Cheesecake Catastrophe or How Not to Make a Pretty Cheesecake

I decided to make a gooseberry cheesecake a week ago.  I failed to document the incident with pictures so I considered not even posting about the whole scenario.  When I found out yesterday was National Cheesecake Day I felt it my duty to provide advice on what not to do since I'd become painfully of aware of it through experience.  I’m considering a reenactment, but I hate to waste the gooseberries in the effort.

Let's begin with the recipe.  For the record, I can only claim a tiny bit of credit for this recipe.  It is a modification of EatingWell’s Marbled Pumpkin Cheesecake.

Gooseberry Cheesecake

Crust

• 1 cup crushed vanilla cookies
• 1 tablespoon canola oil

Filling

• 2 cups gooseberries
• 1 cup sugar
• 4 tablespoons cornstarch
• 20 ounces low-fat cottage cheese, (2 1/2 cups)
• 12 ounces reduced-fat cream cheese, (1 1/2 cups), softened
• 1 large egg
• 2 large egg whites, or 4 teaspoons dried egg whites, reconstituted according to package directions
• 8 ounces reduced-fat sour cream, (1 cup)
• 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 1/4 teaspoon salt

Make it

1. Preheat oven to 325°F. Boil water for the water bath. Coat a 9-inch springform pan with cooking spray. Wrap the outside bottom of the pan with two layers of foil.
2. Combine the crumbs and oil in a bowl and press into the bottom of the pan.
3. To make the filling: Cook gooseberries, sugar and cornstarch until berries pop and the mixture thickens slightly in a saucepan.  Puree cottage cheese in a food processor until very smooth, scraping down the sides of the workbowl once or twice. Add gooseberry mixture reserving ¼ cup, and cream cheese; process until smooth. Add egg, egg whites, sour cream, vanilla and salt; blend well. Pour filling into the crust.
4. Place the cheesecake in a roasting pan and pour in enough boiling water to come 1/2 inch up the side of the springform pan.
5. Bake the cheesecake until the edges are set but the center still jiggles, about 50 minutes. Turn off the oven. Coat a knife with cooking spray and run it around the edge of the cake. Let stand in the oven, with the door ajar, for 1 hour. Transfer from the water bath to a wire rack; remove foil. Let cool to room temperature, about 2 hours. Refrigerate, uncovered, until chilled.

Sounds lovely, right?  Just follow the instructions and everything will turn out great, right?  Sort of.

I forgot the salt when I added the other ingredients in step three, but remembered before I poured the filling in the pan.  I gave the filling a couple of pulses in the food processor to make sure the salt was mixed in.  DO NOT DO THIS.  There is a reason all the serious processing occurs before you add the eggs.  It they get too whipped before you bake the cheesecake too much air will be in the filling and it will crack when it cools.

I baked the cheesecake for the length of time prescribed by the recipe.  It jiggled a lot, but I couldn't remember what it was like when I made the pumpkin one a couple years ago so I decided it was probably okay and turned the oven off.  While I waited for it to cool I did a little internet research.  Just a little jiggle, but not soupy and a hint of brown? Hmm.  I turned the oven back on and gave it a while longer.  For reference, the cheesecake should have about the same amount of jiggle as a jello jiggler.  It might also help to remember that a cheesecake is a custard, not a cake.  At least that might be helpful if you make custard.

Once I had determined that the cheesecake had baked long enough I took off the foil as directed and put the cheesecake on a rack to cool.  The recipe didn't explicitly say when to remove the outside of the spring form pan so after a couple hours I set the cheesecake on a plate, took off the ring, and put it in the fridge.  DO NOT DO THIS.  Put the cheesecake in the fridge with the pan still clamped on until it is cold.  If you do not, the cheesecake will shlump and crack more, especially if under baked.  You'll be left with a roundish custard thing on a plate instead of a cheesecake.

I tried to camouflage the cracked, cheesecake-ish blob with the reserved gooseberry mixture.  No amount of gooseberries would have been enough.  You'll have to imagine the result. 

Oh, and sadly, gooseberry flavor gets washed out in this dish too.  I recommend making a plain cheesecake and topping it with a gooseberry sauce instead, at least if you're as obsessed with gooseberries as I am.

I read Community Canneries in this week's American Profile today.  I really like the idea.  I swear I talked to someone last summer about such a thing in North Central Kansas, but I can't for the life of me remember who it was.  I love canning now that I've started and the best part is canning with other people.  I did some research to see if I could find one near me.  No dice.  At least, I haven't found one yet. PickYourOwn has a site list of several, but none anywhere near Kansas.  It seems to be a southern thing.  I think I'll do a little research, talk to some people and report back.  My local extension agent must know something.

