The Wisconsin winter still isn't here.

Madison.

Briskly cold outside. Mostly clear sky, with high, wispy clouds. Nearly wintry, except that Madison lacks the typical signs of winter. The lakes have large patches of water, with little wind-driven waves lapping at the edges. At this time of year, when one could normally drive a truck out on the lakes without worry, more than one ice fisherman has fallen in.

There were two last week, I believe. Neither seriously hurt. Were they drunk? Does it matter?

Anne Topham from Fantome Farm made it to the DCFM in January. The goats, enjoying the warm weather, were still producing milk, and thus we had fresh chevre when we hadn't expected it. She also brought along an experiment in whole milk ricotta, which inpired me to try it myself. With just two batches under my belt, I think I'm starting to get the hang of it.

Milk plus vinegar, heated, then drained to separate the curds from the whey. An exercise in simplicity and purity, a sort of food minimalism. When done right, with good, fresh ingredients, it's the very best that cooking can be. I'm thinking of garden-ripened tomatoes, still warm from the sun, still smelling of tomato leaves, sliced, sprinkled with salt and drizzled with a little oil. Snap peas, eaten straight from the vine. Wild strawberries, not even as large as a fingernail, bursting with a deep intensity of flavor that no cultivated berries can ever seem to match.

I remember, years back, wild huckleberries with an intensity like that, with a sharpness, a brightness as powerful as the rich depth of those little strawberries. Rare experiences, so exciting because the element that is so amazing occurred with little or no intervention on my part. Humbling, in a way.