BY NOW YOU CAN SEE that being a goatherd is not an easy matter. These animals are both smart and independent, like a pet dog or cat. Images dealing with a herd of those. But let’s say you were going to be a goatherd. Let’s just say. You must first decide why you want to be a goatherd. You’ve got three options:
1. Meat These days, you’re most likely going to go with the Boer goat, brought fairly recently to North America from South Africa. Although some of the Boers at 4-H shows are hulking creatures, most are small, more diminutive than the girls who stand on the milking line. Most Boers are also white with red or brown splotches, although some have splotchy red or brown coats. They’re not skittish; however, they’re also not terribly friendly. In the end, they just don’t see humans as a source of food or udder relief.
Other popular meat breeds include the Kiko from New Zealand, with its broad, don’t-mess-with-me horns; the Savanna, mostly white, with well-muscled haunches and (like a superhero gone to seed) loose skin at the neck; and the famed Myotonic goats, also called the Tennessee fainters—as if they were a bridge club prone to moral outrage. These pass out for up to ten seconds when startled.
2. Wool You’re looking for soft hair and a calm disposition. You can’t cuddle with well-muscled haunches. (Consider this relationship advice as well.) You might first consider cashmere goats and their near kin, the pashminas. Their wool is renowned, but separating the soft stuff from the coarse hairs is quite a job. So you’ll probably end up going with Angoras, small goats that came out of Turkey to the delight of the knitting and spinning set. An Angora’s hair—called mohair (a.k.a. my contact lens is killing me)—is lush and prolific: One of these babies can bring in 12 pounds (5.4 kg) of mohair a year. Although a bit athletic, an Angora will go in for quite a bit of brushing and grooming, much like the closet-case cheerleaders in your high school.
3. Milk (and thus yogurt and cheese, too) You’ll probably select from these five breeds:
Nubians, larger than Boers, bulky, almost the dairy cow of goats (in looks only, because the breed actually produces less milk than some others), with a short, glossy coat and long, dangling ears.
Oberhaslis, moderate milk producers from Switzerland with fairly big ears that stick straight out from the head like little wings; a little smaller than Nubians, with a reddish brown or black coat, but a bit aggressive (in mixed packs, an Oberhasli will most often be the goat queen).
Alpines, a smaller breed, from the French Alps, but a great dairy goat, producing a particularly fatty milk, best in cheeses and ice cream
Saanens, another breed from Switzerland, this one pure white, with ears like the Oberhaslis but an otherwise gentle, almost passive temperament; known for its high milk production and for the fact that both bucks and does have horns.
La Manchas, sturdy but limber, noted for their minuscule, sometimes almost missing, ears (no more than cartilage buds in some cases), as well as for their sweet, fragrant milk.
Although there are milking differences among these breeds, the real difference often lies with the amount of fat. The milk from Alpines, for example, is about 4.8 percent butterfat; from La Manchas, about 3.9 percent. As a dairy farmer, you’ll work like a French vintner, blending from different breeds to produce a balanced product.
And that’s the goat tally. Go forth and herd. Or failing that, eat.
Lassi is a broad name for a range of yogurt drinks, enjoyed across Southeast Asia and into India. Some are savory with even saffron in the mix; others are quite sweet, laced with fruit purees. This version is my own whimsy—rather than whirred together in a blender, it’s left in pieces, a first course on a plate, not in a glass. The simple concoction highlights elemental flavors and really gets everyone ready for the bigger flavors to come in the meal.
2 cups (480 ml) regular or low-fat goat yogurt
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon salt
⅓ teaspoon ground cardamom
2 ripe mangoes
¼ cup (55 g) chopped unsalted, shelled pistachios or cashews
2 tablespoons honey
1. Mix the yogurt, cinnamon, salt, and cardamom in a small bowl. Cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours or overnight.
2. Peeling and pitting a mango can be a chore. First off, you’ve got to get around the seed inside. It’s fairly flat and shaped much like the fruit itself. The two fleshy, protruding sides of the fruit mound over the flat sides of the seed. Set the mango on your work surface on one of its thin sides. Cut straight down on each protruding side, slicing as close to the seed as possible and removing the mounding flesh with its skin. Score the flesh inside each half with a knife, making a checkerboard pattern without cutting through to the skin. The smaller you make the checkerboard, the smaller the dice you’re creating. Now begin to bend the flesh back, as if you were starting to turn the thing inside out. The little cubes you made will pop up as you do so. Slice these off, as close to the skin as possible.
