“I would definitely make a lot of cheese. I don’t know if I would go through the yogurt making process because of the dehydration step,” Magee says.
The menu at Time currently features house ricotta made from raw milk and served with fig jam and crustini.
It turns out that apocalypse cheese is really simple.
“Milk and vinegar that’s it. Bring it up to 180 degrees. All the curds float to the top. Take the curds, you’ve got cheese. That’s the simplest way to go about it,” he says.
As for aging it, he’d go subterranean.
“Most cheeses are cave aged, so I guess we could get that cave aged feel in the basement. Definitely just leave it out. I wouldn’t leave it out in a 94 degree room, but I’d leave it out in a 65 degree room all day.”
Rinaldi quickly offers what’s in her hands most of the day. Knives. Big fuck-off shiny knives, to quote Lock Stock & Two Smoking Barrels.
“We keep them sharp as razor blades,” she asserts. After a pause, she says, “yeah, knives” with added emphasis.
“I’m not looking to get in close quarters,” Baver interjects.
But, for chefs used to breaking down quartered, if not whole animals on a regular basis, the idea of getting their hands dirty didn’t seem too off-putting.
“My Hobart dough hook,” Magee says with a devilish look in his eyes. “Just smashing heads,” he says with a grin. “Maybe a blow torch as well,” he adds.
“Would you make the medulla oblongata explode like the Death Star?” I ask.
“I don’t know….but it would cool to super heat some zombie eyes and hear that shit sizzle,” he says.
As for Jimenez?
“A cast iron skillet,” he says without hesitation.
“Those things are fucking heavy.”
With ample bars at their respective restaurants (minus Izumi which is byo), everyone agreed the end of the world wouldn’t be too bad.
Anthony Leo, who is transitioning into the head chef role at Time ahead of Magee assuming the head role at Heritage, says “we’re fortunate enough that if you ever got stuck here for the zombie apocalypse you have 200 bottles of whiskey.”
“We could live off grain based spirits alone,” Magee laughs.
“Yeah, we’d definitely be here,” Baver says, indicating his preference to spend the apocalypse drinking wine at the bar at Paradiso.
Seated in the safe, windowless confines of The Ranstead Room, Jimenez says, “I don’t think we’d have to go anywhere. We can stay here. You have two bars.”
See the comic strip I’m doing with Evan M. Lopez here.
You can catch the author most Sundays at The Bottle Shop on East Passyunk where they screen The Walking Dead, have lots of beer, pig snacks, and somewhat strong looking iron security gates.