A schoolhouse, not too big and not too small, sat in the middle of a grassy field. Farmland, cut into rectangular fields, surrounded the schoolhouse. Each shade of green represented something different in the field. It also represented each family whose children attended the schoolhouse.
At a quarter past three, the final bell rang and the school doors opened. Children flooded out and scurried home. One particular boy named Anton Marchant, however, did hot hurry home. He walked across the playground and through the field to his house. Even if he left the classroom last, he was the first one to arrive home. His house was the closest to school.
When Anton arrived home, he found his Uncle Rupert in the usual place in the reading room. More often than not, Uncle Rupert had a book in one hand and a piece of cheese in his other.
Sometimes it was a silky slice of Camembert. Sometimes it was a smelly Tomme de Savoie. Other times, it was one of the bleu cheeses, like Roquefort. Often, Uncle Rupert would have a clump of Brie de Meaux grasped in his fingers. Brie de Meaux was Anton's favorite.
"Bonjour, Oncle Rupert."
"Bonjour, Anton. Comment allez-vous?"
"Bon," replied Anton.
Immediately, Anton noticed something was wrong. There was no book. There was no chunk of cheese. Instead, there was a glass of wine, a plate of crackers, and a small cup of spread sitting on the table next to Uncle Rupert.
"What is it you are eating?" asked Anton.
"My usual mid-day snack," replied Uncle Rupert.
"What's that?" Anton pointed to the bowl of spread.
"You mean this? It's cheese. It's called Boursin."
"It doesn't look like cheese."
"Try some."
Uncle Rupert spread the creamy Boursin cheese on a cracker and handed it to his nephew. Anton carefully investigated the spread. The cheese was creamy and white, but it had tiny green flakes all through it.
Anton let the cracker rest in his mouth as it melted. The cracker was buttery. The cheese was, too. After the cheese melted, tiny bits of herb were left on his tongue. Anton spat them out and used his fingers to wipe the herbs off his tongue.
"Ick!"
"You don't like the bits of rosemary and thyme?"
"The herbs taste like grass clippings!"
"All right," chuckled Uncle Rupert, "let's see what we can do for you."
Uncle Ruper got out of his chair and put on his wool cap. He grabbed his cane and went to the front door.
"Would you like to go to the longhouse?" asked Uncle Rupert.
Anton nodded eagerly.
"Let's take Le Car," said his uncle.
“Le Car” (which means ‘the car’ in French) was the name of the tiny yellow hatchback that Uncle Rupert drove everywhere. He, however, was one of the few who drove a car. Most Parisians (and most French, for that matter), took a train called ‘The Metro’ wherever they went. Anton preferred Le Car.
Anton buckled himself into the passenger seat next to his Uncle and away they went. Anton watched the farmhouses passing by, one-by-lone, as he ssat next to his Uncle. Hedgerows lined the old country road from Meaux to Paris. This was the same trip his father took to work every day. Anton hardly ever went to Paris, but he almost always went to the longhouse with his Uncle.
The longhouse looked just about like every other farmhouse, although it was long and wide and not too tall. Uncle Rupert pulled into the gravel drive leading to the large aluminum doors at the center of the building. After Uncle Rupert parked the car, he went inside the longhouse. Anton tagged along behind him.
The farm sat to the right and the dairy sat to the left. Uncle Rupert went to the right.
“Aren’t we going to buy cheese?” asked Anton.
“Soon,” replied his uncle, “but I thought I’d show you how cheese is made.”
They walked down the center aisle. Several large machines lined this half of the longhouse. There was even shelves full of cheese. It reminded Anton of a library.
Further along, they passed the mixing tanks, followed by a row of holding pens at the far end. Men were guiding goats from the pasture to the holding pens.
“Here is where milk comes from,” said Uncle Rupert.
“I thought cheese came from cows.”
“Cheese does come from cows, but it comes from goats and sheep, too. All female mammals can create milk.”
The farmers hooked nozzles to the goat’s udders before turning on the milking machines. The machine pumped milk from the udders, depositing it into large vats.