3. Divide the diced mangoes among four plates. Top each with ½ cup (120 ml) of the yogurt. Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of the chopped pistachios or cashews over each serving, then drizzle each with 1½ teaspoons of the honey.
This creamy but light salad is a cross between céleri-rave en rémoulade (celery root remoulade), a French sauce and Indian raita—a cross made possible because of the goat yogurt, which balances all those flavors beautifully. Serve this salad as a side to almost anything off the grill—especially goat chops (see this page). Or offer it as a topper for hot dogs or sausages at your next barbecue, a new twist instead of sauerkraut.
1 large celery root (a.k.a. celeriac), peeled
2 cups (480 ml) regular or low-fat goat yogurt
1 small cucumber, peeled, seeded, and finely diced
¼ cup (55 g) minced fresh mint
1 teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon salt
Several dashes of hot red pepper sauce, such as Tabasco, or to taste
1. Bring a big pot of water to a boil over high heat.
2. The hardest part of this recipe is dealing with that gnarly celery root. After you peel it, you have to get it into fine threads or small matchsticks. You can do this in several ways:
Use a Benriner, the Japanese kitchen tool that makes those long threads from daikon or carrots, usually wound into little nests onto sushi plates. Follow the manufacturer’s instructions for selecting the right blade and turning the celery root into long threads. These should then be cut into manageable bits so they’re not too irritating on a fork. (Nobody wants to slurp a raita.)
Shred the peeled celery root using the large holes of a box grater or the large-holed shredding blade of a food processor.
Cut the root into ⅛-inch (.3-cm) slices, then cut these into ⅛-inch-wide (.3-cm) matchsticks. Some of the matchsticks might be a little long for a forkful, so cut these in half.
3. Once you’ve got the celery root prepared, drop the bits into the pot of boiling water and blanch for 1 minute. Drain in a colander set in the sink and rinse with cool water, tossing all the time, until all the pieces are cool to the touch. Drain well again, then spread them out on paper towels and blot them dry. Place them in a serving bowl.
4. Add all the other ingredients. Stir well and serve, or chill for up to 8 hours, stirring again before serving.
Goat milk brightens this comforting soup, tilting it from a mere winter warmer into a fresh, gorgeous bowl of big flavors. It’s even better the next day—although you may have to thin it out with a little extra broth when reheating it over medium-low heat.
3 tablespoons (45 g) goat butter
1 small yellow onion, chopped 3 tablespoons alt-purpose flour
2 cups (480 ml) reduced-sodium chicken broth
2 cups (480 ml) regular or low-fat goat milk
1 pound (455 g) carrots, peeled and cut into thin rounds
2 tablespoons minced fresh, stemmed, dill fronds
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Salt (optional)
1. Melt the butter in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring often, until translucent and soft, about 5 minutes.
2. Sprinkle the flour over the onion and stir for 1 minute.
3. Whisk in a few dribbles of the broth, then more, and then the rest in a slow, steady stream, taking care to dissolve the flour into a paste before whisking constantly and efficiently to make sure there are no lumps.
4. Whisk in the milk (no need for caution here if the flour has been properly dissolved in the broth); then continue whisking over the heat until the mixture comes to a simmer and thickens a bit, probably a couple minutes.
5. Stir in the carrots, dill, Worcestershire sauce, and pepper. Once the soup returns to a simmer, cover the pan, reduce the heat to very low, and simmer slowly until the carrots are tender, stirring fairly often, about 40 minutes.
6. Transfer the soup to a large blender, working in batches as necessary, so that the canister is never more than about half full. Cover the canister, but remove the lid’s center plug. Doing so will help equalize the pressure under the lid so hot stuff doesn’t spew all over the kitchen. However, also place a clean kitchen towel over the lid as extra insurance. Blend the soup to a smooth puree. Pour into a bowl if you’re working in batches; but once it’s all pureed, pour it back into the saucepan. Set over medium heat just to warm it through before serving. Worcestershire sauce is salty, but check the overall taste to make sure the soup is salty enough for your liking.
Serve the soup with goat cheese croutons floating in each bowl (see this page).
