Imagine a 90-year-old man, still tirelessly crafting cheese with the same passion he had decades ago. Meet John Interlandi, a living testament to the enduring legacy of Italian migrants who transformed Australia’s culinary landscape. But here’s where it gets fascinating: while most of his peers have long retired, John continues to work alongside his grandson, Michael, preserving a family tradition that spans generations. And this isn’t just about cheese—it’s about resilience, heritage, and the evolution of a nation’s palate.
John’s story begins in Korumburra, a quaint town southeast of Melbourne, where he was born to Italian migrants who sought a better life in Australia. His father, arriving in the late 1920s, joined forces with fellow Italians to clear and cultivate 121 hectares of rugged land. But here’s the part most people miss: their lives were far from glamorous. Days were spent laboring—planting potatoes, fencing, tending livestock, and milking cows by hand. Yet, John recalls, ‘At that time, life was very simple, but we ate well.’
Italian migrants initially flocked to Gippsland as woodcutters and coal miners, but post-World War II, many settled as farmers, bringing with them a love for continental cheeses like pecorino and parmesan. And this is where it gets controversial: despite popular belief, Italian cheese wasn’t widely embraced until the 1950s. Food historian Tania Cammarano notes that before then, anything other than cheddar was dismissed as ‘fancy cheese’—a term that hinted at its perceived elitism.
John’s father began making cheese at home, boiling milk on the stove, as the local dairy prices were low. After his father’s passing, John continued this tradition, supplying delicatessens and the growing migrant community. By the 1970s, he and his wife, Jackie, established Europa Cheese, selling pecorino and parmesan from their Hawthorn shopfront. But here’s the twist: when they first introduced grated parmesan, customers were baffled, mistaking it for ‘sweepings off the floor.’
As Australia’s food culture evolved, so did the demand for Italian cheeses. By the 1990s, ricotta, shaved parmesan, and other varieties became household staples. But here’s the question that sparks debate: has the rise of the slow food movement, which champions local and artisanal products, overshadowed the contributions of early Italian migrants? John believes Australians now prefer local cheeses for their authenticity, but does this shift diminish the global influence that shaped their palates?
Even after selling the Europa brand in 2025, John remains dedicated to his craft, striving for perfection in every wheel of cheese. ‘I want to see a cheese that’s perfect,’ he says. ‘It’s got to look good, taste good, and give you that satisfaction.’ At 90, he’s still chasing that ideal—a reminder that some legacies are too rich to retire.
What do you think? Has Australia’s love for local cheese overshadowed its Italian roots? Share your thoughts in the comments—let’s keep this conversation as rich as a well-aged pecorino!
