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Fabio Parasecoli, associate professor and co-chair of the Food Studies Program at The New School,Michele Manelli, president and winemaker of Salcheto Winery, and professor Lorenzo Zanni from the University of Siena presents the Italian Report on Wine Sustainability.

This work was produced by the Italian Forum for Wine Sustainability, a group supported by Unione Italiana Vini and Gambero Rosso, with over 30 members from universities, research centers, certification bodies and associations who are promoting a sustainable wine business model across production and markets. Over 1,000 Italian wineries participated in a survey to accurately access the progression of sustainable winemaking in Italy.

The roundtable discussion on sustainability in the wine industry was moderated by Professor Parasecoli with featured panelists to include Michele Manelli, Dr. Vino blogger Dr. Tyler Colman, and Bruce Schneider from the Gotham Project. They  discussed sustainability issues and challenges within the wine industry in Europe and the U.S., including cultural, macro economic and business practices with a goal of defining best practices.

 

Summer 2009 Italy 667

Tasting

by Suzanne Parker

We were going to try the wines of Chianti. To do this, we had rented a car and driven up some very long roads on very steep cliffs that surprised us as we had thought that all of Tuscany was as unobstructed and undulating as the postcard image we carried in our heads across the Atlantic and into the rental office and onto the highway we could not exit because Italians seem to like expressing from one side of their country to the next. It had all started with a map and a thought that an obligation—to taste, to buy, to become the figures beside the emblematic tree—must be fulfilled, so we had driven from one vineyard to the next. Many were closed or locked behind ornate iron gates with a family crest like a wine label impressed upon them. We passed one, talking ourselves out of going in, then two, and on a third stiffly u-turned out of the long driveway, sure that cameras watched us and guards laughed. What were we afraid of? Being made fools, possibly, slurping from our tasting glasses, secretly whispering that we thought the cheap stuff best. There seems to be nothing as imposing as knowledge to which you don’t have access—a classic, a Tolstoy or Dickens, assigned in school but, instead, you went sledding and then ate ten Oreos dunked in milk, crumbs scattering the sheets and smashed between the pages of the book used as a plate then kicked to the floor as the dog hauled himself up and curled against you in sleep. Or simply, we were feeling yet again our American natures. So often I cram what is in front of me, swallowing because the time is passing, another forkful already in transit, and because there will always be more, because I am American, and there will be an endless supply of takeout containers. Knowing this, I consume with more force than passion, with speed too impatient for the subtleties to be deciphered with the nose or eye. Having finally chosen a vineyard based upon the hour and threat of everyone closing, we found ourselves lifting our glasses with a Sicilian couple on vacation as we listened to color gradations and though—red. Swirling the we’re-waiting-for-the-cue mouthful in its big bellied orb, I hoped for a genie to rise and announce—clove, vanilla, a back hoe of oak. It was all lovely and polite and formal even though we found the wines shallow, fast disappearing, which we thought for their cost was a bit unfair. Instead, we bought olive oil, a grassy, green magic that in winter we would open and it would be summer again and the long drive through stepped terraces to the winery and how we stopped on the way out to pet a huge white dog sprawled in the middle of the driveway and then returned to the road and another steep climb to more vineyards we no longer wanted to enter. Once, we had been ignorant and faked it, we thought, convincingly. Twice, might be a mistake, so we decided on dinner in Greve and the owner-tested wine list, and it was lovely sipping our litre beneath the lights and waiting for a food that would return us to confident people who knew the chingale, the boar stew, is delicious and tender and only a fool refuses to order it in this part of Chianti.


 

Suzanne Parker is a winner of the Kinereth Gensler Book Award from Alice James Books.  Her poetry collection, Viral, is a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award and was included on the American Library Association’s Rainbow List of Recommended Books of 2013.  Her poetry has appeared in “Barrow Street,” “Cimarron Review,” “Hunger Mountain,” “Drunken Boat,” and other journals.  She is a winner of the Alice M. Sellars Award from the Academy of American Poets and was a Poetry Fellow at the Prague Summer Seminars. Suzanne’s creative non-fiction is published in the anthology “Something to Declare.” Suzanne is the managing editor at “MEAD: A Magazine of Literature and Libations.”

Photo courtesy of the author.

[La Festa di San Giuseppe – March 19]

by Allison Scola

At this time of year, New Yorkers are starting to see a lot of green in honor of Saint Patrick’s Day. Yet in Sicily and southern Italy during these last days of winter, Sicilians and Italians are wearing a lot of red in honor of La Festa di San Giuseppe, or Saint Joseph’s Day, a Christian holiday that is celebrated annually on March 19.

