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My Soapmaking Book!
The Simple Guide to Making
Traditional Handmade Soap
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Soapmaking Diary
March 2, 2007--More about Whipping Cream Soap
February 22, 2007--Whipping Cream Soap
January 16, 2007--The Adventure of the Laser Thermometer
January 13, 2007--The Temp Test and Vegetable Shortening
January 10, 2007--One Way to Mess Up the Temp Test
December 22, 2006--Methods: His, Hers, and Mine
December 21, 2006--Still More About the Temp Test
December 13, 2006--About Measuring
December 12, soo6--Modified Recipe--Double Shea Soap
December 9. 2006--More About the Temp Test
December 8, 2006--Results--Double Shea Soap
November 22, 2006--New Recipe (Double Shea Soap)
October 15, 2006--The Temp Thing
October 10, 2006--Stick Blender Serendipity
September 15, 2006--The Green Disaster
September 4, 2006--Splish, Splash
September 1, 2006--INS and Batch Size
Does your soap have lye in it?
I get asked this all the time--does your soap have lye in it? The correct answer is no. My soap does not have any lye in it. But the answer to the whole question is a chemistry lesson.
I don't pretend to be a chemist, but I've picked up this much--when a chemical reaction is going on, what goes in is not necessarily the same as what comes out.
This is a source of confusion for a lot of people. How can it be, if you put lye in the soap pot, that the soap has no lye?
OK, here's the chemistry lesson. It's a bit simplistic, but it might clear things up a bit for non-chemists.
Aside from nuclear reactions, which we can forget about, chemical elements like sodium and oxygen do not change into other elements. Put sodium in something, it will have some form of sodium in it unless you do something to take it out.
But lye isn't an element. It's a molecule. Molecules are constructed of elements, as a wall is constructed of bricks. It's possible to pull the structure apart and reconstruct it, and then the original structure and its properties are gone.
Lye used in solid soap is sodium hydroxide. It's composed of sodium, hydrogen and oxygen. It is caustic. The fats used in soapmaking are acidic. The two react to make soap, which is technically a salt. Though the oxygen, sodium and hydrogen are undoubtedly present in the molecules of the finished soap, there should be no sodium hydroxide left, thus no lye.
March 2, 2007--More about Whipping Cream Soap
I've checked with others, who say lye fumes are greatly reduced with frozen liquids. I may develop some recipes with frozen distilled water. It seems to me that new soapmakers might like this. Fumes can be really off-putting.
I'm using the whipping cream soap now, and it's great. Very, very emollient. However, it's soft--possibly because of what it is, or maybe I haven't let it cure long enough. In any case, this makes rather a problem on account of the color of the lather. Maybe vanilla wasn't that genius a fragrance to use for this stuff after all! It's messy.
I might try the recipe once with olive oil and another fragrance, and see if I can stand the color. If not, I guess I'll have a choice of using some kind of coloring or else changing from olive oil to something a little more neutral looking.
I'm trying to stick to Castile soap for a while, though, because I don't really have enough space here for lots of different oils. I had to find the space while I was writing the book, and then I happily gave it all away. I use olive oil for cooking, and keeping a bit more around for soapmaking makes more sense than having a dozen different kinds.
February 22, 2007--Whipping Cream Soap
Been a long time since I had time to do any experimenting with soap. I've been working on my third novel, that's why. Now the first draft is done, so I have time for a few experiments.
I've never tried goat milk soap, though I've wondered about it. But I don't know anyone who keeps goats, so milk soap seemed pretty theoretical. Then someone told me whipping cream--regular cow whipping cream--made great soap.
Of course, I had to try it. Basically, I used the method that's posted at Oregon Trail Soaps, and it worked fine. I froze the cream, added the lye to it, and stirred until the cream melted. Then I added it to the oil, blended to trace (for this batch, I went for visible trace, because I didn't know what kind of temp rise to expect), and poured into the mold.
Since I love Castile soap, the oil I used was olive oil. Oh, my. Interesting color. This is probably the ugliest soap I've ever made, though it is improving, probably because I used vanilla FO. But it is one of those things only a mother could love. At first it looked a lot like pond scum. By trace, it had faded to camo olive. Now it's looking sort of gold, and it might end up all right.
