For Cheddar or Worse (7 page)

Twenty of us, each wearing a white coat, latex gloves, and a hairnet—real attractive—clustered between the vat and the conveyer belt. Quigley Pressman, who was standing at the front of the pack, held up a tape recorder as Kandice drew in front of the crowd.

“Listen up, everyone,” Kandice began.

A chill cut through me. My whole body started to shake.

Jordan wrapped his arm around me. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“Liar. You're thinking about Tim.”

A few months back, we had found our friend Timothy
O'Shea drowned in a cheese vat. I hadn't been inside a cheese-making facility since. I had shared my reservations about doing the brain trust with Jordan, but he had convinced me that I needed to do it. FYI: Riding a bike was definitely easier.

I nodded. “I'm fine.”

“Hey, gorgeous.” Victor, wearing a supercilious grin, pressed in beside Lara.

She swiveled away and bumped into Ryan, who was slipping in at the last moment. His eyes were red-rimmed and tight, as if he had stayed up all night.

“Sorry,” Ryan mumbled, even though he hadn't caused the collision. He skirted behind all of us and squished in between Erin and Shayna.

“Where've you been?” Erin asked.

“Talking to my kids.” Ryan offered a what-can-you-do look.

She gazed at him with such desire. How I hoped he wouldn't break her heart.

“Thank you all for coming,” Kandice said. “It is a pleasure to put on such a prestigious event. I'm excited to learn what each of you know. I hope you'll be open and forthcoming.” She focused on Victor. “No room for smart-mouth remarks in here.”

Victor held up his hands as if to say:
Don't look at me
.

“And now,” Kandice said, “I'd like to turn the event over to Erin, our hostess.”

The group applauded.

“Welcome!” Erin said in a booming voice.

I chuckled. Did she think she was in an auditorium and needed to project? Jordan elbowed me. I curbed my giggling.

Erin must have realized how loud she had sounded. She blushed and in a softer tone said, “Welcome. First of all, let me tell you what our process is, and then we'll dig in. We bring the milk from the holding tank at the dairy to here.” She spread her arms. “By the way, the dairy is way across the property, if you didn't see it on your way in.” She
flapped a hand in that direction. “Next, we pour the milk into the vat, we pasteurize it, and then add starter culture to begin the process. We allow the milk to ripen, which means the lactose, a form of sugar, begins turning to lactic acid. When the curds and whey are separated, most of the lactic acid is washed away, which is why most cheese, except fresh cheeses, have little or no lactose and are okay for those who are lactose intolerant. Pretty cool, right? Okay, moving on . . .”

I knew the next few steps. I imagined many of us did. They are similar among most cheese makers. Rennet is added to coagulate the milk. Once the cheese is of a tofu-like consistency, the cheese maker cuts the curd. Depending on how hard the cheese needs to be dictates how large or small the curd. For example, a soft cheese like Brie, packaged in a six- to eight-ounce box, may be one curd while the curds for a firm cheese like Parmesan will be the size of rice. Then the curds are stirred and left in the whey. Soon after, the whey is drained out, and the curds can be formed into rectangles on either side of the vat. At Emerald Pastures, the rectangles are then
cheddared
, a process that requires the rectangles to be cut into slabs, after which they are stacked, rotated, and stacked again. Next, the slabs are milled into long thin tubes, what some called
fingers
, to increase the surface area so the cheese can be salted. Salt impedes any further action by the starter culture.

“In general,” Erin said, “three to four ounces of rennet are added to approximately one thousand pounds of milk. When diluting the rennet—”

“Excuse me,” Lara cut in. “Where do you get your water? Is it pure?”

“Absolutely,” Erin said. “We draw it from a spring on the property. Any impurities that cause the pH to be less than seven—”

“Has the spring been tested for impurities?” Lara asked.

“Yes. There's absolutely no chlorine, either.”

“Which starter culture do you use?” Ryan said.

“O-culture,” Erin replied. “The optimum growth temperature is typically twenty to thirty degrees centigrade.”

Shayna said, “Do you ever add a yogurt culture?”

Lara threw her a scathing look. “Really, Shayna? How naïve are you? A yogurt culture when mixed with the O-culture is best for Camembert or Feta.”

“Americans don't make Camembert,” Victor said. “That's an AOC designation.”

“Wrong.” I held up a finger. “The name
Camembert
is not protected. Americans do make Camembert, using pasteurized milk. So do the Italians.”

Victor frowned. “Yes, but true Camembert—”

Kandice clapped her hands. “Let's keep on point, folks. The process that we're studying is cheddaring. Moving on.”

