Fromage, C'Est Trois

A cow displays to us her udder, an asset pleasing to the eye. It is the origin of butter, how so you ask, I'll tell you why. Inside the udder is a juice of colour white and pleasant taste. the hormones of the cow induce production of it, without waste. Had I been God I would have made arrangements for the bovine queen to spend her daytime in the shade until she has a calf to wean. In order to ensure production of milk when little one has grown, and in the absence of strong suction she'd find herself all on her own. The time would come for lengthy walks around the paddocks and the trees. She'd eat the grasses and the stalks and swing her udder in the breeze. The swinging, Isaac Newton says, creates momentous agitation, it's when an udder bumps and sways it culminates in cavitation. And, at that point, what once was fluid with creamy texture, also warm, has turned into, well, yes, you knew it, a solid mass after the storm Now. Udders hang below cows' knees close to the grass and thus the ground, where dandelions grow, and bees along with certain germs are found. Their task is pre-ordained, concerning essential parts of bovine juice. They dive into the gently churning fresh milk the udders still produce. So, next to that big chunk of butter activities are underway. You find, inside the swollen udder fresh butter, cheese, a bit of whey. As you can see, I am a God, filled with exceptional ideas. And don't you find it rather odd? I have a voice that no one hears.