Re: Cheese In The Trap Ep 1 Eng Sub
Sandrine Willert
From the start of my vegan journey, during recipe writing and blogging, I followed PCRM and Dr. Neal Barnard. In those early days, especially as a pregnant woman and mother, the credible nutritional information on PCRM was invaluable.
Author of many well-loved plant-based books, Dr. Barnard releases his 18th title, The Cheese Trap, this February. I have contributed all the recipes for The Cheese Trap, and that truly is an honour and career highlight for me.
The milk drinkers had more acne, and how much of a problem it was depended on the fat content. Those who drank the most whole milk were about 12 percent more likely to have had severe acne. But those who drank the most skim milk were 44 percent more likely to have had severe acne. In other words, fatty milk was a problem, but low-fat milk seemed to be a much worse problem.
A great many people have turned away from meat-eating because of the grotesque cruelty involved. But dairying can claim no ethical advantage. The industry relies on impregnating animals, separating them from their infants, pushing them to produce as much milk as drugs and biology can manage, and killing them as soon as it no longer pays to keep them alive.
A cup of milk contains about 7.7 grams of protein, 80 percent of which is casein, more or less. Turning it into Cheddar cheese multiplies the protein content seven-fold, to 56 grams. It is the most concentrated form of casein in any food in the grocery store.
Filled with fat, crammed with cholesterol, and steeped in sodium, cheese is a seriously unhealthy product. Its addictive properties keep you hooked, even while it works its mischief on your waistline and damages your health.
Pre ordering it now! I admit I still get sucked into the cheese trap even after 10 years on a plant based diet. But it never tastes as good as I remember. ? I love so many of your plant based recipes. Vegveeta has to be my favorite!!
Sounds like a great book! Looking forward to reading it! I feel so much better giving up cheese. It was hard and at times I still miss it every now and then, but there are so many great non dairy vegan options out there now.
For me, the most jaw-dropping fact in The Cheese Trap is that the average American eats over 33 POUNDS of cheese every year. Just 100 years ago this number was under 4 pounds. Holy cow!!
Wholly Plants has been a labor of love, and we have loved sharing nutritious recipes, ideas, and resources! Over the years, kids, jobs, and general life chaos have made it difficult for us to share new recipes regularly. But we do plan to keep the Wholly Plants website up and available to you as long as we can. If you appreciate our recipes and would like to contribute to the sustainability of Wholly Plants, you can donate to the Wholly Plants Fund. Your support and generosity mean the world to us, and we're so glad you find our little piece of the internet helpful. Thank you!
Welcome to the eG Forums, a service of the eGullet Society for Culinary Arts & Letters. The Society is a 501(c)3 not-for-profit organization dedicated to the advancement of the culinary arts. These advertising-free forums are provided free of charge through donations from Society members. Anyone may read the forums, but to post you must create a free account.
A search for "hoop cheese" or "rat trap cheese" on Google confirms that it probably isn't the same. This place in Vermont sells something labeled "rat trap cheese". If you can trust Wikipedia, this little stub is under the title "hoop cheese".
A can of Rotel tomatoes, whatever Fahrenheit/Scoville you choose, most of a brick of Velveeta, and you're in business for any hors d'oeuvre party, wedding shower, or Preacher Pounding that side of the M/D. A pound or two of well-browned ground beef, and you can break out Mammaw's best silver chafing dish and invite your Congressman.
There's spittin' mad, and there's "it flew all over me," and there's "I could pinch his head off," as well as "so mad I could fly." REALLY bad occasions are reserved for "I could just go to bed and eat Velveeta right out of the box."
I'm more Yankee than Yankee -- I'm Canadian, and blessed with a father who supported "artisanal" cheese forty years ago. I remember driving up the Ottawa River to Mr. Gruff Cheesemaker's farm and watch Daddy haul a hundred pound wheel of cheddar into the trunk.
The BEST kind, though, is found at The Smokehouse, down I-65 at the Pine Apple exit---you just know something in such a deliciously-named place must be good. We always pick up five pounds or so on the way down, set the whole thing on the dining table with a knife, and everyone who comes by shaves off a bit for snacking.
And at any meal---the cheese is still the centerpiece, and whoever has dropped in will just help themselves to a piece. It's like a foreign delicacy, though it's always available within forty miles of them. The cheese slowly dwindles, and is re-wrapped and bagged until it's just a shadow of its former glory.