But, I must say, the pond scum phase was discouraging. If you want pretty milk soaps, it seems olive oil is not the material of choice.
One thing made me wonder, though: When I poured the lye onto the frozen cream, there were no fumes. Absolutely none at all. I wonder if there's any way to work out a similar technique with distilled water. It would improve indoor soapmaking, I think, if the fumes could be eliminated.
January 16, 2007--The Adventure of the Laser Thermometer
I saw a really neat-looking thermometer that you don't immerse in the soap mixture--a bit like a laser pointer. You shoot a beam at your soap mixture and this gadget gives you a digital readout. It seemed perfect for the temp test, though admittedly it was expensive.
I did some research on it--checked its accuracy with the manufacturer. They said "plus or minus three degrees F or two degrees C" which is techie talk for "It could be 2 or 3 degrees off either way."
This is plenty good enough for general soapmaking, but not accurate enough for the temp test, unfortunately. Rats.
January 13, 2007--The Temp Test and Vegetable Shortening
Another soaper pointed out to me that the Temp Test didn't seem to be that useful for her recipe. She got little, if any, temperature rise before visible trace.
So I tried her recipe, and found she was right. Visible trace occurred first, then the temperature rose in the mold as saponification proceeded . I'd never had a batch of soap do that before. I noted that her ingredients included a high proportion of Crisco.
I made a batch of my own recipe for Crisco soap, and discovered that the same thing happened. I have an idea that the artificial hydrogenation of the shortening may cause thickening before saponification.
So--although saponification does involve heat gain with shortening soap--the heat gain happens after visible trace. On soaps with this fat, I guess we just have to go on looking for trace.
January 10, 2007--One Way to Mess Up the Temp Test
Everyone who reads my soapmaking diary is going to think I shuttle from one blunder to another--all I seem to write about is my mistakes. But what are you going to say about the ho-hum, went-like-silk batches, anyway?
This latest wrinkle in using the temp test is one I want to share, because it's such a natural mistake that others might make it and then wonder what happened.
I had a new recipe, and it was mostly hard fats. I melted them, mixed them with the oil, and took the temp of the oil mixture. Much, much too hot to mix with my lye solution.
Those of you who've read Smart Soapmaking know that I cool my lye solution in an ice water bath. I'd already done this, so--this is the clinker--I set my pan of oils into the water bath to cool.
It threw the whole temp test off, because the chilled pot acted as a heat sink. So, instead of rising, the temperature actually fell. The mixture was gaining heat with saponification, but was losing it faster to the chilled stainless steel that surrounded it.
I made another batch, and stirred it to cool it. That time, everything went as expected.
Soapmaking has its ways of keeping us humble. Once in a while, unexplainable things happen. They may or may not be problems, just little reminders that we don't know everything.
But in a more subtle way, soapmaking can show us that there are many ways to do things correctly. I may read a book and say, "I wouldn't do that." But the author does, and recommends it. And apparently it works for her. Or him, as the case may be.
One thing to remember is that your technique is something you build by trial and error. In the end, it fits together as a complete package. If I took part of someone else's technique out of context, and tried to plug it into my technique, it might work. Then again, it might not.
That doesn't mean it's wrong. It means it doesn't work with what I do. I'd only say someone's technique is wrong if I tried the entire package, more than once, and couldn't make it work. Or if I truly felt it was hazardous.
Otherwise, it's a case of "to each his--or her--own."
And if the soap doesn't keep us humble, all these darn pronouns will!
The way I originally worked out the temp test was this: I took the temperature of a soap mixture right after I poured the lye solution into the fats. Then I blended it until I could see it was ready to pour. Then I took the temp again.
This gave me a difference, which in the case of my typical 30 oz. batch, was two degrees. This has worked for batches of that size for every formulation that I and my friends have tried.
However, based on the tests by Shepherd's Soap Company, it appears that larger batch sizes will rise more in temperature. So if your batch size is different from mine, I suggest you recreate the steps I used in discovering the test to begin with. Take the temp of the combined lye and oils, blend until ready to pour, and take the temp again. From then on, you should be able to use that temperature rise to establish readiness for other recipes of the same size.
Why would you want to, if you can tell by looking?
One reason is that another recipe may not show visible signs of trace, but may be ready to pour anyway. That has happened both to me and to other testers who were helping me.
