If cheese were a religion, King Island would be its promised land. Disciples and acolytes would make pilgrimages to the island’s hallowed fromagerie, where they would partake in the holy sacraments of Phoques Cove Camembert, Seal Bay Triple Cream and Surprise Bay Cheddar. We know King Island for its cheeses, but many of us might beg forgiveness for being unable to point it out on a map. Plonked in Bass Strait, north-west of Tasmania proper, King Island is tiny – a smidge over 1000 square kilometres – and barely populated, at least by humans. As we drive our rented four-wheel-drive through the main town of Currie with Ian our guide, everything passes by in an instant – the FoodWorks, post office, pub, café and bakery – then the roads become quickly empty. When we pass other cars, drivers raise a forefinger in salute as if to acknowledge, “Fellow human, hello!” Sedate Angus cattle stare at us, satisfied and unblinking, since King Island is one of the few places where feeding cattle grass is more cost-effective than using grain.