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Yogurt in a Crockpot, second time around

  • Posted on March 29, 2011 at 8:00 am

Back in October I made yogurt in my crock pot. (I got the idea from Stephanie at A Year of Slow Cooking.)

I didn’t realize it had been OCTOBER, y’all – good grief. Five whole months. I’m following the same basic recipe as before, but I’ve added in a big box of raspberry and a small box of lemon jello, and used two teaspoons of multidophilus powder (NOT an affiliate link – I’m not allowed to be an Amazon Affiliate since I live in NC.)

So why did I decide to add jello? The thought occurred as I was debating another rainbow jello excursion. Yogurt manufacturers use gelatin to help their product thicken and set up, why shouldn’t I try the very same thing with my homemade yogurt? That way I get my yogurt to thicken a bit more AND flavoring agents as well.

My main goal is to make something the boys will eat that won’t bust my budget. Their favorite yogurt tubes are a berry/lemon combination, so I decided to give it a shot. 1/2 gallon of milk costs slightly less than an entire box of those tubes (and they’ll eat an entire box in a day if I let them) so either way I think it’s win/win.

Providing they actually EAT the stuff.

~~~~~~~~

Yeaaaaah, guesswhut?

Yogurt failure.

You read the stuff above the tilde line and you think I’ve got it together, right?

You’d be sooooo wrong.

Let’s dissect this thing, shallwe?

Problem numero uno: I poured the milk into the crockpot at 10:30pm. According to the crockpot recipe, I’m supposed to leave the milk on low for 3 hours, then pitch it, then cover it and let it sit for 7-8 hours.

You know I fell asleep on the sofa, right? Of COURSE I fell asleep on the sofa. I worked Sunday and then picked the kids up, came home and cooked dinner, did laundry and scrubbed my bathroom.

So I turned the crockpot off and unplugged it as I was going to bed. Set the alarm on my phone, thinking that I’d get out of bed and pitch it, then wrap it back up and go back to sleep.

And turned off the alarm in my sleep.

I finally woke up 1 1/2 hours later than I’d planned to when the dogs started barking at the sleepy-eyed little boy making his way from his room to mine for wake-up cuddles.

The milk was 90 degrees. It’s supposed to be 110. What’s a half-asleep mama supposed to do?

Turn the crockpot on high, of course. Turn it on high, make a cup of coffee, unload and load the dishwasher, clear the table, make breakfast, fold the load of kitchen towels, find my book and go back to bed. And lose track of time.

When I finally made my way into the kitchen, the first thing I did was turn the crockpot off and unplug it again. I stirred the milk with the thermometer only to blink stupidly as the needle JUMPED past the 150 mark and kept going until it got to 200 degrees.

Whups.

I dumped the ice-maker bin into the sink (then realized I didn’t put the plug in) and poured the milk into a gallon jug to cool it down. Pulled the crock out of the pot and scrubbed the milk-crust off while waiting for the milk’s temp to drop. And turned the crockpot on low so the crock would be warm for the milk.

I should have pitched the jello packets in while it was still insanely hot – it would’ve helped the jello to melt.

Once the milk’s temp got down to 110, I poured it back in the now-clean (and cool) crock, pitched in the multidophilus and jello and whisked it in, then put the lid back on. As I turned the crockpot switch to “off”, I realized that I’d never plugged it back in – so the crock never warmed up.

I wrapped the whole thing in towels and let it sit for the required 8 hours. When I finally opened the lid, I had a deliciously-flavored pot full of room-temperature milk with a weird crust on the bottom.

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Requiem for a sofa

  • Posted on July 1, 2010 at 1:00 am

It was ugly. Not butt-ugly, but…didn’t go with anything else ugly. A dual-reclining heavy monstrosity that was a pain in the behind to clean under. Blue, with peach plaid striping and a pineapple in each square.

The sofa was in the livingroom when I moved back home from Little Rock. Like everything else that has happened in my life, that monstrosity was waiting for me. The armrests were the perfect height for me to rest my pregnancy-swollen ankles on and still keep an eye on Daniel. The dual recliner not only meant that I could change positions, but that Alannah could have a sleepover and they could watch TV and still have a place to stretch out and sleep.

The ugly meant that my heart was not shattered when something inevitably got spilled on it. I blotted the spots dry and every few months I would wield the upholstery attachment on the carpet cleaner, rendering it fresh-smelling and relatively un-stained (though nothing would ever completely remove the stain of my entire cup of coffee splashed across one cushion).

Me sitting on the blue sofa

This is one of the first pictures I ever let Daniel take with *my* camera. That was (is) my favorite position for reading – curled up against the armrest.

Daniel's favorite sick spot

When he was sick, Daniel liked to sit “in my spot”. (Yes, french toaststicks do make it all better, why do you ask?)

(Yes, the sofa was blue. No, I didn’t realize the difference in color tone in the pictures until after I’d started writing. Yes, I’m lazy enough to leave it. Daniel’s pic was taken with a phone cam, we’ll leave it at that.)

