How to Make Goat Cheese: A Journey from Milk to Magnificent Chèvre
The first time I successfully made goat cheese in my kitchen, I stood there staring at the pristine white curds like I'd just performed alchemy. There's something almost magical about transforming liquid milk into something you can slice, spread, and savor. After years of perfecting my technique and teaching others, I've learned that making goat cheese isn't just about following steps—it's about understanding the living process you're guiding along.
The Soul of Goat Cheese
Before we dive into the actual process, let me share something that took me embarrassingly long to figure out: goat cheese is fundamentally different from cow's milk cheese, and not just because of the animal it comes from. The fat molecules in goat milk are naturally smaller and more evenly distributed, which is why even fresh goat cheese has that characteristic creamy, almost fluffy texture. This also means it behaves differently during the cheesemaking process—sometimes frustratingly so if you're used to working with cow's milk.
I remember my grandmother telling me that in her village in France, they'd say goat cheese "knows the weather." She wasn't wrong. Temperature, humidity, even barometric pressure can affect how your cheese turns out. This isn't some mystical nonsense—it's biology and chemistry dancing together in your kitchen.
What You Actually Need (And What You Don't)
Let's talk equipment. The internet will try to convince you that you need a cheese cave, specialized molds, and a pH meter. Nonsense. My best batches have come from using a candy thermometer, a colander, and some butter muslin I bought at a craft store.
Here's what you genuinely need:
- A large pot (stainless steel or enamel, not aluminum—it reacts with the acid)
- A thermometer that reads between 70-190°F
- A long knife or offset spatula
- Cheesecloth or butter muslin
- A colander
- Some kind of weight (I use a plate with canned tomatoes on top)
The milk matters more than any equipment. Fresh goat milk is ideal, but here's a secret: ultra-pasteurized won't work. The high heat changes the protein structure too much. Regular pasteurized is fine, though if you can get your hands on low-temperature pasteurized milk from a local farm, you'll taste the difference. I drive forty minutes to a goat dairy once a month and freeze what I don't use immediately. Yes, you can freeze goat milk for cheesemaking—another thing the purists won't tell you.
The Basic Process (With All Its Beautiful Variables)
Start with a gallon of goat milk. Pour it into your pot and heat it slowly to 185°F. This is where patience becomes an ingredient. Rush this step and you'll scorch the bottom, giving your cheese a burnt undertone that no amount of herbs can mask. I learned this the hard way during a dinner party preparation that shall remain otherwise unspoken of.
Once you hit 185°F, remove the pot from heat. Now comes the transformation moment: add your acid. You can use vinegar (1/4 cup of white vinegar works), lemon juice (slightly more needed, about 1/3 cup), or citric acid (1 teaspoon dissolved in water). Each gives a slightly different flavor profile. Vinegar is sharp and clean, lemon adds a subtle brightness, and citric acid is neutral but reliable.
Stir gently—and I mean gently. You're not making scrambled eggs here. Three or four figure-eight motions with a spoon, then stop. Watch as the milk begins to separate into curds and whey. It's genuinely mesmerizing, like watching clouds form in reverse.
Let it sit for 10 minutes. Don't peek, don't poke, don't panic if it doesn't look like the photos online immediately. Cheesemaking is an exercise in faith.
The Art of Draining and Pressing
Line your colander with cheesecloth and set it over a large bowl (save that whey—your garden plants will thank you, or use it in bread making). Carefully ladle the curds into the cloth. The first few times I did this, I dumped everything in at once and wondered why my cheese was grainy. Treat the curds like the delicate things they are.
Here's where you get to decide what kind of cheese you're making. Want spreadable chèvre? Let it drain for 2-4 hours at room temperature. Want something firmer, more like a young farmer's cheese? Tie up the cheesecloth and hang it from a wooden spoon over a pot for 6-8 hours. For a pressed cheese with a texture closer to feta, add salt to the curds (about 1 teaspoon per gallon of milk used), then press with weight for 12-24 hours.
Temperature during draining matters enormously. In summer, I drain in my basement where it's cooler. In winter, the kitchen counter is perfect. Above 72°F and you risk unwanted bacteria joining the party. Below 65°F and the draining slows to a crawl.
Salt, Flavor, and Personal Expression
Once your cheese has reached the consistency you want, it's time for salt. This isn't just about flavor—salt helps preserve the cheese and affects its texture. Start with 1/2 teaspoon of fine sea salt per pound of cheese, mixed in thoroughly. You can always add more, but you can't take it away.
