I made a special request this week. I asked Steve if I could make
Steve handed the reins over to me and let me take the lead on the making of this batch. I filled the vat with 72 gallons of raw goat milk. We heated it and I stirred it to make sure it heated evenly. When it was time to add culture, I added it, let it melt and stirred it in. Rennet was added and this time did not over stir. Flocculation occurred after I quit stirring. Perfect. When it was time to cut, I sanitized the knives and gently eased them into the curd and sliced the white gelatinous mass into small bits, the size of popped popcorn. I let the curds heal for a few minutes. After healing, I took my clean right hand and stuck into the vat. I stirred the cut curds, breaking up clumps between my fingers, lifting the curds from the bottom of the vat and swirling them through the translucent whey. The curds are also being cooked at this time. Warm water is being circulated through the jacket raising the temperature of the contents of the vat. It feels good. I finish the stir with a big paddle, working a bit more vigorously in order to keep everything moving.
Ginnie's 'Nana Pudding
I wish you could taste this masterpiece of egg yolks and meringue.
My quest for the best barbecue in the Triad took me north of
I found my way over to
I grabbed a booth inside and looked over the menu. They serve breakfast, lunch and dinner six days a week. There are burgers, sandwiches and ham biscuits on the menu. I ignore them and go straight for the barbecue plate. A young waitress took my order and went away. I could see the prep area. Behind it is the pit. The pit is a large brick oven. Three caramel colored hunks of pork (shoulder, I assume) are sitting on the edge, keeping warm and ready to be chopped or sliced into barbecue dinners. I see a gentleman wearing a red apron wielding a large butcher's knife. He's chopping pork. This is a good sign. The barbecue isn't sitting on a steam table for hours waiting for orders.
The waitress returns with my order. She sets a paper plate in front of me. It has the classic combo of a pile of barbecue, creamy slaw, hushpuppies and fries. The fries are the gross crinkle cut fries. I can easily ignore them and focus on the rest of the plate. I can smell the smoke from the freshly chopped barbecue. I try the 'pups. They're slightly sweet with a hint of onions. Time for the moment of truth. I take a bite of the barbecue.
I pause as my mouth waters and I chew on the most moist, succulent, tender, smoky, and perfectly cooked barbecue of my life. OH MY GOD! THIS IS IT! I have tasted heaven and it comes on a paper plate in Reidsville. This is what I've been hoping to find for the past three months. The barbecue is dressed with a sauce that doesn't overwhelm but helps accentuate the tender, smoked meat. It is thin, tangy, slightly sweet, and spicy but not hot. It is definitely vinegary and has brown sugar in it. It is the best $6.20 I've ever spent.
There isn't a non-smoking section in the place. Every table has an ashtray on it. Somehow, it is ok. I expect a place like this to be smoky. I can't believe I'm saying this because I am a devout non-smoker. I want to be surrounded by the blue smoke of cigarettes blending with the wood smoke that permeates a good barbecue joint. It goes with the food. It wouldn't be authentic
Yes, I did buy some barbecue to take home. It freezes just fine. I also picked up a bottle of sauce and a coffee mug. Short Sugar's has a great logo. Little Carrie has a friend who believes that the more human-like the pig on the sign of a barbecue joint, the better the barbecue will be at that place. Short Sugar's has a very human-like pig on the sign. Her friend's rule seems to be true.