One day the cheese maker took over the kitchen.
In the morning before the sun had deposited its rays onto the verandah he returned home with 20 litres of jersey milk.
really nice really creamy really fresh from the udder to me; fresh from the pasture of green just around the corner and up the valley where the cows range on wandella river flats that hold the whey of sunshine and heavy rains spiced with she-oaks whispering along the river and ravens cawing out the news.
There is no room for anyone else in the kitchen as every surface is comandeered with big pots and sieves and temperatures taken and knives that slice.
bacterias for the different cheeses arrive in the post with their own ice packet to keep them cool.
there was cheddar day.
ricotta feta and haloumi day
and there was camembert day and blue vein day.
under finely tuned hands and a focused mind they bobbled and swelled and danced into cheesey awareness while we feasted on the more immediate ricotta provided.
To this we added a few chives/herbs a bit of salt and ate with fresh salad greens or baked lovingly in the oven or whipped into a cheesecake affair with fruit..
the cheesemaker retired and went onto other adventures but left in the coolroom were round pats of milk swathed in beeswax becoming cheese.
eighteen months go by and we break open the last cheddar.
it is a fine vintage.