Saturday, April 10, 2010
When A Cheese Maker Dreams
In a recent newsletter, self-declared Cheese Czarina Lisa Jacobs of Jacobs Creamery found her mind wandering. Let's listen in:
Sometimes the cheese making part and the animals and the milk and milking and the scheduling and the markets and the weather and new products and more rainy weather and almost getting killed by a bull, and my girls getting pink eye and a sprained ankle all somehow overwhelm me. When this happens I usually go online and check flights to Italy and start planning my getaway.
My mind starts to wander to what ifs.
What if when I got off the plane in Milan one of the Stoppani Brothers (who own Peck, one of the most glamorous cheese shops in the world) met me at my plane and welcomed me to Italy and had arranged a tour of all my favorite Italian cheese-makers? What if he whisked me away to dairy after dairy and creamery after creamery teaching me all the practical things that I don't know now? What if when I thought nothing could get better we arrived in Campagnia where I met the cheese maker of a wonderful mascarpone di buffala?
It just so happens in my hypothetical situation that he is a mere 31 years old and is devastatingly handsome and would like someone to make cheese with. Of course he invites me to make cheese with him in his yellow-tiled cheese room and hands me the ph meter so that I can control the cheese making. Afterward he would show me his herd of jersey cows, and the sheep and then water buffalo and then goats and then we would sit down and he would put the kettle on and ask me if I ever thought of milking a moose.
Aaaahhhhh. What a perfect world it could be with my what ifs!
And then the timer dings and I have to stir the vat again. But at least you will know where to find me if I am suddenly gone.
Until this happens, you can find her and her dairy maids ready to serve you some of her addictive puddings, butter and, of course, cheeses at the Portland Farmers' Market at PSU on Saturdays and the Hillsdale Farmers' Market on Sunday.
Posted by Kathleen Bauer at 9:21 PM