This is also when you can get creative. Fresh herbs, cracked pepper, garlic—the classics are classic for a reason. But I've had spectacular success with less traditional additions: sumac and dried mint (incredible with flatbreads), smoked paprika and chipotle (perfect for quesadillas), or lavender and honey (trust me on this one).
One autumn, I mixed in roasted pumpkin seeds and sage from my garden. A friend said it tasted like Thanksgiving in cheese form, which I took as the highest compliment.
Storage and the Patience Problem
Fresh goat cheese will keep for about a week in the refrigerator, stored in an airtight container. You can extend this by rolling logs in herbs or pepper, then storing them in olive oil. The oil takes on the flavors and becomes a fantastic cooking medium later.
For longer storage, freezing works, despite what traditionalists claim. Wrap portions tightly in plastic wrap, then in foil. The texture changes slightly—becomes a bit more crumbly—but it's perfect for cooking. I keep a stash of frozen portions for spontaneous pizza nights or when I need to elevate a weeknight pasta.
When Things Go Sideways
Let me save you some heartache with troubleshooting wisdom earned through spectacular failures. If your milk won't curdle, it's probably ultra-pasteurized (check the label) or your acid wasn't strong enough. Sometimes old lemon juice loses its oomph.
Grainy cheese usually means you heated too fast or stirred too vigorously. Think of the proteins like shy teenagers at a dance—they need gentle encouragement to come together, not forceful shoving.
If your cheese tastes sour or "off," trust your instincts and toss it. Bad milk makes bad cheese, and no amount of herbs will save it. I once tried to power through with questionable milk and served the results at a potluck. Let's just say I now have a reputation for bringing wine instead of homemade items to certain gatherings.
The Bigger Picture
Making goat cheese connects you to thousands of years of human history. Every culture that kept goats figured out some version of this process, from the tangy labneh of the Middle East to the aged crottins of France. When you make cheese, you're participating in an ancient conversation about preservation, transformation, and the subtle art of controlled spoilage.
There's also something deeply satisfying about the self-sufficiency of it. In an age where we're increasingly disconnected from how our food is made, creating cheese from milk feels like a small act of rebellion against industrial food systems. Plus, once you've made your own, store-bought goat cheese starts to taste a bit like disappointment wrapped in plastic.
Moving Beyond the Basics
Once you've mastered basic goat cheese, a whole world opens up. You can experiment with different cultures for aged cheeses, try your hand at goat milk mozzarella (trickier than it sounds), or even attempt a bloomy-rind cheese if you're feeling ambitious.
I've been making goat cheese for over a decade now, and I still learn something new each time. Last month, I discovered that adding a tablespoon of heavy cream to the milk creates an almost obscenely rich cheese that spreads like butter. Next month, I'm planning to try using kefir as a starter culture instead of acid, based on a technique I heard about from a Lithuanian cheesemaker at a farmers market.
The journey from milk to cheese never gets old because it's never quite the same twice. Each batch carries the fingerprint of its making—the season, the milk, the mood of the maker. That's not a bug; it's a feature. It's what makes homemade goat cheese worth the effort, the occasional failure, and the permanent smell of vinegar that seems to linger in my kitchen.
So go ahead, heat that milk. Transform something ordinary into something extraordinary. Just remember to be patient with the process and forgiving with yourself. The goats certainly won't judge you if your first attempt looks more like ricotta than chèvre. They're too busy being goats.
Authoritative Sources:
Caldwell, Gianaclis. Mastering Artisan Cheesemaking: The Ultimate Guide for Home-Scale and Market Producers. Chelsea Green Publishing, 2012.
Carroll, Ricki. Home Cheese Making: Recipes for 75 Delicious Cheeses. 4th ed., Storey Publishing, 2018.
Kindstedt, Paul. Cheese and Culture: A History of Cheese and Its Place in Western Civilization. Chelsea Green Publishing, 2012.
McGee, Harold. On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen. Revised ed., Scribner, 2004.
Toth, Mary Jane. Goats Produce Too!: The Udder Real Thing, Volume 2: Cheese Making and More. 2nd ed., Reata Publishing, 2013.
United States Department of Agriculture. "Milk for Manufacturing Purposes and Its Production and Processing." USDA Agricultural Marketing Service, www.ams.usda.gov/grades-standards/milk-manufacturing-purposes-and-its-production-and-processing.
University of Guelph Food Science Department. "Cheese Making Technology e-Book." Food Science Network, www.foodsciencenetwork.ca/cheese-making-technology.html.