We touched on the art of
affinage
. Kandice and Erin deferred to Jordan, since he was the expert. Victor, an obvious
anti
when it came to
affinage
—aging a cheese longer than the time the cheese maker had chosen to age it was a point of contention to him—took Jordan on.

“If Cheddar is ripened carelessly,” Victor stated, “it can turn sulfuric and rotten-eggy.”

“Nothing will spoil on my watch,” Jordan said. “At Pace Hill Farm, we pay attention to what each cheese maker wants. We understand that our clients have a sweet spot.”
Sweet spot
refers to the age where cheese makers think their cheese is perfect; they would prefer to have it consumed at that age. “
Affinage
is about more than letting a few wheels sit until some mystical timer goes off. It is about a series of repetitive procedures: washing, flipping, and brushing—”

“Except you aren't in charge any longer, are you?” Victor taunted. “Haven't you ceded the farm to your sister?”

“She will be as conscientious as I was.”

“Maybe you should write a book about the art.” Victor meant for the comment to sting.

Jordan's mouth twitched; he was doing his best to keep calm. “Maybe I will.”

And so it went for the afternoon, each cheese maker, marketing expert, or connoisseur having an opinion as we stirred, cut, drained, and milled the cheese. Lara asked the most questions, posing hers to Kandice, as if trying to put her on the spot, no doubt as retribution for Kandice's bungling of the previous day's travel arrangements. Quigley surprised me and didn't ask one question. His mouth hung slightly open, as if he was in awe. Jordan, who understood the cheese-making process better than anyone, also kept quiet unless called upon. I loved that aspect of him. He knew when to observe and when to dive into a discussion.

If only I had the same self-control.

We wrapped up the session close to noon, tossed our hairnets into a garbage can on the way out—Kandice lost one of her pink dangling earrings in the process and scrounged to locate it; Shayna and Ryan helped her look; Ryan was the hero who found it—and we headed to lunch. No more bickering, the good humor of the group intact.

CHAPTER

Jordan and I followed the crowd to the cheery room where we had eaten breakfast. Guests were mingling as we entered. Two waitresses—Erin had employed twins who normally worked at The Country Kitchen; they were forty-something and identical in all aspects except for their hairstyles; one wore hers short and blunt, the other sported a long ponytail—roamed the room pouring glasses of water or iced tea. Usually when the inn entertained guests, Erin did all the waitressing duties. I was glad to see she had hired help.

Shayna stood in the far corner, worrying the seam of her sack-style dress while talking to Lara. No, not talking. She was poking a finger in Lara's direction, making a point. Lara batted Shayna's finger away and said something, her mouth curled up in a smirk.

The waitress with the ponytail did a U-turn as she neared them. So did Erin.

After a moment, Lara grinned triumphantly. She patted Shayna on the arm. Shayna brushed Lara's hand away and mustered a smile. I wondered what they had discussed. The
differences in styles of making Cheddar cheese? Men trouble? Their past? Whatever the debate had been about, they appeared to have put it behind them. They had
let bygones be
, as Ryan's mother would say.

Movement to my right made me turn. Kandice halted in the doorway. She was staring at Lara and Shayna longingly, almost in a teenager way, looking like an outcast, the quirky comedienne not good enough for the hot girls. Her head was tilted as if she were trying to listen in. After a moment, she shook off whatever was going through her mind, fluffed her feathery hair, and crossed the room to sit with Ryan. She tapped one of his books, which was still sitting in a short stack on the table, and said something.

Jordan nudged me with his elbow. “What are you doing?”

“Studying room dynamics.”

Jordan and I often played a game when we went out to dinner. We watched people and made up their life stories. On our honeymoon, we must have dreamed up scenarios for at least twenty people. Most were running away from a dark and dastardly past.

“There are lots of egos in here,” he said.

“You think?” I joked.

“Lara and Shayna seem to have made up, though.”

“I'm not so sure.”

Although Shayna had offered a smile at the end of the argument, she still looked teary. Was there something going on in her personal life?

Lara now stood near a window, a cell phone pressed to her ear. Her mouth was moving. Was she spilling some secret Shayna had imparted? To a tabloid magazine? To a supplier?

A prickle of irritation nicked my insides. I said to Jordan, “Why does Lara feel compelled to belittle others?”

“Some people get a tremendous sense of power from that kind of behavior. I think it's a coping mechanism.”

“Wow, Dr. Pace,” I teased. “Have you been boning up on psychology again?”

“Maybe.” Jordan winked. “Hmm, let's see. Have you
heard this one? ‘The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.'”