And we pick up our OWN five pounds for the long drive home. Chris' trusty pocket knife will whittle us off a bit for munching with a Quik-Stop coke, as we talk the miles away, and it's nice to have that big ole hunka cheese in the fridge for days to come.
This is one on-line marketer of "hoop cheese" though all the pre-wrapping, bubble-kept effect is not conducive to the real feel of the cheese as it's opened with that whiff of secret alchemies going on within; nor do you get the generations-old feeling of the timelessness of the motions and scent as it's cut and crinkled toward you in the butcher paper. This one MIGHT do:
My own Aunt Lucy of the smalltown country store had a butcher block in the meat market section which must have counted for one felled sequoia---It spanned four feet or so, and was probably two feet thick, with a tidy little hanger at the side for all those worn-to-the-bone knives with blades slendered from years of use and honing on the big round stone.
And the millions of grooves in the surface should have been a hive of food-poisoning activity from all the tons of meat cut fresh-to-order on its worn surface, but I never heard of anyone's getting sick from it. Aunt Lucy's daily manning of the stiff brush and the pan of boiling Lysol water, then the hosing of the suds down the floor drain kept the place within whatever clean-code ruled the day.
She was a careful, fastidiously clean woman, of her person and of her work, and I remember her fondly, as she heaved that huge wheel of golden cheese from its container. She would choose the widest knife, grasp it in her wiry hand, and lean her entire hundred pounds into the effort of the blade. A great wedge would separate, and then the whisk of the paper being unrolled from the big reel, the skritch across the teeth of the cutter, like flipping a sheet off a bed.
And the wrapping of the unwieldy wedge, its shape struggling with the folds, is a sound I'll always remember. For a long time, there was string for the tying---a big roll of it wound intricately on itself, hanging from a ceiling hook and run through a line of little loops across the ceiling to keep it snarl-free. Later there was a heavy scroll of tape, such an innovative new convenience, though the string never left its little pinata-place in the ceiling.
Back in the late 1940's my Uncle Bo had a grocery store in Caldwell, Texas. There was always a big wheel of cheddar on a round table in front of the counter. Whenever my parents took me to the store, Uncle Bo would come around the counter and slice off a piece of cheese for me to munch, always including some rind since that was my favorite part. Everyone there referred to that wheel as "rat cheese." Much later I had friends who grew up in Houston who referred to any yellow cheddar as rat cheese. Slightly off topic, but I remember the popularity of American cheese in the 50's and 60's, usually dished out in the individually wrapped slices because it was so sanitary. My father baited a mouse trap with some of that stuff to catch a rodent seen in our garage in Austin, TX, circa 1957. We heard the snap of the trap during supper one evening and my brother and I ran out to find we had caught a roach the size of a mouse. Maybe that yellow substance should be called "roach cheese."
The cheese is made of no natural product known to man---it has the texture of Play-Doh and comes in a box. The box is round and pale, made of thinly-shaved wood, which over the days of its residence atop the butcher case grows greasily stained and takes on the appearance of a harlot's hatbox, roughly handled and none too clean.
You ask about the cheese. Lid is popped loose, laid aside. Rustle of paper, removal of great wheel of cheese, worthy of a comic-book picnic, alongside the winebottle and basket of fruit. BIIIIG knife wielded, slivering off a see-through piece the size of a bank card, which is proffered on a knifetip like a saber. You sample, munching thoughtfully, pondering things, and nod.
You rustle it home in the sack, breaking off a crumble now and then as you put away the groceries. It's a perfect topping for a soda-cracker, sliced thin and almost square to fit, and the best accompaniment is an ice-cold Co-Cola, fished from the ice-and-frigid-water of a cooler alongside a fishing hole or up a deerstand. Carried all day in the pocket of a huntin' coat, with a sleeve of Premiums and a couple of juice-heavy Satsumas---that's a picnic easy to tote and nice to eat.
Sometimes by lunch, hip-warmth and weather have heated the chunk to an almost-transparent state, with little dews of oily sweat appearing across the surface. And leaving it uncovered altogether will result in a leather you could make shoes out of---chewy and rich with all the goodness distilled into that one mouthful of cheese-jerky.
And it does make a good rat-lure, if you have the need. A piece of that speared on the little catch-doohickey of a mousetrap has been the downfall of many a small rodent, with the siren-call of the aroma calling them from their little mouse-duties. And the good rich goodness of that heavy, waxy cheese---any mouse would think it worth the price.
7fc3f7cf58