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 white hat, and carrying huge plastic containers of milk.

“You want help make my cheese?” he shouted. (He likes to speak English.) As it was very early and I hadn’t yet had breakfast I declined, but asked if we could do it the next day. “OK” he replied. “My cheese ‘as a good smile. It wins prizes.” (He meant his cheese has a good smell, though I’m sure it’s happy cheese.)

Alberto has a passion for cows. He used to work all summer in the Dolomites with a large herd, but these days his wife and family prefer him to remain at home, so he rents a triangular field about 5 miles away and keeps three cows there. It’s not enough to make a living, so he supplements his income by working at his parents’ tabacchi not far from my apartment.

The next morning, we went into the basement of the local wine bar where Alberto has his equipment for cheese-making. The milk was heated in a large metal container and Alberto checked the temperature constantly. After a while, he shook the vat from side to side and to my surprise, the contents wobbled like jelly. It was time to cut the curds. We quickly sliced through the mixture many times, making a checkered pattern, then got the molds ready. It was scooped into a series of molds and turned upside down to allow the whey to run off. This was repeated several times, each time making the cheese more solid.

At some point which he recognised by instinct, it was time to leave the cheese in its final molds and store it for a few weeks. This, he explained, was his basic formula. Nothing too complex, but fine for the local bar to make its salads and cheese sauces. The flavor from the wild herbs in the local hills was enough for it to be distinctive and superior to commercially produced products.

I took a small mature cheese home with me and, with a chunk of bread and a glass of local Cabernet, it was a feast!