Monday, December 03, 2007

Iconic Italian Foods - Not to Worry about Decline

The ANNOTICO Report

 

Where so many societies experience a gravitation away from agriculture to urban jobs or professions, and a resultant loss of crafts or iconic foods, or a diminution of quality, Italy does not seem to have that problem.

 

The succeeding generations are mostly too dedicated to the "art" of food, plus, there are many examples of "reversal", where young Italians are returning to the land which their parents wanted to leave, applying new business skills to boost efficiency without losing quality.

For instance, Giuseppe Censi uses a robot which looks like a lawnmower with arms - more R2D2 than C3PO -- that  trundles slowly along a track, reaches in, seizes each one of the 24,000 cheese wheels in the hangar, pulls it out, rotates it 180 degrees and then slides it back, a process that goes on 24 hours every day, because the cheese must be turned once a week during the two to three year maturing process.

Another case study: Nicola Zanda's grandfather ran an engineering company that built bridges around the world. His father was a professor of medicine at Siena University. Nicola was destined for the diplomatic service but gave up that career in his late 20s to raise Cinta Senese.specialty pigs.

The "Mother Cuisine of Europe" seems in safe and nurturing hearts and hands.

Parmigiano, Prosciutto, Balsamico ... How Italy Conquered the World

The Sydney Morning Herald

David Dale

From Good Living

December 4, 2007

The icons of Italian food are being refreshed by a new generation.

As you approach the dairy just outside Parma where Giuseppe Censi makes some of the finest cheese in Italy, you're assailed by a loud noise coming from a big barn behind his house. You wonder if the barn is a hangar, because it sounds as if someone is revving the engine of a light plane in there.

After Giuseppe emerges and says hello, you ask what the sound is. He looks baffled for a moment and then realizes what you're talking about. He's been hearing it for so long he no longer registers it. "That's my robot," he says. "Come and see."

He opens the doors of the hangar and displays his treasure: 24,000 wheels of parmesan, stacked from floor to ceiling on shelves which recede to infinity. The robot, which looks like a lawnmower with arms - more R2D2 than C3PO -- is trundling slowly along a track between the shelves. It stops, reaches in, seizes a wheel, pulls it out, rotates it 180 degrees and then slides it back. That process goes on 2 4 hours of every day, because every cheese in the hangar must be turned once a week during the two to three year maturing process.

Giuseppe loves his robot. "Making parmesan has been a sickness of my family for 200 years," he says. "I work at this from 5 in the morning till 8 at night. It would be longer if I didn't have the voltatrice automatica (automatic turner)."

The robot allows Giuseppe to take a two hour break most days for family lunch and siesta - which is essential for any civilised Italian. It's the only piece of automation he's prepared to consider, in a process that requires constant human involvement. He makes 37 new cheeses a day, each weighing 39 kilograms and selling (after months of maturing and turning) for around $2,000.

He has to check the wheels constantly to make sure they don't contain air bubbles, which he detects by listening for changes in tone when he taps the surface with a silver hammer called an orecchio. Only then can he be sure of getting certification from the authorities in nearby Parma that he is producing genuine parmigiano-reggiano.

It was inspiring to encounter Giuseppe as I was researching a book about the food of north western Italy (Soffritto - A delicious Ligurian memoir, published this month). With the help of Lucio Galletto, who runs Lucio's restaurant in Paddington, Sydney, I was interviewing farmers, shepherds and fishermen about the fundamental question of our age: how did the Italians discover the secret of human happiness?

I was afraid we might find that the icons so close to the hearts of Australians, Americans and Britons - like parmesan, prosciutto, extra virgin olive oil, and balsamic vinegar - are becoming endangered species, as peasant skills disappear and traditional dedication is replaced by factory production.

It turned out the opposite is true. Soffritto  reveals how young Italians are returning to the land whic h their parents wanted to leave, applying new business skills to boost efficiency without losing quality.

A prime example is Giovanni Bianchi, who runs a prosciutto-making enterprise called Pio Tosoni in the town of Langhirano, near Parma. His family had been processing pigs for 100 years, but Giovanni went off to university and became a lawyer in Milan. After five years in the big city, he found he was craving "something real", so he came back to his home town and the family business.

The company produces 100,000 legs a year, from pigs fed on the whey that is a byproduct of parmesan making. It uses machines to massage the meat to tenderness, but employs 26 people to trim the legs into shape, rub on the salt and continually check the thousands of prosciuttos that must hang for more than 12 months before they can be sold. Checking still involves thrusting a needle made of horse bone into the meat and sniffing for hints of bacteria.

The secret of the flavour, Giovanni says, is the Langhirano air. On days when the wind is in the right direction, he opens the windows and lets the slightly salty breezes dry the meat. Only a member of the family can judge each morning whether the air is right and press the button to raise the shutters of the storerooms.

Near Siena, we met another of the new breed of farmer - Nicola Zanda, who is attempting to revive a breed of pigs called the Cinta Senese. Distinguished by black fur with a white or pink "belt", they have meat of superb flavour but almost died out in the 1960s as Europe turned to factory-farming of higher yielding breeds.

Zanda's grandfather ran an engineering company that built bridges around the world. His father was a professor of medicine at Siena University. Nicola was destined for the diplomatic service but gave up that career in his late 20s to raise pigs.

"I started in 1997, from no knowledge," he told us . "I read about the disappearance of this race of pigs and I decided it was a project I could undertake. I had inherited 100 hectares of forest, and I realised the pigs could wander in the forest and eat the acorns."

Now he keeps 200 animals that earn him a modest income and huge satisfaction. He's made his operation "organic" and "free range" simply by following standard procedures of 200 years ago. "I would say that tradition is the future here in Tuscany," he said.

Back in Emilia Romagna, Italo Pedroni would agree. In the village of Rubbiara, near Modena, he makes balsamic vinegar. In a world where everything aims for fast and cheap, he takes pride in being very slow and very expensive.

He cooks the pulp of Trebbiano di Spagna grapes for 24 hours, then puts the liquid into 100-year-old mulberry barrels. After two years, he moves it into a smaller barrel made of chestnut wood. Then it proceeds through barrels of cherry, juniper and oak, absorbing the flavours of each wood and becoming more concentrated.

He's willing to let you taste it after six years, but it's not interesting until 12 years, and at its best after 25 years, when it's a thick, purple syrup more like honey than vinegar.

He makes only 500 litres a year and is certified by the local consorzio to call it "Aceto balsamico tradizionale di Modena" (if any of those words are missing from the label, it's not the real thing).

Italo Pedroni says the most important ingredient of his product is time. Fortunately for us, Italy still seems to have plenty of that.

Soffritto - A delicious Ligurian memoir, by David Dale, is published by Allen and Unwin ($49.95).

David Dale is the author of Who We Are -- A snapshot of Australia today (Allen and Unwin). For observations on Australian attitudes and behaviour, go to www.smh.com.au/tribalmind.

 

The ANNOTICO Reports Can be Viewed (and are Archived) on:

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Annotico Email: annotico@earthlink.net