Of Shepherds Abiding In The Fields–And Their Cheese

There’s an old tale going around a lot this week, in which shepherds abiding in fields keep watch over their flocks by night. Very old tale: humans have been doing that for some 11-13,000 yrs, first for meat, then wool, then milk. The only animals w/whom we have an older domestic relationship are dogs.

You know where this is going…cheese. Yogurt is part of this thread too, since it’s what inspired a lovely article (to follow) which explores dairy in Eastern Turkey–the westernmost part of the Fertile Crescent region where domesticated sheep were developed. It’s about the hometown of Hamdi Ulukaya, the rags-to-riches founder of Chobani yogurt. In his hometown, of course, yogurt is made from whole sheep milk. so ~8% milk fat. Rather different from what’s Chobani makes in the US.

You really should read the whole article, if only to travel to someplace you may never go, and read about things that may soon disappear: notably the local cheese, which has been made pretty much the same way for millennia. But there are a few passages I wanted to highlight.

First, the fact that milk is actually a seasonal product, just like cherries & tomatoes. I’ve highlighted that in each of the Cheeses of the Seasons episodes, but it’s quite easy to forget for urban dwellers for whom milk is always just there, seemingly always the same. The authors of the article were unaware of that before visiting the town. =)

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Cows lactation cycle is quite long, typically ~300 days, and modern domesticated cows are not strongly seasonal breeders, with both reproduction and milk production being a matter of nutrition–this is partly why in cow-centric countries, milk seems eternally available. Sheep and goats are much more strongly seasonal, like their wild counterparts, and while modern science has made it possible to manipulate these cycles somewhat, their lactation cycles usually run 6-8 months for dairy breeds, less for non-dairy breeds.

Natural reproduction cycles for sheep and goats align very closely to natural feed availability. If you or your partner have ever nursed a baby, you know that milk output is minimal for the first 2-3 months, then kicks into high gear and mom is ravenous. Same for dairy animals. Babies are born in early spring; early milk production is powered primarily from mom’s own fat stores, augmented w/dried fodder and the first fresh grass. Just as babies start getting really hungry, pastures are full of mature grass. In the fall, as grasses dry and die, herds are traditionally culled, babies weaned and everyone goes on dry fodder again. Moms’ teats get a rest, and the cycle starts again. This brings us to a traditional method of cheese production: cheeses are made in-pasture, right after milking. In Europe, this in-pasture style of cheesemaking is called “alpage”, a designation you’ll see on some gruyere & other alpine cheeses.

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The milk is heated a bit during the cheesemaking process, but only some are heated to high enough temps to be counted as pasteurized. Most are raw milk. And here we come to conflicts between traditions and modern regulations.

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You’ll notice, in the above quote, another common element of dairying: gendered tasks. In western Eurasia, it’s common for men to look after live animals and for women to process the milk. So much so that cheesemaking and witchcraft–another heavily gendered activity–have long been linked in western folklore…

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About that goatskin in the previous quote: the local cheese, “tulum”, was traditionally aged not in caves but in animal-skin bags, which are much handier when you’re doing alpage cheeses while moving about in the mountains. Like any skin, they’re somewhat porous, allowing excess moisture to escape the curds and a regular flow of air to reach them. No doubt the authorities will have problems w/that too, even if the pasteurization issue gets resolved.

But there’s one more problem: that part about watching over their flocks by night:

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Sheep have changed a lot in the millennia since humans started rounding up mountain sheep–their shape, their size, how much wool and milk they produce. But their natural cycles–and those of their predators–have not. And our natural biorhythms haven’t either. In an era when there are many ways to earn a living that don’t involve staying up all night outside in the cold, human preferences tend to win. Back 2000+ yrs ago, when animals meant livelihood, even wealth, the sacrifice of a lamb to unseen powers was significant. It’s why it was embedded in rituals of many West Asian religions.

We’ve now mostly given up that form of sacrifice in the West, but you can still appreciate the work of all those shepherds, ancient and modern: if you’re thinking in terms of lambs this week consider partaking of some of their cheese. Here are a few suggestions to get you started:

Best Cheeses 2019: Sheep’s Milk – culture: the word on cheese

Discover some of our favorite sheep’s milk cheeses of 2019.

Milk Is Seasonal: A Tale of Two Pecorinos

I was unable to source sheep milk for quite a while, so when I finally found a new source last spring, I promptly made a “young pecorino”, a semi-hard table cheese, which was great eating until it was about 6 months old, at which point it became an equally excellent grating cheese. I just finished the last stub of it last weekend.

I started a second one in early January for the sake of having more Eating Pecorino, having made another smaller sheep cheese in “cobblestone” form a week earlier. Winter milk has more fat than spring and summer milk across all species, but this turned out to be especially pronounced in sheep milk, which is a high-fat milk to begin with.

Here’s a picture I took of the two cheeses side by side, when the winter one was just out of the press and being salted (that’s kosher salt on the rind–you brush it off when you’re done salting). This winter one is ~30% taller. Same recipe, same farm for the milk, both made from 2 gallons of milk.

And I *also* got a full bowl of ricotta, enough to make 2 rounds of truffled ricotta salata. Incidentally, one of the best ways to taste the inherent differences between milks of different species is to make ricotta, because it basically has no other flavors besides “milk”. Cow ricotta is sweet but kinda bland. Goat has a noticeable lemon flavor. Sheep has a rich, buttery warmth to it that you should never hide in pasta fillings with heavy sauces. It’s lovely as a spread on bread (think Rondele, but less processed and gelatinous), as sliceable dry ricotta, and my favorite, mixed with some powdered sugar, lemon zest and tiny shavings of dark chocolate as a cannoli filling.

Here’s the winter pecorino at 2 months of age, at the beginning of March.

It was technically just about ready to eat, but the sheep cobble (pictured below) that I’d made the week before was so rich, creamy and soft-textured due to all the extra fat that I decided it wouldn’t hurt to let the Pecorino age longer and give the fats more time to break down.

But I wanted to point out something about the rind. Compare the two-month-old winter one above with the previous one I made in March of last year:

Both rinds were oiled during aging to help keep off unwanted molds. But the one I made in January is entirely covered in white geotrichum mold, while the spring one just has a dusting. I didn’t add any geo powder to the milk. That’s just what grew on the rinds, from spores in the milk and in the air.

The winter one has a lot more fat, which tends to retain more moisture in the curd. Here in the San Francisco Bay Area, winter is the dampest time of year. I often have to fight moisture-loving blue molds in the winter, and if you look closely on the winter pecorino you’ll see spots where the local blue started making pits in the rind before I ground lots of dry salt into it. So the winter one is a slightly moister cheese, aged in slightly damper conditions. More geotrichum is the result.

Even though I still have a bit of the super-rich sheep cobble, I opened up my wintertime pecorino yesterday evening.

Texture-wise, it’s pretty similar to the pecorino I made last spring. It doesn’t have the fatty mouthfeel the cobblestone has; it’s more of a proper semi-hard cheese (this is a good thing). There’s a definite flavor difference though. The spring one was nutty and a little sweet. This one has a bit more tang to it, with hints of hay.

I’m now planning to make another one in June with summer milk to get a 3-season comparison.

Originally tweeted by Lisa Caywood (@RealLisaC) on January 5, 2022.