Say Cheese

The inside of my refrigerator is a wall of white.  Batch after batch of cheese, day after day in the week before another "Farm Day" sale.  Salty feta is best if left to mellow for four or five days, but chevre, without the preservative salt, needs to be made just before selling.  It's more difficult to do quality control when the weather is hot.  The beginning process is the same, but timing is more critical.  If milk is left too long to set the curd or the curd is let hang too long while draining the whey, the milk begins to ferment and explodes, ruining the entire batch.  I've had to throw out a couple of batches this week because I got busy with one thing or another and didn't watch close enough.  Fortunately, I have a constant supply of raw material.  It takes close to two gallons of milk to make a pound of cheese.

Ralph has designated four-thirty as the Children's Hour.  I normally get up at five, but four-thirty seems way too early.  That matters not to Ralph.  I wake when I hear him rummaging around on the desk, knocking things over or off, or feel him jumping on the bed.  He'll come and snuggle under my chin.  I love him, but not so much at four-thirty in the morning.  Today he started redecorating while it was still dark.  I just found a small ornament on the floor; it used to hang on the wall.  I've put it back before, but I guess I'll have to find another setting for it now.  I'd like to find the reset button on his alarm clock so we could both sleep in until five.

Another day, another batch of cheese.  Oh well, I'm up now.