Alas, Mama did not love the Blue Monstrosity. It was too big, too heavy, too ughLEE, and didn’t match. (For the record, I agree with ALL of those points.) She declared that it should be relegated to storage and the “new” sofa installed.

I objected, highly. Yes, the sofa is big and heavy and doesn’t match. And my heart doesn’t break when something gets spilled. Yes, it may be YOUR house, but you NEVER spend time in the livingroom and WE DO.

I lost the argument, natch.

Daddy hauled it off one day and replaced it with a nightmare. He told me the Blue Monstrosity was safe, but wouldn’t tell me where it was. He hauled it off before I could clean it and wrap it in plastic, sealed with a kiss. (Smart man. He knew I’d try to bring it back.)

And then the accident happened, and our world was made of upsidasium for a while. We cleaned out The Big House – no sofa. We cleaned out the barn – no sofa. We cleaned out The Little House – no sofa. Finally, we made it to the garage at The Little House. There, standing on end was the Blue Monstrosity.


My heart lept for joy….until I touched the fabric. It has been out there for two years. Yes, it’s been dry…but remember, that sofa needed to be cleaned. I made calls – everyone wants to reupholster it until they find out it’s a double-recliner. Then the price doubles.

Yes, I already have replaced The Nightmare with something more family-friendly. No, I really didn’t have room for the Blue Monstrosity. That’s not the point.

Vaya con Dios, my friend. You were so comfortable, and I miss you.

2 comments on Requiem for a sofa

Ever have one of those moments

  • Posted on February 7, 2010 at 1:14 am

where you look at the clock and realize that it’s WAAAAY later than you meant to stay up but the homework is all finally done (YAY!) and you can go to bed now but noooo, you really can’t go to bed because the dog is asleep on the floor and if you move you’ll wake the dog and you don’t want to wake her so you sleep on the sofa?

Now you know why I believe dogs should sleep outside in their dog houses. Then I don’t have to have this kind of conversation with you at one-fifteen in the morning. Or the guilt.

Especially the guilt.

I’m no stranger to conversations at 1:15.

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An attitude of gratitude

  • Posted on November 28, 2008 at 2:27 am

I’m thankful for the kids’ health insurance and the wonderful staff at Forsyth Medical Center’s ER department. Joe stepped on a nail today, and we were seen, x-rayed, treated and streeted inside of two hours. He’s happily ensconced on the sofa with now-orange foot elevated, playing video games.

I’m thankful for the Wii that I nearly bankrupted myself for last Christmas. It has quite admirably kept Daniel (stomach virus) and Joe (see above) confined to their respective spots and engaged enough to keep them from torturing each other.

I’m grateful for my job. If I had a job that actually required me to think, I’m quite sure I would’ve been fired by now. Plus there’s the whole economy in the toilet thing – any job is better than none when you need one.

I’m grateful for Ree. Yes, I occasionally seethe with jealousy when I read her posts. Who wouldn’t? She’s a talented photographer and writer, has a kitchen that I WANT!!!!, and cooks. And gardens. And posts pictures of her hubby’s heiny. Then I read that she gets up at 430am on a regular basis (complete with fresh manure and calf nuts) and said “aw HAIL naw” to myself. Then I went to Starbucks and had a pumpkin spice latte. You know, to comfort myself.

Of course there is much more to be grateful for. But that’s all I’ve got right now.

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On NOT Getting Things Done

  • Posted on November 20, 2008 at 12:48 pm

Jenijen has this mistaken idea that everyone else “gets it all done”. She’s a little overwhelmed. I’m there too, I’ve just had a little more time to embrace The Suckitude(tm).

I don’t get everything done. Sometimes you hafta know what to throw under the bus – AND to be okay with the fact that you threw it under the bus.

Case in point: this post has been sitting in draft mode since she wrote HER post – nearly two weeks ago.

My piles have their own little subpiles. There is a huge bottleneck at the laundry table – almost all of it is clean, but needs to be folded/sorted/put away. My desk is buried under stacks of papers needing to be shredded (can’t find the shredder, natch), computer parts and textbooks. The sofa has a pile of its own – I moved to the sofa when I could no longer stand sitting at my desk. Socks are mating (and reproducing) next to the shoe box.

But. There is food in the cabinet – and it’s not just the “wow I think that’s been in there for three years” stuff. Yes, there is a laundry pile, but it’s clean and makes wardrobe assembly much more speedy: “Sorry kid, that favorite tshirt that you’re looking for must be dirty. Here, why don’t you wear THIS favorite long-sleeved shirt instead, and that way you won’t freeze at school?”

And now let me whip out ye olde cliche: I will never EVER say “I wish I’d scrubbed the toilet instead of reading that bedtime story”. Nor will I say “I wish I had folded the laundry instead of cuddling you in the rocking chair.”

Ever.

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