Cheese Making

Quite often when I am living in my little apartment, I’ll hear a voice from the street, calling me. As I am on the second floor, I open the shutters and windows and step out onto the balcony, but I can usually guess who it is, my friend Alberto.

In winter and early spring the mist rolling in from the hills can be so thick that I can hardly see who’s below, so I have to recognize his voice. Last week, however, there he was, dressed in a long apron and


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