“William Camden,” I said. “1605.” I wasn't super smart. I'd been studying up on cheese sayings, thinking I might use a few in my marketing strategy, and Jordan knew it. The Internet is a wonder when it comes to tracking down obscure things. Type in
cheese > quotes
and all sorts of witty sayings come up, like, “Age is something that doesn't matter, unless you are a cheese.” Luis Buñuel Portolés, a Spanish filmmaker.

“Lara, over here,” Erin called from the table by the window. She wasn't serving lunch. She intended to enjoy the meal with the rest of us.

Lara joined Erin, and the two immediately launched into a lively conversation about something. Erin laughed; so did Lara.

Victor entered after us, his cell phone in his left hand, his right hand furiously typing a message. He paused and observed Lara and Erin for a second. A cloud passed over his face. Was he, like Kandice, irked not to be included? Quickly he tagged Shayna and invited her to sit with him at a separate table. How could she refuse? Feeling she might need backup with Victor, I steered Jordan in that direction.

With deft speed, the twin waitresses delivered a meal that consisted of tasty grilled cheese sandwiches made with thin slices of Granny Smith apples, red onions, mustard, and Prairie Breeze Cheddar from Milton Creamery, an artisan cheese maker in Southeast Iowa. In addition, there was a daring fruit salad laced with wine and nutmeg. The staff offered a selection of white wines, but not everyone imbibed. Shayna didn't. Neither did I. A glass of wine at lunch could put me right to sleep.

Surprisingly, conversation during the meal didn't revolve around the cheese-making process. It gravitated toward regular life.

Victor speared a piece of mango. “My dear Shayna, have you ever visited France?”

She hadn't.

“You are missing something special. The flowers at this time of year”—Victor inserted the fruit into his mouth and chewed as he spoke—“are definitely the most beautiful in the world.”

“Are there tulips?” Shayna asked. “I love tulips.” She dragged the word out while pursing her lips. I got the feeling she was putting him on, tempting him to make a pass at her.

“Tulips? Of course there are tulips. Gorgeous tulips.” Victor pitched toward Shayna, as if ready to steal a kiss. Was he calling her bluff? She recoiled; Victor smirked.

“I don't know, Victor,” I said, rushing to Shayna's aid. “The irises and daffodils in
Ohio
”—I stressed the word—“are spectacular in May. And the grass?” Out a nearby window, I spied the beautiful rolling hills, blanketed with long grass speckled with white clover. The view made me whelm up. “How can you top this? Honestly, Ohio has France beat, hands down.”

“You're wrong,” Victor said. “America can't compare. The hillsides of France are greener and more expansive.”

“I disagree.”

Jordan nudged my foot under the table. He knew I was baiting Victor. “Sure you want to fight this battle?” he whispered.

I winked. “It's fun to rile him.”

“You're on your own.” Jordan pecked me on the cheek and excused himself to go to the restroom.

Victor didn't accept my bait. He swiveled to talk to Shayna exclusively.
Fine
. I tuned him out and bit into my sandwich. The grilled onions paired with apple and cheese was intoxicating. While doing my best not to swoon, I listened in on Ryan and Kandice's conversation at the next table.

“I'm made of rubber, I'm pretty sure.” Kandice set down her wineglass and assessed her arm. “This is where I took the brunt of the fall, I think; honestly I don't know. It seems whenever I have an accident, I sort of—”

“Black out?”

“No, that's not it.” She wagged a finger. “I go blank.”

“You've had a few spills?”

“More than a few in my lifetime.” She tittered.

“Do you think the ficus tree falling on you was an accident?” Ryan asked.

“Of course. What else . . . You don't mean . . .” Kandice's eyes grew wide with awareness. “No way. No one here wants to hurt me. Well, maybe Lara would like to take a swipe at me. She was certainly ticked off about the travel plans. But nah.” Kandice sipped her wine. “I was voted the funniest and most popular girl in high school.”

But was she popular now? Had the tree fallen accidentally?

Erin whooped out a laugh. I glimpsed her sitting beside Lara, and I was struck by the similarities between them: their hair color and vibrant green eyes, the tilt of their noses, their bone structure. After that, the similarities ended. Lara was a head taller than Erin, and Erin was animated, while Lara was stiff. Erin was talking about her brother, Andrew. She hummed a tune he had written; it reminded me of the quick-paced “Flight of the Bumblebee.” I was pleased to hear she wasn't keeping his presence a secret any longer.

Lara nodded in sympathy. “My nephew suffers from attention-deficit disorder. Medication works for him. Is Andrew on any?”

