Photos by Michael Piazza / Styled by Catrine Kelty

In 2010, the year Greek yogurt sales surpassed a billion dollars in America, I worked preparing catering platters and case salads at a fancy food shop in Cambridge where good ingredients were taken very seriously. In the walk-in fridge, nestled among the legs of prosciutto and house-made terrines, a white one-gallon bucket of thick yogurt, bought wholesale from a local market, held pride of place.

Cheesemongers and cooks shuffled around at dawn lighting the stove pilots with little clicks, securing cutting boards with damp rags, scrawling prep lists and stacking cheese wheels. They’d carry two mugs to their stations, one with steaming black coffee and one with thick yogurt topped with a spoonful of honey, a smear of quince paste, a sprinkle of Marcona almonds. This was unlike anything I’d tasted, bright and tangy with an incredibly rich mouthfeel, nearly thick enough to stand a spoon in. It was a secret ingredient in sandwiches, slathered on roasts and dolloped onto chili, a beautiful food that worked in anything, too good to be true.

The magic yogurt developed a local cult following; it was the talk of the food nerd message boards. How could something so rich contain less fat than most supermarket brands, as was asserted by its maker? After months of debate, it came out that the fat content was in fact a bit higher than claimed—more akin to sour cream than Yoplait. Some die-hards were disappointed, but not me. Even hungover and ravenous at 6:30am, the yogurt was too rich for me to want more than a few tablespoons by itself. It was its own thing, unlike what we think of as yogurt, a beautiful ingredient with a million uses to be eaten in small amounts, too thick to properly eat with granola anyway.

When I left the job I kept right on eating that yogurt, going straight to the source and buying three quarts at a time. Onto fish tacos and into tuna salads it went. I swirled it into curried carrot soup and baked it into banana bread. I beat it into frosting and glopped it onto lentils. I added a little salt and olive oil and convinced my toddler to love vegetables with “yogurty dip.” It was still magic.

I love this fatty yogurt—I buy it still—but I also make my own. Some occasions call for an ultra-luxe yogurt, but some (like salad dressing or marinade) call for something a little softer, still tangy but a touch less intense. It’s so easy to make yogurt, even for a sometimes lazy and inexact cook like myself, and it’s so easy to get it just the way you want it—sturdy and sour or slippery and mild. If you have an Instant Pot, go ahead and press that yogurt button, but a Dutch oven swaddled in a kitchen towel works just as well at keeping milk around 110°F, the sweet spot for all those good bacteria to proliferate. For a Greek-style yogurt, just strain off the liquid. One batch begets the next—buy yogurt once and you can eat it all year, a whole cup at a time if you want to. It isn’t glamorous, but it’s a little bit of everyday alchemy, and the (second) best yogurt around.

Homemade Yogurt

Why make your own? It’s true that you might save a little money and you’ll certainly reduce waste in the form of those plastic containers, but I’m most motivated by the control it affords and the luxurious, silky texture and subtle flavor of the stuff I DIY. Among the dazzling array of yogurt products in any supermarket today, it is surprisingly difficult to find plain whole-milk yogurt and impossible to find one as good as what I can make so easily at home with my favorite local, organic whole milk. Get in the habit of setting aside ¼ cup of your batch of yogurt to use for making the next batch. It takes just a few minutes of active time and is virtually foolproof.

Makes 1 quart

1 quart milk
¼ cup plain commercial yogurt

In a Dutch oven, heat milk to 200°F, just below a boil, watching closely to avoid boiling. Remove from heat and cool to 110°F. While milk is cooling, skim and discard any skin that has formed on the surface. In a small bowl, combine roughly 1 cup warmed milk with plain yogurt. Stir back into warm milk, cover Dutch oven and wrap in a blanket or towel. Place wrapped pot inside oven (turned off). If you have an oven light, leave it on, but the blankets or towels should keep the temperature steady enough for cultures to proliferate.

Leave 4–12 hours, depending on desired consistency—longer for a thicker, more flavorful yogurt. Refrigerate when ready.

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