It's Official. I'm a canner.

Let me begin this post by saying that I am far from an expert canner. I have plenty of experience as a canning assistant thanks to my grandmother’s obsession with the preservation and storage of all edible goods, but only recently have I taken the initiative as the person in charge of canning.

My fist attempt was in my friend’s kitchen. I didn’t plan it that way, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time. I had made a road trip to glean canning tomatoes and was supposed to begin my canning career the next morning with my aunt’s supervision. But since I have a hard time waiting to do things, especially when I have all the necessary supplies and the thing sounds like fun, that didn’t happen. I began shortly after dinner while she tried to study for her new job. Step 1: Retrieve tarp from car and lay it on the kitchen floor to prevent the leaking boxes from soiling her carpet. Step 2: carry in the tomatoes from where I’d left them outside. I had taken them out of my car a couple of hours before trying to avoid the old cheese stench of the more putrid specimens from further infusing the upholstery. Step 3: Attempt to establish some sort of work space in nice, but tiny, apartment-style kitchen’s three whole square feet of counter space.

That settled, I moved on to assembling the pressure cooker. I’d owned it for two years (thanks, Mom!), but I hadn’t had sufficient harvests or purchases to justify busting it out yet. I diligently read the instructions for canning raw tomatoes word for word. Every single one. Twice.

Since there wasn’t space or a sufficiently large pot to let the jars simmer, I filled the kitchen sink with dangerously hot water from the tap and set them in. Only after I had it filled the sink did I realize that the tomatoes I was planning to can had yet to be washed. No matter. There was a sink in the bathroom. Unorthodox, but functional.

After two and a half solid hours the first eight pints of tomatoes were canned. At least, I hoped they were. I was too tired to wait for the cooker to depressurize and left them inside to wait until morning.

When I awoke at all of 5:30a.m. (previously mentioned new job requires an hour commute), I opened the canner. The jars were still warm. Each and every one of them had successfully sealed. The only downside was that my eight pint jars each contained roughly a cup of solid tomatoes floating in juice. Canning fail. I can only imagine the response I would have gotten from a 4-H fair judge. Needless to say, I was a little bummed. I really like to be good at things on the first try. It’s part of why I scrupulously follow the directions. You can ask my mother-in-law. I’m a little obsessed about it.

After a quick two-mile run (I’m training for a 10K I have no intention of running, but that’s a whole other story), I began my second attempt at canning.

This time I had backup AND experience. How could I fail?

We split up the work. My aunt blanched the tomatoes while I peeled, cored, and seeded them before putting them in a colander to drain. It was part of my juice-reduction strategy. I packed the tomatoes into eight pint and three quart jars as tightly as I could manage, further eliminating any extraneous juice. We secured the lids, stacked them ever so gently in the pressure canner, closed the lid, and processed the tomatoes exactly as directed.

After what seemed like an eternity thanks to her glass top stove, the tomatoes had been processed and the canner had cooled sufficiently to reduce the internal pressure far enough for the safety lock to release my prized canned tomatoes. I lifted the lid and inspected the situation. There were tomato bits in the water. Not a good sign. Pretty much always indicates some failure on the canner’s part. I took the jars out one by one with my handy jar lifter and waited.

Pwop.

…

Pwop… Pwop.

If you’re unfamiliar, that’s the sound a canning lid makes when the gas inside the jars cools and shrinks enough to suck down the safety button. It might be the most beautiful sound in the whole world, at least the most satisfying for a newbie canner, hampered only by the fact that one must wait for it to happen. I was impatient, but I managed to distract myself by loading my car up with unused canning supplies.

I came back after I finished loading the car and scrutinized the jars. One hadn’t sealed. In my attempt to reduce excessive juice I had failed to leave enough head space in the jar. The tomatoes had gotten blown out of the jar in processing, and their smushed remains kept a seal from forming between the jar and the inside of the lid. The tomatoes weren’t preserved, despite my efforts, and wouldn’t last more than a week even with refrigeration. Not bad though. On my second try I canned six quarts of tomatoes successfully in less than four hours.

Before I left my aunt gifted me with a zucchini weighing in at nearly three pounds. This is a point of contention, but I’m a firm believer that zucchini large enough to contain seeds are past the point of unprocessed consumption. My brand new Ball Blue Book® Guide to Preserving provided a solution: zucchini relish, a pickled mixture of zucchini, onions, green peppers, and spices. I haven’t tried it yet, but it smelled good and every jar sealed. Pickled food needs a bit to reach its full flavor potential, right?

I made the unsealed tomatoes into sauce for pizza. Super tasty. I love serendipity.