Also, you might experiment with it. Once you know your batch size will saponify if you pour it at, say, five degrees, you might see if it will at four. It's possible you're working too hard to get your soap. Of course, as with any experiment, failure is possible. In fact, I don't consider a series of experiments complete until one of them has failed. That way, I establish limits.
Another point is, if you teach soapmaking, a simple, objective test is far more encouraging to students than the mysteries of visible trace.
I see a lot of soapmakers using bib aprons. In my opinion, they're not a good choice. Rehearse for a second what would happen if you spilled lye solution or raw soap on the sleeve of your shirt.
There's the bad stuff, spreading over the cloth the way any liquid does. Your arm starts burning. First you have to take off your gloves. Then you have to untie and remove the apron. Only then can you take off the shirt.
When I started making a lot of soap, I bought a microfiber lab coat. Microfiber because it's washable--cotton lab coats have to be dry-cleaned, or they lose their fluid repellency. With the lab coat, I have one-piece protection for my front and my sleeves. If I were to splash something on myself--which I never have, but I like the scout motto, "Be prepared"--I could take off the lab coat with no fuss or hurry, and I wouldn't get burned.
I highly recommend it. I found it on the Internet, and it wasn't expensive.
When I make soap, I'm extremely particular about measuring. For each ingredient, I read the amount needed, pick up the container, and check the label against the recipe. ("OK, I need 198 grams of fractionated coconut. 198. Yes, this bottle is the fractionated coconut.")
Then I tare the scale and check the amount needed again. ("198. Uh-huh.")
I spoon or pour the ingredient into the measuring container and then check the recipe again to make sure the weights match. ("198 here...198 there. OK.")
With one final look at the label to make doubly certain I have the right ingredient ("Yes, this really is the fractionated coconut."), I go on to the next one.
But before I do, I put the item I've just used onto a cart to go back to storage. That keeps my work space neat and minimizes the chance of picking up the wrong bottle or bucket.
It sounds like a ridiculous lot of checking. But it becomes second-nature, and it's worth the effort. Because, having gone through all this, I can pretty confidently eliminate measuring errors as a source of difficulty, in the rare cases where I'm not happy with my results.
I've reduced the water because this soap is so soft, and because it apparently can't be CPOP'ed. I found that I needed to use minimum water with another formula that relies on fractionated coconut to attain an INS value in the range of 160.
Double Shea Soap
7 oz. (198 g.) fractionated coconut oil
13 oz.(369 g.) shea butter
10 oz. (283 g.) shea oil
8 oz. (213 g.) distilled water
4.3 oz. (121 g.) lye
When I was writing Smart Soapmaking, I kept coming back to the idea that there had to be some way to tell for sure when the soap was ready to pour. My students are always nervous about this, and I could tell that some of them, even though they'd seen the process once, probably wouldn't keep on with it. No matter how much I explained and showed, they looked doubtful.
When I figured out that readiness to pour equated with a 2-3 degree temperature rise, I was delighted. Here was something a beginner could use, with or without a teacher. It worked every time, on every recipe I tested. And a chemist friend told me it was a sound idea.
But all my recipes have one thing in common: batch size. I have no need for big batches of soap, since I'm no longer in the business. So I use recipes based on 30 ounces (about 850 g.) of oil. Not wanting to get into production for large amounts, I asked my friends from Shepherd's Soap Company here in Olympia if they'd test temperatures using my method. Their batch sizes are ten times as large as mine.
They did, and they found they also had a reliable temperature rise, but it was much larger than mine. I'm no chemist, but this makes sense to me. I suppose there's some mathematical relationship between temperature rise and the weight of the batch, but this is something I believe I'll leave for others to find out.
The first batch did not turn out well, though it looked quite good going into the mold. I believe I made a mistake in oven processing it. I've had one soap before that just wouldn't stand up to that treatment, and I believe I've found another.
The INS is fine, and the pH of the finished soap is fine. But it's sort of boiled-looking, not right at all. Sigh.
Soap certainly does have its way of keeping you humble.
I made a second batch, using exactly the same measurements. (Except that I measured the fragrance instead of my usual practice of just pouring some in.)
