A cool cellar is the best place in which to keep milk, if you have
no dairy or milk-room. Strain it into broad shallow pans, which are
lukewarm from recent scalding. You can get them made in one piece, with
no seams in which sour cream or dirt may lurk unsuspected. Set upon
swing shelves, to avoid the possibilities of drowned mice, and keep the
cellar dark to save it from flies. In twelve hours skim for the table,
and, unless you have need of the milk, let it stand twelve hours more
for the second rising of cream. Put this into the stone jar or crock
in which the cream is kept for churning. Even in butter-making, I have
found it a good plan to take off at night the cream clean from the
morning churning, instead of letting it stand twenty-four hours, as is
the usual custom. The “second rising” will repay one for the additional
trouble. Churn as soon as convenient after the cream “loppers” or
thickens. If it stands too long, it becomes bitter or musty. The churn
should be well scalded and aired between the churnings. Scrupulous
cleanliness should be the unbending rule of dairy arrangements. All
strongly-flavored substances must be kept from the neighborhood of milk
and butter. They are ready absorbents, and when they contract odor or
taste, never get rid of it. Have earthen and tin milk vessels, and
never allow them to be put to any other use.
Scald the churn, and cool with ice or spring water; pour in the thick
cream. Churn rather fast, until the butter-flakes, left by the dasher
upon the top, show that the end to be gained is near—then more slowly.
The motion should always be regular. In warm weather pour a little
cold water into the churn, should the butter come slowly. Take it up
with the perforated dasher, turning it dexterously just below the
surface of the butter-milk, to catch every stray bit. Have ready some
clean, _very_ cold water, in a deep wooden tray, and into this plunge
the dasher when you draw it from the churn. The butter will float off,
leaving the dasher free. Having collected every particle, gather behind
a wooden butter-shovel and drain off the water, squeezing and pressing
the butter with the shovel. Set in a cool place for an hour to harden—a
necessary measure in summer—then work and knead it with a wooden
ladle until not another drop of water exudes, and the butter is like
yellow marble in polish and closeness of pores. When you have worked
out the butter-milk, add by degrees fine salt in the proportion of a
dessertspoonful to every pound. Then set aside for some hours, _always_
in a cool place. The last working is a slight affair, comparatively.
Still using the paddle, and never, from beginning to end of the
operation, touching with your hands, mould into rolls or pound “pats.”
Mark with grooves or checkers with the ladle, or stamp with a print.
Wrap each roll in a clean wet linen cloth, which has no touch of soap
or starch about it, and pack in a stone jar, sprinkling a little salt
between the layers.
If you wish to keep it a long time, work with especial care, and pack
down _hard_ in a perfectly clean stone jar. Do not, above all things,
take one that has ever been used for pickles. You may not detect the
faintest odor lingering about it, but the butter will, and absorb it,
too. Some cover the butter with strong brine, but a better way is to
press a fine linen cloth closely to the surface, and cover this with a
thick layer of clean fine salt. Set in a cool, dry place, and keep the
cloth over it all the time; also a tightly-fitting lid. When you begin
to use it, take out enough to last a week, and re-cover. If you admit
the air every day, it is apt to grow strong. A pretty plate of butter
for the table is made of balls half the size of an egg, rolled in the
little fluted paddles sold for the purpose.