On Friday before Labor Day, a sporadically rainy day, mom and I drove on Pennsylvania’s route 28, about 40+ miles north to a dairy farm in search of raw milk. The farm, found on realmilk.com, would only sell us milk for few hours in the morning and few in the evening. Route 28 goes upstream Allegheny river with many beautiful sights I completely ignored in anticipation of acquiring what I thought was impossible when I first came to the United States some 15 years ago: real unadulterated milk. From cows that graze grass. Not even in vicinity of vitamins A and D. Honest milk.
When we showed up at the farm, I half expected one of those quaint but still artificial farm stores that would also sell country home memorabilia, preserves and baked goodies. But we found nothing like it. We drove up to the barn, past three beautiful grazers, confused what to do next. There was a small shack next to the barn with screen door from where we could hear voices. A collie dog ran out of her hiding and promptly sniffed me. Beauty. Mom stayed outside smoking her cigarette while I walked into the shack. The small space was mostly filled with a huge stainless steel milk-holding container and a big sink hooked to a lot of tubing that at the moment ran clear loud water. Lara, the farmer, said hi and non-ceremoniously filled my 2-gallon cooler by grabbing a metal bucket and reaching into the stainless steel contraption where milk whirled around. I had my loot.
Back at my parents’ new abode in North Side, mom and I poured the milk into 4 large bowls (but not before I filled a glass and drank it. It was delicious!) Since there was no way to drink all of that milk, we were going for cheese. Yogurt and cheese really. After three days of milk bowls sitting losely covered on top of the kitchen cabinets, we peaked at them. To be honest, it all looked a little suspect, you know, spoiled. But mom was not discouraged. As soon as we drained the whey, the milk turned into beautiful farmer’s cheese (if you’ve never had it, it has the consistency of ricotta with sourness of cottage cheese). If I were to be dramatic at this point, I would say that after tasting the cheese I was moved and transported into the most precious childhood moments. It was authentic, real, true sir.