“They take the milk and put it into holding tanks. You’ve seen curdled milk, haven’t you?”
“Of course, but it’s spoiled, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” replied his Uncle, “the farmers take the curds and use it to make cheese.”
“Why are they dumping liquid into those vats over there?”
“That’s ‘rennet.’ It’s bacteria to help the milk curdle faster. It’s stomach acid from cows. It’s said that cheese was discovered when farmers carried milk in pouches made from cow stomachs and intestines.”
“That sounds gross,” replied Anton.
“I don’t think it’s true,” replied his Uncle, “because if you simply leave your milk sitting out for a day or two, you’ve already got spoiled milk. I do, however, think that’s how they first discovered rennet.”
“Makes sense to me,” replied Anton.
They walked further along, passing the filtering tanks. The vats were filled with curds and whey.
“This is where they cut the cheese.”
Anton giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“They cut the cheese?”
“Not in that way,” chuckled Uncle Rupert, “see how the man is cutting the cheese with a large knife? This helps make the cheese smoother.”
A man gathered the curds in cheesecloth bags. He slapped the full bag on the side of the vat, draining extra way through the netted cloth. Afterwards, he placed each bag into metal circles sitting on a cart.
“what is he doing now?”’ asked Anton.
He’s separating the curds from the whey. The curds become cheese. The whey is a by-product of cheesemaking.”
“What is a by-product?”
“By-products are the leftovers whenever you make something.”
“There’s so much involved in making cheese,” replied Anton.
“There’s more,” said Uncle Rupert.
Further along, a man popped cheesecloth bags out of molds. He peeled away the cheesecloth and dropped the cheese wheel into a large vat of salt water, called brine. The brining vat had two purposes. First, it added salty taste to the cheese. Secondly, the salt in the brine helped remove moisture from the cheese. The less moisture in the cheese meant harder cheese.
The two final steps took longer. This is where the chemists added mold to some of the cheeses. Roquefort and Bleu Cheese were injected with bacteria. Mold grew inside the cheese. With Anton’s favorite, Brie de Meaux, bacteria was rubbed on the outside.
“That’s it,” said Uncle Rupert, as he pointed to a shelf filled with wheels of Brie.
“Where are the other types of cheese?”
“There are special rules for cheese. Brie de Meaux is made in Meaux and Roquefort is made in Roquefort, and Camembert is made in Camembert.”
“That makes sense,” replied Anton.
“And that’s all it takes to make cheese: sour the milk, add rennet, drain the whey, sometimes you add the mold bacteria, and you let it age.”
“Why do some cheesee taste so different?”
“It’s how much you do each thing that makes the cheese taste different.”
Anton took his Uncle by the hand as they walked across the entrance towards the store on the other side of the longhouse.
Uncle Rupert purchased wedges of Brie de Meaux and Roquefort (which had been shipped from Southern France) and Camembert (which came from Northern France). He also purchased whey powder.
“I thought that was a by-product,” said Anton.
“It is,” replied Uncle Rupert, “but it’s useful, too. I can stir it into my drinks.”
“What does it taste like?”
“It doesn’t taste like anything.”
“Huh?”
“Whey powder helps my body work better. You know how I have diabetes, right?”
Anton nodded.
“My body cannot produce insulin. Insulin sort of ‘eats’ sugar in the body. That sugar is pure energy. Whey powder helps my body make insulin.
“That’s neat.”
“It sure is,” said Uncle Rupert.
Anton carried the grocery bag to ‘Le Car’, holding it in his lap the whole way home. As they returned on the same road they came, As they passed each farm, Anton waved to every sheep, goat, and cow.
“Bonjour, cheesemakers!”
“Mooo!” bellowed a cow.
“moooooo!” replied Anton.
“Don’t you mean Meaux?” chuckled Uncle Rupert.
“Cows don’t Meaux. Only goats Meaux.”
“Not true. There are some Brie de Meaux made from cow’s milk.”
Anton leaned his head outthe car window.
“Meaux!” he bellowed.
“Moo!” replied some cows.
And the rest of the cows?
They went “Meaux!”
Where Cows Go Meaux
