Tools determine Output

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Here’s a popular dessert in our house. It’s frozen cherries (but sometimes mango or peaches or berries) mixed with a little extract — usually vanilla but sometimes almond or hazelnut — and then blended with a mix of milk and half&half (or heavy cream) until smooth. Ish.

It’s not ice cream but it tastes like ice cream. It’s not sorbet but it tastes like sorbet. It’s sort of an ice milk, I guess? But it isn’t. What it is, is a dessert. We eat it straight out of the blender instead of letting it “set” in the freezer, because we find the setting process makes it disgusting. You eat this fresh or not at all.  You also eat the variants from time to time, too: peach cream where the peaches have been in the freezer too long; or where there’s not enough milk or too much almond extract. The balance is never exact.

But it’s dependent on the tools. Without the blender or the food processor, without the refrigerator, without the whole apparatus to harvest cherries in season and flash freeze them, without milk or cream, this dessert is impossible. It’s not a dish of Ancient Rome; it’s a dish of modern Americans looking to avoid too much processed sugar in their diets.

A makerspace can have a range of tools of all kinds — but without accurate measuring tools, all projects will be sort of sloppy (With accurate measuring tools, projects may still be sloppy, but that’s the choice of the maker). No sandpaper and no files? Projects wind up looking a little rough.  No paint or stain? Things look a little unfinished, more structural, with more emphasis on materials. No drills, no saws? — projects wind up being made of other things than wood.

Tools determine output. If your MakerSpace is producing projects with a lot of bent nails, you might want to take a look at how many hammers you have, and perhaps invest in some saws or drills.  Or maybe a sewing machine…

Or maybe an ice cream maker.

31 DoM: Cook a Magical Meal


Today’s 31 Days of Magic project, the last for me, is to cook a magical meal.  This project grew up out of Jason Miller’s Strategic Sorcery community, and I resolved to do all of the activities this month.  And today, I complete that process.

31 DoM: magical meal On the one hand, I can’t claim that spaghetti and meatballs with marinara sauce is particularly original. This isn’t a fancy meal by any stretch of the imagination. (To be fair, there was also salad, which I forgot to photograph).

But, on the other hand, it has three things going for it.  First of all, I was able to pull together this meal of several ingredients from what I already had in my kitchen, and some hamburger meat that I bought on my way home from the conference.  Which means that I’ve established Mise en place in my kitchen: there are things in my kitchen and pantry that I can turn into food in short order.  Second, thanks to the grimoire of Alice Waters, The Art of Simple FoodI know how to make meatballs in short order without thinking too much about the recipe or even looking it up.  I also know how to doctor this spaghetti sauce so that it reflects my tastes a little more than ‘straight out of the jar’.

And third, I was feeding a guest, a partner in the upcoming adventures of my life.  We reviewed the weekend just passed, and considered the ways that the next few weeks will be transformative in our lives.  And behold, even over a very simple meal, a happy fortune of the future is told.

Sometimes a meal doesn’t have to be any more magical than that.

Tai Chi Y4D73: Push-Ups

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Twenty push-ups this morning, followed by two qi gong forms, and then the tai chi form four times.  Nothing else to report.

My weight is up over the last couple of days, and I’m going to spend the next couple of days clearing the indulgences of the last few days.  The challenge, this time of year, is that there’s a LOT of work to be done at school, and that means that exercise after school tends to get short shrift.  All the same, I need a few walks through the neighborhood and more water and a bit more healthy aversion to bad food.

Along those lines…. I found myself sitting next to a guy I know last afternoon.  He started talking about some of the challenges he was facing with his health, and he was talking about food in relationship to health.  As I listened to him talking, about fat and protein and carbs in his diet, what his doctor wants, what his family wants, what he wants, I realized… my god. We’re in our forties (maybe our fifties, in his case), and neither of us has any idea how or what to eat for good health. Leafy greens and fruits and vegetables, some bird in the form of chicken, eggs… but red meat no, bread no, potatoes no… except?

I felt no difficulty about putting together a healthy dinner last night, later in the evening; but I was mightily weirded out by the experience of sitting next to someone who has diabetes and isn’t afraid to tell you… and also has no idea what he should eat.

Maker Lab Development: cheese-making (and teaching)


I’ve put the following article in the Maker’s Grimoire category, because it’s the beginning of some thinking about designing curriculum for the design program at my school.  Some people are going to argue that it’s not really MakerEd, and some people are going to think it’s not really bells-and-whistles enough for MakerEd, and some people are going to think, “wow that’s cool!” and run with it.  Whatever you do with this, please — leave a comment. Let me know.  I’d be interested in knowing whether this idea — of using cooking and kitchen chemistry to teach design process and the basics of Maker Education has the potential to take off.

