We met her in Chamberí, a calm but proud neighborhood in the middle of Madrid. That’s where she opened her first Formaje store with her husband. It’s their thing—cheese, milk, producers, soil. A whole universe made from something so simple.

Clara doesn’t come from cheese. She didn’t grow up churning butter or sleeping next to goats. She came into this world by accident, as she tells it.

We get in the car and drive with her to Castilla-La Mancha. She's taking us to meet one of her closest suppliers. On the way, she’s reflective and curious, 
in that slightly restless way.

“I’m more eager to know now than ever. I want to be surprised again. I like letting things in.”

She talks about how she grew up in the countryside. It’s something that shaped her. You can hear it in the way she talks about process, and slowness, and care.

“You grow up close to the raw materials. You see things take time. You understand that everything comes from somewhere. In the city, that often gets lost.”

There’s a picture of her as a toddler eating cheese. She laughs about it.

“I wish I remembered the first time I tasted cheese. I don’t. But there’s this photo—me holding a piece, very focused. I must have been two or three. My face says I liked it. Who knows?”

We get to Finca Valdivieso, and Clara walks us through the process of making Manchego. She doesn’t rush. There’s pride, but no arrogance. Only admiration for the people who make things by hand.

“There’s this Spanish word—oficio. It’s the art of doing. Of understanding a material so well you can turn it into something useful. It’s culture. It’s where we come from. When you preserve those crafts, you’re preserving stories, values, identities.”

We talk about creativity. The making of things. Is cheesemaking creative?

“Completely. You have to be open. Open to ideas that seem impossible. That openness—that eye—that’s essential in any creative work.”

Back in Madrid, later in the day, Clara takes us to see her new store. This one is in Salamanca—same love for the product, just a bit more polished.

“I always knew I wanted to live in Madrid. Even as a child. I love places that move, that feel alive. And Madrid has that. It’s so awake, and yet it still feels like home. Even for people who aren’t from here.”

We walk with her through the store. She tells us stories. Every cheese has one, apparently. We don’t doubt it. She doesn’t make it sound romantic. It’s just how she sees things. Nothing here is just “a product.” It’s someone’s work. Someone’s decision.

When we ask about hidden gems in the city, she doesn’t hesitate:

“Museo Sorolla. It was Sorolla’s house, the painter. There’s this garden—it feels like a secret. You can sit there with a book and forget about everything.”

And she has a thing for old places. Not because they’re charming. But because they carry time in their walls.

“There’s a restaurant called Lhardy. It’s one of the oldest in Spain. I love it. You walk in and feel all the years stacked on top of each other. That kind of place reminds you that we’re all just passing through.”

The day ends, and we sit for a minute. Clara is expecting a child. We ask her how she’s feeling about becoming a mother.

“It’s going to change everything, of course. But I think… one thing I’d love to pass on is the importance of trying to make the people you love happy. That’s it, really. Being a good person. Having a clean soul. Bringing some kind of peace to the people around you. That’s what makes life feel meaningful.”

And what does motherhood mean?

“It’s sharing. Everything you’ve learned, everything you’ve felt—that’s what you give. That’s the whole point.”

This May, Clara stepped into motherhood. Luna, welcome to a world of flavors and stories — your mother will show you both.