say "formaggio"!
Guys, I know I am the biggest mood-swinger in my hobbies of anyone; I have always gotten these weird obsessions that consume me for an afternoon, a month, half a year, and they are in some cycle of waxing and waning constantly. (This is also dangerous in the realm of online shopping; I get into hours of surfing and become convinced that I need something desperately, and then forget about it the next day.) But even I am mystified by how head-over-heels crazy I have been about the idea of making cheese lately. I mean, cheese! one of the least-dignified words in the English language! (Compare it to fromage - no contest.) It's not like I've mastered bread yet; that should be more than enough complexity to keep me occupied. But alas!
I have been listening to a cheese podcast. I have dreamt up a small fridge I can climate-control into being an aging-cheese 'cave'. I have made mozzarella twice in recent months from extra creamy local-farm milk. I have already wrangled my friend Will, who coerced me into cheesemaking with him last winter, into a repeat and more involved season this year, and aim to make a few waxed long-aging cheddars. I have lurked at the only local cheese shop around, asking the monger (monger! speaking of delightful words) about how various blue cheeses are made and sampling washed-rinds. I have contemplated subscribing to the hilariously punny Culture magazine. I am, quite simply, crazy.
To augment this craziness, after my trip to Chicago to visit the inimitable mirthical and paw through her yarn stash, I have had a resurgence of knitting-mania. I spent literally hours last night surfing through patterns on Ravelry, and then stayed up late swatching. I want nothing more than to spend endless amounts of time dreaming up knitted confections to clothe myself in, cardigans and dresses and long gloves and floppy hats and sweater vests. I may have dreamt in stitches last night.
I feel as if I owe Nora an apology for always quirking an eyebrow at her in bemusement when she spent so much of her own time dreaming of similar things through high school and college. Nora, if you are reading this: you were right. This stuff is awesome.
If only I could go so nuts for the architecture work that is my actual day job.
I have been listening to a cheese podcast. I have dreamt up a small fridge I can climate-control into being an aging-cheese 'cave'. I have made mozzarella twice in recent months from extra creamy local-farm milk. I have already wrangled my friend Will, who coerced me into cheesemaking with him last winter, into a repeat and more involved season this year, and aim to make a few waxed long-aging cheddars. I have lurked at the only local cheese shop around, asking the monger (monger! speaking of delightful words) about how various blue cheeses are made and sampling washed-rinds. I have contemplated subscribing to the hilariously punny Culture magazine. I am, quite simply, crazy.
To augment this craziness, after my trip to Chicago to visit the inimitable mirthical and paw through her yarn stash, I have had a resurgence of knitting-mania. I spent literally hours last night surfing through patterns on Ravelry, and then stayed up late swatching. I want nothing more than to spend endless amounts of time dreaming up knitted confections to clothe myself in, cardigans and dresses and long gloves and floppy hats and sweater vests. I may have dreamt in stitches last night.
I feel as if I owe Nora an apology for always quirking an eyebrow at her in bemusement when she spent so much of her own time dreaming of similar things through high school and college. Nora, if you are reading this: you were right. This stuff is awesome.
If only I could go so nuts for the architecture work that is my actual day job.