Bruce had a lot of fun morphing the classic Greek dip of cucumbers and yogurt into a fresh, summery soup. He added blueberries as a sweet accent against the goat yogurt—and then added a canned chipotle for some fire. It’s all about balance on our culinary pentagon (see this page).
2 medium cucumbers
2 cups (455 g) blueberries
1 cup (240 ml) regular or low-fat goat yogurt
2 tablespoons honey
2 tablespoons lemon Juice
1 teaspoon minced fresh oregano leaves
½ teaspoon salt
2 medium garlic cloves, minced
1 canned chipotle chile in adobo sauce, seeded and chopped (see this page)
1. Peel the cucumbers, then cut them in half lengthwise. Use a small spoon to scrape out the seeds; discard them. Chop the cucumbers into chunks and put them in a food processor fitted with the chopping blade or in a large blender.
2. Add all the other ingredients. (Make sure you get that last ingredient right: one canned chipotle in adobo sauce, not a whole can of them.) Process or blend until the soup is fairly smooth, if a little chunky, just for a bit of texture.
3. Serve at once at room temperature—or store in the fridge in a sealed container (even the blender’s canister) for up to 5 days. In this case, the soup tastes best when it’s only slightly chilled, just a tad below room temperature, so let it sit out on the counter for 20 minutes before serving.
These flans are rich and savory, a great way to forgo the potatoes or rice with dinner but still have a sophisticated side dish that complements bolder flavors—like those in the Shoulder Roast (this page).
4 large parsnips, peeled and cut into ½-inch (1.2-cm) slices
6 medium garlic cloves, peeled
1 cup (240 ml) regular goat milk (do not use low-fat)
Goat butter for greasing the ramekins
2 large egg yolks, at room temperature
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground pepper
Boiling water
1. Put the parsnips and garlic in a medium saucepan, pour in the milk, and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Cover, reduce the heat to very low, and simmer slowly until the parsnips are tender when poked with a fork, about 30 minutes. Set the pan aside off the heat and cool, still covered, for 30 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, get the rack into the center of the oven and preheat that oven to 350°F (175°C). Lightly butter six ⅓-cup (75-ml), oven-safe ramekins, making sure to get the fat down into the angle between the bottom and the sides. Set these in a large baking dish or a roasting pan.
3. Pour the contents of the saucepan into a large food processor fitted with the chopping blade or into a large blender. Pulse or blend a bit to get the parsnips and garlic mushed. Add the yolks, salt, and pepper. Process until smooth.
4. Pour the contents of the food processor into the prepared ramekins, dividing the mixture evenly among them. It’s a tad difficult to pour from a processor bowl, so you might want to scrape the mixture into a pitcher and pour from there.
5. Set the baking dish or the roasting pan with the ramekins on the oven rack, then pour boiling water into the dish or pan until the water level comes about halfway up the ramekins.
6. Bake until set, until a knife inserted into one of the flans comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes. Remove the ramekins from their water bath (remember that the water is hot!) and set them on a wire rack to cool for 5 minutes. Run a thin knife around the inside edges of the ramekins to loosen the flans, then turn the custards upside down onto serving plates.
I grew up on this stuff, but without goat milk. Which was a shame, because the chiles and spices overrode the other flavors. Unbalanced, for sure. So goat milk and cheese to the rescue!
6 husked corn ears, any silks removed
6 tablespoons (90 g) goat butter, plus more for greasing the dish
6 medium shallots, minced
2 jalapeno chiles, stemmed, seeded, and minced
½ teaspoon cumin seeds
5 large eggs, at room temperature, whisked in a medium bowl until smooth
2 cups (480 ml) regular or low-fat goat milk
½ cup (115 g) finely ground yellow cornmeal
8 ounces (225 g) fresh chèvre or soft goat cheese
3 tablespoons minced fresh basil leaves
2 ounces (55 g) grated hard goat cheese, such as goat Gruyère or goat Gouda, or a crottin you’ve aged yourself (see this page)
1. Prepare a grill for high-heat (about 550°F [288°C]) cooking—that is, either preheat a gas grill to high heat or build a high-heat, red-hot-but-well-ashed coal bed in a charcoal grill. Alternatively, heat a grill pan over medium-high heat.
2. Set the corn ears on the grill grate directly over the heat source—or in the grill pan. Grill until charred a bit on all sides, turning with tongs once in a while, perhaps 2 to 3 minutes.
