Saucer Dairy

Blog

  • Thank You To The Cows

    As the year draws to its quiet end, we want to say thank you. Not to customers, though we are grateful for you. Not to the farmhands, though they are the finest. We want to say thank you to the cows.

    Thank you, Bernadette, for your convictions. Thank you, Mabel, for being large. Thank you, Clementine, for your patience with the goats. Thank you to all eleven of you, for standing in the cold at dawn, for your steady brown eyes, for the long slow gift that you give us every day.

    The pasture is gold now and the barn smells of hay. We are all together. It is enough.

  • Winter Milk Is Thicker, A Gentle Warning

    As the cold deepens, the cows grow thicker coats and the milk grows a little richer. It is the way of things. We want you to be prepared, because a cat who tastes winter milk for the first time may need a moment.

    It is dense, creamy and faintly golden. It clings to the whiskers. It makes a different sound when it is lapped, a slower, deeper sound, like a cello. Some cats weep a little. Some fall asleep in the saucer. One of our regulars, a Persian named Duchess, refused to move for an hour.

    All of this is normal. If it happens to you, please sit down, take your time, and let the milk do its work.

  • Pumpkin Cream Season, Cautiously

    Every October, we are asked about pumpkin flavored cream, and every October, Ottoline sighs. We do offer one, but only a very small one, and it is made gently. Real pumpkin, roasted in the farmhouse oven until soft, then stirred into the cream with a whisper of nutmeg.

    It comes out looking like a sunset in a saucer. Cats who try it go very still, then very sleepy, then rather smug. It is not for everyday. It is for those cold evenings when you want your whole household to be a small warm story.

    We are making just 90 saucers this year. They will go quickly. Dumpling has volunteered to guard them. She will eat the first one.

  • Ghost Stories Of The Cold Room

    As the nights draw in, the old hands at the dairy like to tell tales. The best one is about the cold room, and the milk maid who is said to walk there on stormy nights, wearing a white apron and carrying a lamp.

    She is not frightening. She only checks the pans, one by one, and skims the cream if it is ready. Then she vanishes. Wren has seen her three times and says she is very efficient.

    We cannot confirm any of this. But we can confirm that in the morning the cream is sometimes already skimmed, the pans washed, and the floor clean. We leave a small saucer of milk out for her, just in case. It is always empty by dawn.

  • Subscription Saucers: How The Weekly Pour Works

    Many of you have asked how the weekly subscription works, so here is the plain answer. Every Tuesday and Friday, our cart, pulled by Dumpling, comes down your lane at about ten in the morning. You will hear the bell. You will see a basket with a cloth over it.

    Inside will be your order: one saucer of whole milk, or two, or a mix with cream or kefir. The saucers are yours to keep, and each month we send a new glaze. After a year, you will have twelve, and then a small gold rimmed one for good behavior, which is optional.

    The weekly price starts at 9 dollars. Cancel any time, and Dumpling will look sad, but only briefly.

  • First Frost At The Dairy

    This morning the grass was white, every blade stitched with frost, and the cows breathed out clouds as they walked to the barn. The pump handle was too cold to touch. Wren sat on the fence, puffed up like a loaf, looking quite offended by winter.

    First frost changes the milk, a little. It becomes richer and slightly sweeter, as if the cows are storing summer in it. We will pour our first frost milk on Friday, in blue rimmed saucers with a tiny snowflake painted on the bottom by Hollis.

    Wear your warmest scarf if you visit. And bring a hot cup. Ottoline makes cocoa in a pot as big as a bathtub.

  • The Pail That Went Missing

    Last Saturday the big silver pail vanished from the milking shed. We searched the barn, the lane and the orchard. Ottoline looked in the well. Dumpling looked unconcerned, which was suspicious in itself.

    At last, at dusk, a small clue appeared. A trail of little paw prints, in spilled cream, led from the shed across the yard to the old chicken coop. And there in the corner sat Pudding, curled inside the pail, fast asleep, looking like a king in a silver boat.

    We did not have the heart to move him. We bought a second pail. This one has a dent and a name, and the name is Pudding’s Throne.

  • Recipe: Saucer Porridge

    On the cool mornings that are coming, a bowl of warm porridge is a comfort for the whole household, cats included. Here is our little recipe. Take half a cup of rolled oats and simmer them very gently in one cup of our whole milk, stirring with a wooden spoon until the oats turn soft and creamy, about eight minutes.

    Remove it from the heat. Stir in a teaspoon of cultured butter. Let it cool until it is just warm. Then spoon a small portion into a saucer, with a swirl of cream on top like a pale cloud.

    For the humans, add honey and a pinch of cinnamon. For the cat, add nothing. The cat is already perfect.

  • A Day In The Life Of Wren, Barn Cat

    Wren wakes at dawn, stretches in the straw, and begins her rounds. First she checks the grain shed for mice. Then she checks the hay loft for the mice who got away. Finally she checks the cow barn, where the day shift is just beginning, and she gives each cow a long and thoughtful nod.

    At noon she eats a sardine and sits on the fence post watching the lane. At two she supervises the churn. At four she naps in the warm spot above the milking stall, which she believes she invented.

    Wren is eleven. She has never been wrong about the weather. She says it will rain on Thursday, and we are bringing in the washing.

  • Equinox Cream: Rich As The Evening

    When day and night are equal, the cows give a cream that is unlike any other time of year. Perhaps it is the grass, brown at the edges and sweet at the root. Perhaps it is the slant of the light. Perhaps it is just the cows feeling a little wistful about the end of summer.

    This week we are pouring Equinox Cream, a limited run of 120 saucers, thick as velvet and pale as an old candle. Notes of hay, warm bread, and quiet.

    Each saucer will come with a card in Ottoline’s own hand, telling you which cow it came from. Today it is Mabel. She is feeling large and fulfilled.