At some point early in the summer, no doubt after tossing together a tomato, feta and olive salad or a watermelon-feta-basil breakfast or after marinating a block of feta to serve with chilled rosé, I realized I was buying the cheese weekly. Nothing lights up my imagination more than the opportunity to make something at home that I buy that often. So I set off on a feta adventure.
Nearly all global cuisines feature fresh cheese made with commonly available milk, whether from a cow, goat, sheep, llama or camel. Consider ricotta, chevre, farmer’s cheese, quark and fromage blanc, which all fall into that category. Soft, brined, bright white feta is another of the farmstead cheeses that require no fancy equipment and little intervention. It was traditionally made by the dairy farmer when there were many other farm chores to finish in a day. It was stirred now and then, kept warm, then cut into curds and hung to drain. Such simple steps have been used for centuries.
Homemade feta tastes so much fresher and smoother. It’s creamy, melty and tangy — and as salty, or not, as I want it to be.
Feta is defined by its salt content; its texture, shot through with small holes; and its slightly granular finish. Rightfully, feta should be made with sheep’s milk, or a combination of sheep’s and goat’s milk. I couldn’t find sheep’s milk locally so I opted to try the method two ways: with cow’s milk and again with goat’s milk. I liked both versions but found that the goat feta was a little more tangy and held together better even when I cut the curd into cubes. The version made with cow’s milk was crumbly and tender at once, and less likely to retain its shape when cubed. I don’t hold the cheese in a wet brine, opting for a salting directly on the surface.