I’ve now tried making cheese four times (four quarter-tablets of rennet, using the cheese-making kit from  Of these four experiments, I’ve had two successes, one abject failure, and one… not quite failure, but not what I was after.

Finished mozzarella cheese

Beginner’s Luck

As you can see from the photo, the first cheese turned out the best. It looked like a round of mozzarella. A little firm, perhaps, but basically recognizable as cheese.  For this one, I used raw milk from a very local dairy — non-pasteurized, non-homogenized. And as I worked it, the curds turned into little lumps of stretchy matter, and it worked perfectly… except for the matter of time. Allegedly, this recipe for mozzarella is supposed to take 30 minutes.  Instead, it took me about an hour.  Part of that was that I kept stopping to read directions, and I had some challenges with transferring the curds to one pot while getting the original curdling pot ready to put into service as a

Beginner’s luck, apparently.

The second trial was also successful.  This one turned out smaller, and it was tremendously difficult to separate the curds from the whey — largely because the curds were the size of pin-heads or pine-nuts, instead of the size of 9V batteries.  I used milk from a commercial dairy located in Connecticut — not ultra-pasteurized, but not raw, either.  This stuff came from the supermarket.  The work of separating the curds from the whey resulted in the loss of perhaps 25% of the curds down the drain, and took roughly twice as long as it was supposed to.

What went wrong?


Batch #4 — because no one even wants to see the photos of batch #3.

It’s difficult to say. There are a lot of factors in play: the quality of the milk, the quality of the rennet, the quantity of the rennet, the application of heat (both how quickly the milk is heated, and to what temperature), and the process by which the cooling is done. A lot of things can go wrong at a lot of different steps in the process.

Still, Batch #2 turned out recognizably as cheese, and recognizably as mozzarella.  This is good.  This means that I’ve done the process successfully twice, and I can probably figure out how to make this work correctly in the long run — it’s possible, though, that I won’t be able to do it properly in under 30 minutes.

Batch #3 went horribly wrong.  No curds formed at all — just a horrible mess of seed-sized solids and a mess of whey-like goop that resembled nothing so much as dirty, cream-colored water.   The milk was labeled as raw milk, so it’s unlikely to have been a pasteurization issue.  But maybe it was.  Cheese-making websites tell me that when a cow has been given antibiotics or drugs, sometimes the milk doesn’t form curds.  Or milk that’s had too many temperature variations. Or milk that’s been out of the cow too long.  Or milk that’s been sloshed around far too often. Or…

Anyway, you get the idea, without having to be too grossed out by it.  It was ugly and gross and no one should have to look at that.  At least it didn’t smell rancid.  It just didn’t form curds or turn into cheese no matter how much I worked it.

Batch #4 did this really weird thing… it became small curds… and then no matter what I did to them, they stayed small curds.  IT was like batch #2, except that instead of eventually becoming mozzarella, it stayed ricotta.   Again, an enormous mess, and tremendously challenging, and of course — it was not 30-minute mozzarella.  It was 30-minute ricotta that stayed ricotta through the whole process of trying to make it into mozzarella over the course of two hours.

What went wrong?

Mozzarella? More like Ricotta...

It is chunky and cottage-cheesey or ricotta-like, instead of smooth and mozzarella-like…

Well, here, the milk didn’t form large curds.  IT formed medium-small curds that remained medium-small curds, even when it was heated to the standard temperature of 135° F.   This is a clue, I think, to what went wrong, and how.  If the milk were ultra-pasteurized, it wouldn’t have formed curds at all. So we can eliminate that as a cause.  We can also eliminate the idea that the milk experience too many temperature variations between the cow and the processing at my house.  This is local milk from a local-ish (Connecticut co-operative) dairy, pasteurized but not ultra-pasteurized… and the fact that the milk didn’t curdle ‘properly’, but did curdle, suggests that something else went wrong, or at least different (and it did taste like ricotta cheese), so something else is going on.

So, once we’ve ruled out the milk as the culprit, something else is happening.

And the answer appears to be in how I went about making cheese.  See, in the first two batches, I definitely added milk to a base of citric acid and water.  I then heated the milk up to a standard temperature for the sake of the rennet, and then added the rennet to the warm milk.

But in this third batch, I think I did the reverse.  I added cold milk, warmed it up to the standard temperature, realized I had not added the citric acid, and added it then.

This turns out to be exactly the method for making ricotta.  And once the citric acid and ricotta have been combined in this way… there’s no way it’s forming mozzarella.

Not having known that this is the way it’s done (the whey it’s done?) I kept working and re-working the cheese, trying to get a different result, not knowing that I’d already done a thing that was irreversible.

