Imagine a 90-year-old man, still tirelessly crafting cheese with the same passion and precision he had decades ago. Meet John Interlandi, a living testament to the enduring legacy of Italian migrants who transformed Australia’s culinary landscape. While most at his age are enjoying retirement, John, alongside his grandson Michael, continues a family tradition that’s as rich as the cheeses they produce. But here’s where it gets fascinating: their story isn’t just about cheese—it’s about resilience, cultural fusion, and the evolution of a nation’s palate. And this is the part most people miss: how a simple act of making ‘fancy cheese’ became a cornerstone of Australia’s food identity.
Born to Italian migrants in Korumburra, south-east of Melbourne, John grew up on a dairy farm in the Strzelecki ranges. His father, arriving in Australia in the late 1920s, joined two fellow Italians to carve out a life from 121 hectares of untamed land. ‘We worked nearly every day,’ John recalls, describing a life of farming that included everything from milking cows by hand to shearing sheep. ‘Life was simple, but we ate well,’ he reflects, highlighting the self-sufficiency that defined their early years.
But here’s where it gets controversial: while many believe Italian cheese became popular in Australia post-1950s migration, food historian Tania Cammarano reveals it arrived much earlier. ‘It was called ‘fancy cheese’—anything that wasn’t cheddar,’ she explains. By the 1950s, as Italian migration surged, so did the demand for continental cheeses like pecorino and parmesan. John’s father, noticing low milk prices, began experimenting with cheese-making, a skill John later honed to support his family and the growing migrant community.
The 1952 Royal Melbourne Show marked a turning point, introducing ‘fancy cheese’ as a category. As espresso bars like Pelligrini’s opened in Melbourne, Italians were romanticized as trendsetters, further boosting the appeal of their cuisine. By 1971, John and his wife Jackie established Europa Cheese, initially in Hawthorn, selling pecorino and parmesan. Over the years, they expanded to Dandenong, producing up to 4 tonnes of cheese weekly, distributed nationwide—except Tasmania.
And this is the part most people miss: the 1990s foodie movement, fueled by Italian travel and fresh produce, introduced Australians to cheeses like ricotta and grated parmesan. ‘People thought grated cheese was sweepings off the floor,’ John chuckles, recalling the initial skepticism. Today, with the slow food movement championing local, scratch-made products, Australian-made cheeses are preferred over imports. ‘People trust the genuine flavor of local products,’ John notes.
After selling Europa in 2025, John remains dedicated to the art of cheese-making, striving for perfection in every wheel. ‘It’s got to look good, taste good,’ he insists. At 90, his pursuit of the perfect cheese continues, a testament to a life of passion and purpose.
Controversy & Comment Hooks: Is the preference for locally made cheese over imports a step forward or a loss of global culinary diversity? And as we celebrate stories like John’s, are we doing enough to preserve the traditions of migrant communities? Share your thoughts below—let’s keep the conversation as rich as the cheese John crafts.