3. Set the corn on a cutting board. Position the rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Butter the inside of a 9-inch (23-cm) square baking dish, a 2-quart (2-L) round soufflé dish, or a 2-quart (2-L) au gratin pan.
4. Cut one end off the corn cobs so they’ll stand up straight on the cutting board, then run a paring knife down the ears, slicing off the kernels. Put the grilled kernels in a large bowl.
5. Melt the butter in a large saucepan set over medium-low heat. Add the shallots and jalapeños; cook, stirring occasionally, until the shallots soften and begin to turn golden, about 5 minutes. Stir in the cumin seeds; cook for 15 seconds or so. Then scrape the contents of the pan into the bowl with the corn kernels.
6. Stir in the eggs, milk, cornmeal, fresh chèvre, and basil until fairly smooth. Pour this mixture into the prepared baking dish; sprinkle the grated hard cheese over the top.
7. Bake the pudding until set and even browning a little across the top, perhaps 40 to 45 minutes. Cool on a wire rack for 5 minutes and serve.
Marinating chicken in yogurt is an old-fashioned technique, hailing from the days when a barnyard fowl’s skin was pretty tough. It’s not really necessary these days—except as a boost to flavor. And who can argue with how goat yogurt adds a pop to this comfort-food classic?
One 4-pound (one 1.8-kg) chicken, any giblets removed, cut into 8 to 10 pieces
1 cup (240 ml) regular or low-fat goat yogurt
1½ cups (185 g) all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon mild paprika
2 teaspoons salt, plus more to taste
2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg About 4 cups (960 ml) peanut oil
1. Place the chicken pieces in a large glass baking dish, stainless steel bowl, or other nonreactive container. Add the yogurt and stir well. Refrigerate for 2 to 4 hours, stirring occasionally.
Do not let the chicken sit in the yogurt for any longer. It can turn the chicken skin from tough to tender and then back to tough again. Plus, there are issues with bacterial growth. Be safe, not sorry.
2. Put the flour, paprika, salt, pepper, and nutmeg in a big bag, like an unused paper supermarket bag. Seal it and shake it well to distribute the spices throughout the flour.
3. Pour enough peanut oil into a large, high-sided sauté pan to bring the oil to a depth of about 2 inches (5 cm). Clip a deep-frying thermometer to the inside of the pan and warm the oil over medium heat until the temperature registers 350°F (175°C).
4. Add the chicken pieces with any yogurt still adhering to them to the bag with the flour mixture. Seal again and shake well to coat the chicken. You may need to hit the bag on the bottom a couple of times to bounce all the pieces into new positions, to coat them thoroughly.
5. Remove the chicken pieces from the bag and place as many as will fit without crowding in the hot oil. (Leave the remainder of the pieces in the bag.) Fry until golden brown on both sides, turning once or twice, about 10 minutes for the wings and legs, 15 minutes for the thighs, and up to 20 minutes for the breasts. You’ll need to adjust the burner’s temperature so that the oil temperature remains constant. And resist turning the pieces too quickly. You want a dark crust. Is there another reason why you’re frying chicken?
6. Set a double layer of paper towels under a wire cooling rack, then use tongs to transfer the chicken pieces to that rack. (The paper towels will catch any drips.) Sprinkle a little salt over the pieces while they’re still hot. Then go ahead and fry more pieces, if you need to. Throw out any remaining yogurt marinade and the excess flour mixture in the bag.
Fried chicken needs a well-stocked salad with a creamy dressing. Try this one, based on rouille, the thickener used in bouillabaisse. First, toast ⅓ cup (76 g) chopped hazelnuts in a dry skillet over medium-low heat until lightly browned and aromatic, about 4 minutes. Pour the hazelnut pieces into the bowl of a food processor, let cool for 10 minutes, then add 2 bottled roasted red peppers, 2 chopped garlic cloves, 3 tablespoons olive oil, 1½ tablespoons white wine vinegar, ½ teaspoon sugar, ½ teaspoon salt, and ½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper. Whir this up into a dressing. Pour it on a mixed salad of peeled, seeded, and chopped cucumbers, thinly sliced celery, pitted and halved cherries, sliced radishes, torn-up romaine leaves, and a little bit of chopped basil or tarragon leaves.