What an interesting way to make this kind of discovery.  By working from the recipe, but not being wholly aware of the other recipe, I wound up making a thing I didn’t know I was making, by doing the right steps in the wrong order.  And I love making discoveries like that.  It means that now I have two cheesy methodoligies, instead of just one. Delightful.

Relevance to Teaching

Someone asked me the other day why I was going to such effort to learn how to be a cheese maker. The answer is that my friend M told me about a recipe for making stone-like plastic out of milk.  I’m trying to design a course for my school’s activities program called … well, I don’t know what it’s going to be called yet.  It will consist of several sessions, though, in which we make a variety of things out of milk:  yogurt, ricotta, mozzarella, and, yes... plastic.  The activity sessions are usually nine sessions long, so I still need to come up with a few more activities (or we need to do some of them twice).  But the sessions are about 60 minutes long, so I need to get the length of time needed for the mozzarella down to the standard 30 minutes.  The ricotta was easily 30 minutes, and most of that time was spent draining the whey from the small curds.  My friend Cat says that cream cheese (potential recipe to try out here) and neufchâtel cheese are both fairly easy to make, and each of these could be an activity on its own.

Underlying all of these activities is the singular challenge that I have no idea if most of these activities can be completed in the the space of time allotted for these activity programs.  It looks like some of them can be, and some of them can’t.  But I definitely have to do all of the projects a few times first, so that I know what I’m doing, and what I’m doing wrong.

Here, though, is the growing outline of the course as I see it:

  1. Week 1: What is milk?  How to make yogurt.
  2. Week 2: How to make ricotta (since it’s ridiculously easy to do even accidentally).
  3. Week 3: how to make mozzarella
  4. Week 4: how to make casein plastic
  5. Week 5: how to make cream cheese
  6. Week 6: how to make neufchâtel cheese
  7.  Week 7: how to make (your own) whey protein ? *I don’t even know if this can be done in a kitchen… but I bet it can*

Anyone have any ideas for the last two or three classes?

Why is this a Design Thinking-themed course?

Some of my readers know that I run the Design Lab at my school.  Some people may be thinking about a cooking class as being a poor fit for a Design Thinking class, or even a MakerEd class.  I suppose that’s true.  But maybe that’s rushing things a bit.  We used to have home economics classes in schools, after all, where kids learned about how to make food and repair clothes and manage households.  And I think it’s maybe time for some aspects of those classes to come back.

But more than that, food is one of those places that kids can exercise their creativity.  It’s a series of lessons in chemistry, as well as lacto-fermentation, to learn how to make cheese and yogurt and plastic and other things out of the same core ingredient.  It’s a way to understand kitchen processes as an extension of the Maker mindset, and the creative impulse.  And it’s a way of expanding the range of skills and interests that students can develop while still learning about design thinking.

More than that, this is a course that I can hand off  to someone else.

One of the big challenges that I face as the Design/Maker guy at my school is that I’m only one guy.  My colleagues certainly teach with design principles in mind, and with our methodology in place in their classrooms.  But I reach maybe 10-20 students a year out of a couple hundred, and they’re the same students year after year.  This class is all a series of programs that a colleague can run (or that colleagues at other schools could run!), either as a sequence or as a series of stand-alone classes. They’re design-thinking themed, they’re designed to teach materials-consciousness (in this case the product is milk, duh), and a series of technical processes (in this case, application of heat, and the combination of acids and bases, and the basics of kitchen chemistry).  Plus, you can (usually) eat your mistakes.

Clearly, finding a source of milk is critical to the endeavor.  You don’t want to get good milk one week and bad milk the next; or you want to be able to shift from one kind of recipe to another based on what sort of milk you have.

For the Wise

Of course, from a larger perspective,  there’s something sacred and wonderful about being able to use a single basic product like milk and being able to turn it into all kinds of offerings — there’s a magic in that capacity. And there’s a different kind of magic in the capacity to turn a liquid into a more delicious solid.  The alchemists of old said solve et coagula — dissolve and recombine.  And that’s kind of what I’m trying to get at here.  This is, if you will, a kind of animal alchemical process, to take the stuff of life and transform it nine different ways into nine different materials, each with a power all of its own.

Last Night’s Dinner

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At left is last night’s dinner:  a small salad with homemade vinaigrette, lightly buttered broccoli, and two chicken sausages in a light tomato sauce.  It was quite delicious.  A dinner for the first day of school.

The woman behind me in line looked over my grocery pile at the checkout line in the supermarket.  She said, “now I feel bad.  My choices are not as healthy.”  She put two loaves of wheat-white bread on the belt, six or seven boxes of Kleenex (“there’s a sale on”), and a number of containers of chocolate and vanilla pudding.  There was some other stuff, but then the cashier and the bagger started asking me questions, and I couldn’t keep track of what she put on the belt, after that.

