So, my girl taught me to say yo-yo, and the joy of it is so great I swear I’ll never say yogurt again. Turns out yo-yo has a few lessons of its own for this woman trying her hand at the old kitchen arts. It says, if you want to make me, remember:
::Sing often and loudly. This work is a celebration.
::Pay attention, to temperatures and tablespoons, but also to the rhythm of your breath, the sureness of your hand.
::When things come out differently than planned, remember that the unexpected is a generous detour, and not driving is another way of discovering new delights.
::Give way, give way. This isn’t the dairy aisle, Dorothy. Thin, thick, sour, sweet. None of it will go to waste if only you give way, give way.
Note from the humble yogurt making disciple: I used to think making yo-yo was as easy as cooking a pot of rice. Then came the time I now call The Month of the Funky Yo-yo. With each new batch I tried to reclaim my groove, tinkering with the starter, the incubators, adding rennet, and on an on. For my efforts I’d get something acceptable for adding to pancake batter. And I’m not picky! This week it just…worked. We are enjoying the loveliest, creamiest, thickest and sweetest goat milk yogurt imaginable. I am delighted to say that I have no idea why it worked this week and not the others (unless it had to do with my forgetting all about it and leaving it to incubate 11 hours instead of 8). It is alchemy and magic and my only advice is this: persist, don’t insist.