The road into Arenas de Cabrales winds through emerald valleys where cows graze beneath soaring limestone peaks veiled in mist. For gourmands, it’s synonymous with Cabrales: Spain's funky, cave-aged blue cheese so distinctive that it holds a Guinness World Record. In 2024, a wheel of Cabrales fetched €36,000 at auction, making it the world's most expensive cheese ever sold. But the real story lies in the generations of families working tirelessly to preserve this tradition.
It's a crisp June morning, and I join my fellow train passengers from the Costa Verde Express on an excursion to Vega de Tordín, a sixth-generation family-run cheesemaker on the outskirts of the village. The dairy is modest—whitewashed walls, an enormous cowshed, ageing rooms redolent of milk and mould. Here, every wheel of Cabrales is still made by hand before beginning its slow transformation in the cool, humid limestone caves hidden deep within the surrounding mountains. "Growing up, my family lived in a hut high in the Tordín mountains from spring until autumn," says Dorita Díaz Posada, the fifth-generation cheesemaker.
Dorita married at 18, and nearly 50 years later, her life remains intertwined with these mountains. She raised three children while trekking five hours to the family's mountain hut, often carrying them on the backs of mules when they were babies. Though she hoped they would have greater opportunities than she did, she never wanted them to lose touch with their roots.
When Cabrales received Protected Designation of Origin (DOP) status in 1981, Dorita set out to establish an independent dairy, finally realising that dream in 2008. Four years later, disaster struck when a burst water pipeline sent a torrent crashing through the family's business. "We barely made it out alive," the 64-year-old recalls.
After opening their current dairy in 2015, they went on to win awards for the best Cabrales cheese, the best cheese in Asturias, and even a bronze at World Cheese Awards in San Sebastián in 2016.
Inside a cavernous cowshed is where the family’s 53 cows—41 of them indoors—wander freely, grazing on a diet of hay-cereals-corn, lounging on rubber bedding, being gently hosed down by caretakers or ambling towards the milking station at their own pace. "This is a free-milking farm because the cows can walk, eat and be milked whenever they want," explains José Vicente, Dorita’s son. Each cow, which yields around 40 litres of milk a day, wears a sensor that monitors its health and feeding, while a carefully balanced diet ensures the high-quality milk needed to produce Cabrales.
Originally bred in Switzerland and reared in Germany before arriving in Asturias, the cows are milked until the seventh month of pregnancy, after which they are rested on nearby pastures before calving.
In the adjoining milking parlour, an automated system identifies each cow, checks the milk's quality and gently cleans its udders before the milking cups attach. The fresh, body-warm milk is then piped straight to the cheesemaking room next door. "It takes about 25 litres of milk to make a kilo of Cabrales," José explains. Through glass windows, we watch staff inspect the wheels while gleaming vats slowly transform raw milk into cheese. The milk is gently warmed before animal rennet—traditionally derived from a milk-fed calf's stomach—is added. Within a couple of hours, it begins to curdle.
Fork-like blades slowly slice through the curds, separating the solids from the whey. The curds are transferred into moulds without being pressed, leaving tiny air pockets that encourage the growth of penicillium mould, responsible for Cabrales' signature blue-green veins. Over the next four days, the cheeses are carefully drained and hand-salted before being moved to a drying room. After about 20 days, once the first blue streaks begin to appear, they are ready for the family’s three caves, where the mountain's cool, humid microclimate completes their transformation. "The cheese must mature in the caves for at least two months to comply with Cabrales DOP regulations, although the hardest part is getting there," José elaborates.
Every week, each wheel is washed and turned by hand, preventing the outer rind from sealing too quickly and allowing the blue veins to continue developing evenly. To judge when it's ready, the cheesemakers rely on a simple ritual: a long knife is slipped into the heart of the cheese and withdrawn. The scent it releases tells them everything they need to know.
Back in the tasting room, we sample different versions of Cabrales, beginning with a two-month-old cheese that spreads like butter across warm toast. Creamy yet intensely pungent, it delivers a sharp, tangy finish. My favourite happens to be the four-month aged ‘Selecto’—a richer, more complex expression matured in a cave perched 1,200 metres above sea level, a three-hour hike from the dairy. The colder temperatures slow the ageing process, producing a deeper, more nuanced flavour.
José represents the family's sixth generation of cheesemakers. When I ask if a seventh is waiting in the wings, he smiles. "Not yet," he says, "but maybe someday." For now, hope is enough to keep the tradition alive.
Pooja Naik is a Mumbai-based independent travel and culture journalist.