I came home, heated a saucepan for the chicken, chopped broccoli up into ‘trees’, sliced sausages, diced cherry tomatoes into the saucepan with some butter, salt, pepper, paprika, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar.  As these became a sauce, I added the chicken sausage slices, steamed the broccoli, and composed the salad.  I had leftover dressing that I’d made at Solstice, which had kept pretty well — garlic, olive oil, salt, pepper, balsamic vinegar, herbes de Provence.  There was some leftover blue cheese from Solstice, so that went into the salad just after this photo was taken.

There are enough leftovers for lunch today.

The dinner did a lot to improve my mood.  Since the end of the holidays, I’ve been rather down, and today was a weird, wired, muddied day to get through.  Making the Image of the Third Mansion did a lot to improve my mood, even if it wasn’t a very high-quality image.

I heard from a friend this afternoon that I was supposed to be meeting tonight; their grandmother was going through some illness and they were canceling our meeting.  Another friend’s grandmother passed away.  My own grandfather passed away just after the holidays ended a number of years ago; I think a lot of old people find that they can let go after a happy holiday, and go on to the next challenge.

We who stay behind, of course, have our own challenges to look for:  what the poet T.S. Eliot once called “ordinary time, of darning and the 8:15 train.”  My seventh graders are working on learning the US Constitution.   My sixth graders are working on Latin declarative verbs.  I’m planning three different stand-alone events for the school’s Design Lab, and planning my own class in there.  It’s going to be a busy 2012.

What I’m eating: 3 Jan 2010 dinner

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I made a stir-fry tonight. It included marinated chicken (which stewed for about an hour in some apple cider vinegar, some olive oil, some sweet basil, salt, pepper and chilies), carrots, green bell pepper, and onion.

Mark Bittman’s column in the New York Times this week is all about the need for sustainable foods. He writes:

There is one notable thing these recipes are not: magic. You cannot produce them without having a functioning kitchen; some minimal equipment, including a pot, a skillet and a bowl; a couple of knives; some utensils; a strainer and a cutting board; and the ability/money to stock a pantry and at least occasionally supplement it with fresh food. These requirements cannot be met by everyone, but they can be met by far more people than those who cooked dinner last night.

He says that a rice-and-bean dish, a chopped salad, and a stir-fry are in essence what makes a cook into a cook. If you can pull together a sensible, well-balanced meal using those three preparation styles, then you’re well on your way to being a successful cook, no matter what tradition of cooking you belong to.

I’m not much of a rice-eater, but I do like lentils. Thanks to my mom, I make a marinated lentils dish which is easy. Simply cook lentils (not a laborious process at all), and then marinate them in a combination of olive oil, vinegar, and herbs (sometimes with mustard). It’s easy to do, and fun. Tomorrow, when I return to school for lunch, I’ll carry a salad with me that I made this evening: baby spinach greens, tomatoes, diced carrots, and a little bit of my lentils to go with them. Again, easy.

The hard part for me is bread, noodles, and such-like. I have my own pasta maker. It’s not a very good machine, but it works reasonably well, and the pasta it makes is light-years ahead of store-bought. It’s tricky to manage that, though, and finding good flour is not so easy. Same with bread — I used to have my own chef or levain, which is a fancy way of saying a sourdough starter. No longer.

In any case, when I’m eating these three dishes that Mark Bittman extols — stirfry, beans-and-rice, and salad — I feel ages younger, a get healthier faster, and I get happier.

First Cake


I just made my first cake.

I used the 4-3-2-1 recipe on p. 212 of Alice Waters’ The Art of Simple Food. I’m a real fan of her cookbooks and her cooking style. I’ve even used a number of recipes with my Cooking for Boys group.

This cake? Simple, it was not. Separate four eggs. Cream butter. Whip egg whites. Sift flour. Mix. Measure. Mix again. Wow.

The resulting cake, though, is quite lovely. I took a picture of it with the camera in my cellphone.

It is such a lovely cake, that my cellphone no longer works. Oi. (Update: Now it’s working again, and we’ve had the birthday party.  Here are the remains of the day’s efforts.)

My first cake!

My first cake!

I also made chocolate frosting. Have you ever creamed butter in with sugar, and then mixed in semi-sweet melted chocolate that you hand-melted in your grandfather’s double boiler?

I may have to make chocolate frosting more often.

The occasion, you ask? Oh, one of the kids on my dormitory has a birthday today. He’s fourteen. His mom shows up tomorrow, but she wanted something nice to happen for him today. I think I managed to make something nice.

It’s also October 15, and we are having our first snowfall of the school year. Welcome, winter. I wasn’t really used to the idea of autumn, though.

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