By midmorning the municipal dairy looks less like a storeroom and more like a boarding house with excellent manners. Each wheel of cheese goes into the cellar under a palm-sized wool square, buttoned at one corner so it will not slip when the shelves are turned.
We asked at the counter while the tasting queue formed. "I used to choose by the label," said a woman with a string bag. "Now I wait until one of them sighs. That one is ready." In the little notebook by the till someone had written, Thank you for the extra rest. The gouda, I think, approved.
A day later the same woman came back for a second wedge and whispered good morning down the stairs before anyone had cut a slice. The cheesemaker says the warmth is mostly politeness, and the buyers have started asking which wheel slept best.