing processing, just refrigeration; no rigid feeding or usage deadlines, just a little forethought to assure your current batch still has a half-cup left for your next one. You can even freeze some starter if you can’t make a new batch right away.
Over the past four years, I have honed the process until I can have a new batch incubating, from start to finish, in twenty minutes. I make two, 2-lb (32 oz.) containers every three weeks, on average, depending on how fast I use it. I reuse the same Trader Joe’s European-style yogurt containers. I used to buy it religiously to mix with my morning cereal, except when Trader Joe’s supply chain didn’t deliver – one of the incentives for making my own, by the way. Oh, and that the cost of making it (depending on the price of milk) is roughly half that of buying it.
The only specialized equipment I use is an instant-read thermometer. The Thermapen came recommended by Executive Chef Susan Delbert of the National Press Club, and I find it useful for many other things, such as gauging the internal temperature of cuts of meat.
In a large saucepan, I heat ½ gallon of whole milk to 180° F, then pop it into a cold water/ice bath until it’s cooled down to 110-115°.
I add the tempered starter culture, swaddle the pot in dish towels and place it in my oven with the light on overnight. That’s just enough warmth to maintain the perfect fermenting temperature.
In the morning, it goes into the refrigerator for a few hours, then I pack it into the TJ”s containers.
That’s it! It’s perfect for cereal (I eat it with Kashi Crunch mixed with fresh fruit), and all your other yogurt needs. Of course, you could strain it to make Greek-style yogurt, or let it sit longer in the strainer (I use my Melitta-style drip-coffee setup for this) to make fresh yogurt cheese.
We baby boomers have a long history of do-it-yourself projects the newer generations are just discovering. Many of them are only interesting for a little while, but some are worthy of continuing effort. Yogurt-making is one of the latter. I’m glad to rediscover it, and not just as a quarantine distraction.