Erin shook her head. “Unfortunately, there aren't a lot of options. Andrew really can't tolerate the two main ones. Besides, the meds don't treat the core characteristics, only the irritability.”

“Some selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors are better than others, I hear.” The medical term rolled off Lara's tongue like she was an expert.

“We've tried them all,” Erin said. “Repetition works the best. Andrew is very bright. He appreciates schedules.”

“I'll bet.” Lara swirled the wine in her glass and polished off the remaining liquid.

“Andrew can do all sorts of math in his head,” Erin went
on. “Rapid calculations. He's what is known as a
calendrical
savant. He can calculate the day of the week with accuracy. Ask him when November 12th, 1979, was, and he'll tell you.”

“Like I would know if he was wrong.” Lara laughed. It was the first heartfelt sound I had heard from her.

“He also has a brilliant ear. He knows what any note is. And he can repeat musical patterns, just like”—Erin snapped her fingers—“that.”

“Sweet.” Lara offered a supportive smile. “As for your farm, I gather you're struggling. Are you looking for a buyer?”

Whoa. Major conversation twist, I noted.

Erin stammered, “Why . . . No. We . . . I . . .”

“Hey, everyone!” Quigley shouted as he entered the room. His hair was mussed, his linen suit rumpled. “Am I late?”

Kandice barked out a laugh. “You'd be tardy for your own funeral, Pressman. Where have you been?”

“Posting notes about this illustrious event on all my social media sites. Keeping the world current.” Quigley swaggered toward our table and slid onto the bench beside Shayna. “Do you all mind if I join you? Of course you don't. It's me. The storyteller.”

Victor didn't look pleased. Shayna offered Quigley a smile of gratitude. Victor and his Francophile chatter had to be boring her to tears. Even cocky Quigley would make a better conversationalist.

Quigley set a napkin on his lap then waggled his tape recorder. “Never thought I'd learn so much about cheese.” He tossed the recorder onto the table. “I mean, sure, Charlotte, you've talked my ear off about cheese at the shop, and that's cool.” Rebecca had done more of the ear talking. At one time she had been interested in Quigley until she found out that he enjoyed dating older, wealthy women. “But this,” Quigley continued. “I'm learning about cultures and what to feed the cows and, well, everything. I thought you shook milk to make the cheese.”

“That only makes a milkshake, silly.” Shayna pinged Quigley's arm with her fingernail. Was she flirting with him to aggravate Victor? If so, her ploy seemed to be working.

Victor grunted and rose from the table. “Don't mind me.” He jerked a thumb. “I've got a few business things to take care of.”

Shayna wiggled her fingers. “Nice talking to you.” She rolled her eyes at me as he strutted away.

I bit back a laugh.

Jordan returned and whispered, “What did I miss?”

“Dessert,” I quipped.

***

When the group was once again reinstated in the cheese facility, the afternoon came and went in a blur. By five o'clock, I could only imagine how the others felt. I was accustomed to spending the day on my feet, and mine were aching with a vengeance.

Jordan and I retired to our room, freshened up, shared a kiss or two, and within an hour, headed downstairs for cocktails and dinner. We both looked sharp. Jordan wore a blazer and white shirt, open at the collar. I had donned a cream-colored sheath with a pair of gold sandals. My mother's pearl earrings finished off the ensemble.

The gathering once again consisted of the core group; the others were enjoying a special dinner that Lois had prepared at Lavender and Lace.

Ryan and Victor stood at the far end of the living room, bent over the chessboard by the window. Their match was heated. The group of war veterans who played chess on Sundays in the Village Green couldn't have repositioned their men faster. I heard Victor say, “Your sister!” as Ryan took a bishop.

Kandice lingered in the far corner by herself, speaking into her cell phone. Shayna hovered beside the bar. She was sniffing an opened bottle of cabernet and admiring its label.

Lara entered the room and marched to Shayna. She
snatched the bottle from her hands. “Mine,” she said. “It's not for you.”

Shayna lasered Lara with a peeved look and threw both hands up in the air. “Fine.” She pivoted and spotted Jordan and me. Her face relaxed. Joining us, she greeted me with a hug. “Have you had a good day?”

“Excellent,” I said. “I'm learning so much.” Nothing I could use in practicality, of course, but it was interesting information I could share with my customers.

When the ponytailed waitress announced dinner, we migrated to the formal dining room. Erin and the staff had elaborately draped the table with a white linen tablecloth and set it with Towle “King Richard” sterling silver flatware and Wedgwood white bone china. Light from a candle-style chandelier glittered on the gold walls and off the crystal goblets.