After I'd stick-blended it about two minutes, I took the temperature, and noted that it had warmed by slightly more than two degrees. The mixture looked to me to be too thin to pour. I'd have told a student to keep going, based solely on appearance. Trusting the thermometer, I poured anyway. It came out perfect.
I doubt that the fragrance was responsible for the problem. I usually use a lot of fragrance, and it's never been a problem before. I've made one other soap--the hazelnut soap recipe in my book--that was a problem with CPOP. In that case, the soap was fine, but the inside of the wood mold was partially blackened from the heat. I decided not oven-process that one again.
My oven is a new, dependable one, but the thermostat can't be set lower than 170 degrees. Maybe that's just too hot for some mixtures.
This is one I worked out to use up some excess supplies. Also because I like shea products. I haven't tried it yet, but the INS is close to 160, and I have no doubt it will work.
This is just a list of ingredients. If you've never made soap before, you need to use basic soapmaking directions from my book or from any other responsible source.
Double Shea Soap
7 oz. (198 g.) fractionated coconut oil
13 oz.(369 g.) shea butter
10 oz. (283 g.) shea oil
10 oz. (283 g.) distilled water
4.3 oz. (121 g.) lye
I have no idea why the idea hit me that I should be able to tell when soap is ready to pour into the mold by measuring temperature gain. After testing like mad, I can say that it's true, and I think this will be particularly useful for beginners. I discuss it in detail in the book, and I'm interested in experiments others might do along this line.
I got an even funnier-looking batch the day the stick blender broke. With a pot of soap to stir, I did the only thing I could think of--I divided the batch in two and processed it in the stationary blender. I then poured both batches into my mold and mixed them together as well as I could. This turned out to be insufficient. The soap is fine, but it looks odd. Since I made it for my kitchen, that's OK with me.
Replacing the stick blender was a real revelation. I was in a hurry and didn't want to comparison-shop. The first store I went to didn't have stick blenders at all. The second had three brands: two were obviously not heavy enough for soapmaking. The third, a Kitchenaid, was costlier than I'd planned, but I bought it.
It turns out to make soap much quicker than my old one. I've made 100% olive oil Castile soap with it several times now--it takes five minutes. The difference is less dramatic with oil blends, but I'm impressed.
Experience is supposed to be helpful, right? So why did I let both the color and the scent get away from me in this batch? It's good soap, but I tried to do a swirl, used too much color, colored too much or the soap, and used too much fragrance. The result was a sort of shocking-green mottled disaster. But here's the funny part--I offered soaps to some friends in a barter deal, and those were their first choice! No accounting for tastes, I guess.
In Smart Soapmaking, I describe my utensils, which include a commercial-size glass measuring pitcher for heating oils and a stainless steel soup pot for mixing the soap. I had a seemingly brilliant idea this morning--why not mix the soap right in the measuring pitcher? Eyeing the two, I decided the shape of the pitcher might be an improvement, since it slopes down to a bottom diameter that's considerably smaller than the top. So I gave it a try.
Not a good idea, as it turned out. I had far more trouble with splashing than I do when I use the soup pot. The sloped shape of the pitcher produced a kind of suction that made the stick blender grab at the bottom. I finally poured the whole batch into the soup pot, which I had handy, just in case the pitcher didn't work. Another brilliant idea bites the dust.
Right now, I'm mulling over INS, a concept that was developed by the soapmaking industry in the 1930s. Each soapmaking oil has an INS value, and you can work out the value of a blend of oils. The number is supposed to predict the hardness of soap, but I've found that it doesn't necessarily do that. In my experiments, it did predict how easily an oil or blend can be made into soap. Oil blends in the supposedly ideal INS range of 160 turned into soap quickly and were nearly impossible to ruin, even when I broke every rule in the book. But blends that were far from the ideal INS required more work and attention, and had to be babied every step of the way.
Truly verifying this idea would take many more experiments than I did. I'd be interested to know what others have learned about this.
Another thing I wonder about is batch size. I make small batches, and I use a stick blender. I've talked to a few long-time professional soapmakers who hand-stir large batches. At first I wondered why they'd chosen the more laborious stirring process. Then I started wondering whether a stick blender would even work on a large batch. Maybe there's an upper limit to how much soap a stick blender can stir. Anyone know?
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