Growing up in North Carolina and Texas, I did not have a great exposure to fine artisanal cheeses.  My first trip to Europe in high school introduced me to one of life’s greatest treasures: authentic European cheese.  I was an extraordinarily picky eater, so everyone was surprised that I had an immediate love affair with “real cheese”, the stronger the better.  My crowning cheese moment came years later when I was skiing in the Alps and met “Raclette”.  I don’t know if the atmosphere contributed to the exhilarating feeling I got every afternoon when I would sit by the fire and eat the Raclette oozing off of the wheels, but whatever it was, I’ve never been able to replicate it.

I came home and tried to find Raclette.  I mail ordered it, melted it in the microwave and ate it with my fingers for the European experience.  I finally found a Raclette grill in the U.S.  I wish I could get those dollars back!  There are just some cheese moments that can’t be reinvented, but the one thing I decided I could do was reproduce some of the cheeses that were produced at small traditional family farms. 

I visited Barbara Bacchus at Goats Leap in St. Helena, California while vacationing.  I didn’t know enough to ask intelligent questions, but she tolerated me and hooked me up with a fellow Texan, Pat Fausett of Dallas, to start my goat purchasing.  I learned to milk by putting the goats on the chaise lounge by the pool and clipping their feed buckets to the back of the chaise.  The goats and I were in heaven.  I took a cheese making class at Pure Luck in Dripping Springs, Texas after experimenting with recipes for fresh chevre.  I was astounded at the taste of the chevre.  It was so mild, much milder than any goat cheese I had ever tasted.  I took a class from Jim Wallace through New England Cheesemaking specializing in French cheeses.  I came home determined to have an “aging cave” and determined to use raw milk for as many cheeses as possible.  Jim’s palate somehow detected that there was no buck on my property.  I couldn’t believe anyone could actually detect something like that.  Now that I bring a buck onto my place to breed, I get it.  Hugh Hefner has very poor personal hygiene. He doesn’t get to visit very often or for very long now.

My next class was a master class at Artisanal Cheese in New York taught by Daphne Zepos.  It was phenomenal.  We tasted and critiqued hundreds of cheeses.  With all that fun behind me, it was finally time to complete my milking parlor, cheese room and aging cave.  We added more goats, which meant we needed more room.  All that was left was the tennis court.  The estimate to remove it was astronomical, so we fenced it and made plans to remove it later.  The net was too much fun for the frolicking goats.  It had to be removed pretty quickly. We then decided the goats loved being able to retreat to the tennis court and we enjoyed the ease of blowing it off and sweeping it up twice daily.  We no longer have plans to remove it and, besides, there’s something about haute goats having access to activities like tennis that appealed to us. 

We milk twice a day.  The afternoon milking is a “happy hour”, with wine being served.  The goats prefer theirs with vanilla wafers- I prefer mine with goat cheese and crackers.  Cheese making is going on daily.  We use only the freshest pasteurized milk for our fresh cheeses and never pasteurize our aged cheeses.  You can visit anytime, just call before you come.  We love our goats and love to make cheese and love to share our treasures!