It’s been a funny old time. The bit I’ll focus on for now is the earth shattering moment of once having successfully made a cheese, I took it out into the world to see what people thought. A whole different set of emotions and expectations to manage… mostly mine.
My alternative ‘milk’ card carrying husband seemed to really like it. A huge achievement on a number of levels. He appeared proud of the cheese and me which was lovely and I had a moment of seeing how this adventure could bring us closer together rather than being an issue of contention. I’d never been able to have that vision before.
My second experience was with a friend who is having a difficult time. I naively thought bringing such a special contribution along might lift her spirits or change the nature of what has not only been a tricky couple of months but a hard two years. Unsurprisingly this was not the case and I watched in astonishment as my little baby cheese was tentatively picked at in a distracted sort of fashion before being set aside to be given to someone else.
Another ’embarking moment’ involved my wonderful mother arriving starving after the end of a long day. She consumed a spare quarter of cheese in seconds which I had set aside on the off chance she had time to give it a try. I had a moment of incredulity then joy that my cheese could be eaten ‘like a normal cheese’ – not hesitantly nibbled but enthusiastically devoured. I was left sure it had been enjoyed though mindful that when hungry almost anything can taste wonderful.
A highlight was handing out a couple of the tiniest versions I made. They are small enough that you can, gently, put them in your pocket giving me the chance to produce the little handful at an unexpected moment. The most wonderful of which was received by a woman who I see regularly, in a professional capacity, hers not mine. She outstretched her hands, cupped, to receive my fledgling offering. Like a precious gift it was passed reverently from my hands to hers. She honoured the cheese and both of us in that moment, I was deeply touched.
In another instance a close friend seemed to forget to let me know what she had thought. Remembering only when there was a moment so obvious it must have spurred her recall into action with a ‘oh I meant to say how much we loved it’ refrain that I was never sure what to make of.
My dad was on true form with an opening enquiry as to whether it needed a good strong wine to bring out the flavour. Needless to say no wine had accompanied his first mouthful. This was followed up by the seemingly earnest entreaty that ‘I wasn’t going to turn this into a business or something was I?’ With the clear inference that it would be a terrible idea unless I really got the wine sorted.
And then there were many who clearly appreciated the thought but not the taste. A completely fair response and one that I, in a way, feel reassured by. Even though part of me would love to make something that is liked by all, I know it would be a mistake to try; there’s a lesson in that.