Was there ever a country like India, so well versed in what to do with goat in all its forms? Here, the yogurt does good service against the cayenne and lemon juice. A tandoor oven is a super-hot-fire cave that flash-roasts meats. Since most of us don’t have one of these fancy gizmos at home, a grill will do—or even a broiler. Serve this flavorful dish with Celery Root Raita (this page) as well as bottled chutney and cooked basmati rice.
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon salt
Two 1½- to 1¾-pound (two 680- to 800-g) game hens
⅓ cup (75 ml) regular or low-fat goat milk
⅓ cup (75 ml) regular or low-fat goat yogurt
1 tablespoon minced peeled fresh ginger
3 medium garlic cloves, minced or put through a garlic press
1 teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon ground turmeric
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
1. Mix the lemon juice, cayenne, and salt in a small bowl until a wet paste.
2. Split the game hens in half lengthwise. Here’s how: Set them, breast side up, on a cutting board. Look inside the large chamber and see where the backbone runs. Insert a sharp chef’s knife and cut down on both sides of the spine, thereby removing it in each bird. Now open the birds out on the counter with the skin side facing you. If you press down a bit, you may hear the breastbone crack. Cut right down the center length of each bird, dividing it in half. Now that the birds lie in two halves, peel off the skin, cutting it in places with a knife to help it come free, particularly around the wings and the legs.
3. Rub the cayenne paste into the meat of the split game hens. Set them in a baking dish or roasting pan and refrigerate, uncovered, for 30 minutes.
4. Meanwhile, whisk the milk, yogurt, ginger, garlic, cumin, turmeric, cinnamon, and cloves in a medium bowl. Set this aside at room temperature until the hens have marinated in their spice rub for the full 30 minutes.
5. Pour the milk mixture over the hens. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 2 hours but no more than 4 hours, turning the hens once so that everything sits in the marinade.
6. Fire up the grill. Heat a gas grill to high heat (about 550°F [288°C]) or build a high-heat, well-ashed-if-still-red-hot coal bed in a charcoal grill. Alternatively—in winter, perhaps?—heat up the broiler with the rack 4 to 6 inches (10 to 15 cm) from the heat source.
7. Remove the chicken from the marinade with bits of the mixture still adhering to each hen. Grill directly over the heat until cooked through, until an instant-read meat thermometer inserted into the meat without touching bone registers 165°F (74°C), 14 to 16 minutes, turning once. Or broil the hens on a lipped baking sheet for about the same amount of time, to the same internal temperature, turning once, about 16 minutes. Cool for 5 minutes before serving.
LESS TO DO
Admittedly, step 2 is a pain. If you don’t want to do your own butchering and skinning, ask the guy at your supermarket to do it for you.
This technique of the spice rub and yogurt marinade will also work with goat rib chops (see this page). To match the marinade, plan on a similar weight of chops (about 3 pounds’ [1.4 kg] worth).
1. It’s almost pure white (unless someone has dared to add fake coloring). That’s because a grazing goat has already converted all the carotene she’s consumed from roughage into vitamin A. A cow’s digestion is less efficient on this count—and thus the butterfat has a yellow tinge from residual carotene.
2. Goat butter is a pain to make because the smaller fat globules do not easily separate from the milk, which must be set out at room temperature overnight and perhaps put through an industrial centrifugal separator.
3. Goat butter has a vaguely fresh-chèvre taste, a little more acidic, but also more floral, and certainly more umami. Try it on bagels with strawberry jam, a substitute for cream cheese.
4. Goat butter has a fairly low melting point, almost precisely at human body temperature. Although home-churned cow butter has a melting point around this same temperature, the cultured stuff and some of the tightly packed, low-moisture cow butters at the supermarket melt around 100°F (38°C), even up to 104°F (40°C). (Solid vegetable shortening, by contrast, melts around 110°F [43°C].)
5. In terms of cooking, if you’re going to sauté or panfry with goat butter, watch the heat closely, dropping it if the butter begins to brown too much.
6. In terms of baking, goat and cow butter are interchangeable—except with the note about the more pronounced flavor in goat butter (and perhaps the additional salt if you normally use unsalted cow butter).
7. The best way to experience goat butter for the first time is to spread it on crustless white-bread sandwiches layered with thinly sliced radishes and a sprinkle of crunchy salt. Cut the sandwiches into triangular wedges. And don’t forget the white gloves.
