In 1939 Cottage Cheese Cake was a special cake at our house. It had to be a holiday or at least someone’s birthday to warrant such a delicacy. After all, it was a one day job to put together the rare treat. And first you had to milk the cow.
Now I never learned to milk a cow. I had too many brothers to do that. I did however love milk and cottage cheese, especially in cake form.
Once my brothers came in from the barn with a pail full of milk, the De Laval Cream Separator was put into action. A huge stainless steel bowl rested on top of the separator, large enough to accommodate a pail of milk. Below that bowl was a drip plate, where the separated milk would drip, and then trickle into a smaller bowl which had two individual spouts leading from it. Two flat spots, like extensions were there to place containers, one for cream, the other for skin milk.
When the milk was poured into the steel bowl, and all was in place, the cranking began. It was usually done by the strongest brother. After a short time of cranking, the rich cream came out of one spout, while skim milk ran out the other. It was like magic. Separating did not take long, and soon we had a nice supply of cream, which would be sold to the local Creamery, and several quarts of skim milk.
Once the milk cooled, my mother poured some into a large flat pan, not unlike a cookie sheet. She then placed the pan on the side of the stove, over the hot water reservoir, and covered it with a clean dish towel.
As I recently stated, I love milk and cottage cheese, so while the pan of milk sat curing on the reservoir, I crawled behind the wood cook stove and read my library book. The space behind the wood stove was just the right size for me. And the linoleum back there was smooth and shining, not like the linoleum in the rest of the kitchen which took constant mud tracking from our large family. I loved that special warm spot and claimed it as my own. Plus, it was so nice and close to the pan of milk, which over the course of the day clabbered and curdled.
With the teaspoon, which I had sneaked in with me when I squeezed into my spot, I could reach under the dish towel and get a spoonful of the delicious stuff. Though the process was not complete, the raw cottage cheese tasted wonderful to me.
When the milk had completely clabbered, there was a large amount of whey left, to be drained and fed to the hogs. Then the curdled concoction was placed in a clean cheesecloth bag, and left to drain. The procedure would have taken nearly all day, and now my mother was ready to prepare her specialty.
Weighing out a pound and a half of cottage cheese, she added 1 teaspoon vanilla, 1 can of evaporated milk, 1 cup sugar, and 6 beaten eggs. All mixed together she poured it into a crust made of one half pound graham crackers, and a half pound of butter. (Personally, I always thought graham crackers tasted kind of mousey, except when formed into a crust.) She saved a small amount of the graham cracker crumbs and sprinkled them over the top. Then into the oven it went at a low temperature of 350 degrees for one hour. By supper time, everyone was ready for our treat. The day long process it had taken to make the cake was well worth every minute of the wait, and the delight the Cottage Cheese Cake brought to our family was unforgettable.