Confession: I love cheese.
Unless you’re French, or possibly some Monk in Quebec, I feel like you need to preface that with a “not Kraft singles, but like Cheese” with all it’s emphasis and capital “C” glory.
But it is true. I like me cheese. Feta. Ricotta. Goat Cheese – all and any goat cheese.
Growing up, I have to say, we were definitely a cheese family. My mother’s favourite go-to lazy Sunday brunch food, or café fare, was of course, soft goat cheese from Portugal and papo-seco (Portuguese bun bread that I learned recently, is made with lard … not butter, lard. I find this disturbing somehow). My Mother is from a part of Portugal that is renowned for its foul-smelling but oddly delicious cheese. They’re these heavy round discs of prepared dairy product that will literally make your eyes water from the stench, and your entire luggage smell. Seriously.
But somehow, even with that upbringing, I am still a cheese lover.
And all that is to say that … I am doomed.
My Mother’s Mother, Vó F, she has decided to fill the hours of retirement with a task that will bring me to the brink of cheese heaven – she’s making cheese now.
I am gonna get so blissfully fat.
I have come to terms with this … mostly. It helps that the cheese is divine. It also helps that she promised to make it out of goat milk this weekend … 😀
Signing off to go make a cheese baguette!