Sunday, February 24, 2013
I scoured pinterest and found a recipe here (Thank you for the free recipe, it was lovely). I started too late and had to go to bed before it was time to wrap the crock pot in a bath towel (yes, a bath towel) so I had to leave my husband a very strange note asking him to put yogurt in the crockpot (because you need yogurt to make yogurt), then I texted him asking him to check the note, followed by detailed instructions (the same ones I left on the note) about how to wrap the crock pot in the bath towel to incubate the yogurt. By the time I was done with the epic text message, he walked in the door. I explained the text, and the note, and showed him where to find everything. Then, I felt like I needed to explain the importance of the bath towel, lest he decide to skip this part. After 30 minutes of explaining and demonstrating, the kitchen timer went off. Fuck, I'll do it myself (pardon my french).
The next morning, I looked forward to unwrapping the gift that was my delicious, creamy, homemade yogurt wrapped in my week-old, unwashed bath towel. It had a yellow skin on top, and was quite lumpy, not the smooth as velvet creamy deliciousness I was expecting. I strained the yogurt with a cheese cloth as directed, wasting a lot of what looked like perfectly edible yogurt along the way. And after dripping the liquidy leftovers all over the kitchen, I was left with about 2 cups of what looked (and frankly, tasted like) lumpy, sour milk. At this point I decided I should not feed this to my child because who knows what other kinds of flesh eating bacteria could have grown in that pot over night? So I spooned the lumps over my own blueberries and crossed my fingers that I did not die of botchalism. Alas, I am still alive, and Charlie will continue to eat store bought yogurt, but it was worth a try!