Saint Joseph was the spouse of the Virgin Mary and the guardian-father of Jesus Christ. A carpenter by trade, he is regarded as the protector of all men who earn their livings through laborious work. He is also the patron saint of fathers. (March 19 is also Father’s Day in Italy.) Legend is that in Sicily and southern Italy during the 10th century, a drought caused a severe famine. The faithful prayed to Saint Joseph to bring rain, and in return, they promised to hold a feast in his honor. Rain and recovery from hunger did come, and since then, Saint Joseph has been one of the most venerated saints south of Rome.

It is no mistake that Saint Joseph’s Day coincides with the spring equinox and pre-Christian rituals that were celebrated to mark the end of winter. In the Northern Hemisphere, March marks a period of scarcity, when stored supplies are dwindling yet there are still some months before the Earth will yield a new crop. The festivities of Saint Joseph’s Day are linked to the land, vegetation, and the animal kingdom. It is a feast of thanksgiving for having survived through the winter months and a request for abundance in the spring and summer seasons ahead.

In Sicily and southern Italy, Saint Joseph’s Day is a communal holiday, and in many communities, especially small villages such as Salemi near Trapani, Valguarnera Caropepe near Enna, and Giurdignano near Lecce, starting days before the feast, they perform a series of rituals. For example, on the night of March 18, it is customary to light purifying bonfires where the faithful burn old and broken possessions they don’t want to carry into the new agricultural year. Most common on March 18 and 19, men of observing communities process a statue of Saint Joseph through village streets accompanied by the local marching band and needy children who are dressed up as angels and the Holy Family: Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

The most notable and distinct ritual of Saint Joseph’s Day however, is the prepared altars or tables, known as le tavolate di San Giuseppe (or a Tavulatu di San Giuseppe in Sicilian). Customarily built by women as a prayer of thanks for the mercy and generosity the Saint has granted to their families and friends, the altars are an exhibition of abundance and a dialogue with God. They are a grand display of local specialties and sweets surrounded by citrus fruits, vegetables, wine, candles, pictures of the Saint and deceased loved ones, and plant elements such as nuts, seeds, beans, flowers, and laurel leaves. Most prominent, though, are the sculpted loaves of bread that represent fertility and prosperity.

Saint Joseph’s Day is primarily a celebration of bread, which in Sicily and southern Italy is sacred because wheat is the most important crop of the region. Bread-making is a devotional act that represents the presence of God and spiritual nourishment. It combines the fundamental elements of nature: earth, air, water, and fire. And Saint Joseph’s Day bread, most of which is not meant to be eaten, is artistically shaped as an act of prayer into wreaths, lilies, daisies, fava beans in their pods, fish, butterflies, doves, chalices, hearts, hands, and carpentry tools such as ladders, hammers, and pliers, and importantly, symbols of fatherhood, such as beards and flowering staffs.

The devotional tables are traditionally dressed with white clothes and branches of myrtle and laurel, which are agrarian symbols of good fortune. The tables are built with three tiers, recalling the holy trinity: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. They also don baskets in which the faithful place their prayer petitions for the year ahead.

After days, and sometimes weeks of preparation which often comes at a great monetary expense to the creator, a priest will come to the home or piazza where the altar was built in order to bless it. It is traditional to make as much food as one can afford with the aim of giving most of it away to the community—and specifically, to hungry and poor children of the village.

An essential element of the feast day’s activities is the tupa, tupa, or knock, knock ceremony. In a symbolic reenactment of Joseph seeking accommodation for his family the night of the birth of Christ, children dressed as the Holy Family knock on three homes’ doors—again recalling the holy number three. The first and second knocks are ceremoniously ignored or answered with, “There is no room for you here.” The knock on the third door is positively answered, and the three saints are joyfully invited to enjoy the bounty of the table.

The children, dressed as Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, are served a portion of all of the dishes prepared. Because the feast is during lent, the main dishes are meatless. Most Sicilian tables will include macco, a dried fava bean puree.  Fava beans are recognized as having saved the population from hunger back in the 10th century because they were the one crop that thrived during the noted severe drought. Macco is eaten as a mash, spread on bread or as a soup, with or without pasta. Other dishes are made with wild fennel, artichokes, cauliflower, asparagus, or chickpeas. Most recipes include breadcrumbs, recalling the sawdust of Saint Joseph’s carpentry craft.

The highlight of the Saint Joseph’s Day feast however, is the sweet sfince di San GiuseppeSfinci are fried cream puffs served hot with a dusting of cinnamon, confectioner’s sugar, and honey or cold and open-faced with a smear of ricotta cream and decorated with candied orange. Depending on the town, sfinci may have a different appearance and different ingredients. In Naples, for example, they even have a different name: zeppoli. In Rome, they are called Bignè di San Giuseppe.

Once the saints have quietly and earnestly eaten, the hosting family and all their guests are invited to join the meal which is a communal and lively gathering of several families and a grand celebration of food.

Some historians believe that Saint Joseph is the Christianized representation of the ancient Greek and Roman mystery-cult figure Liber-Dionysus-Bacchus whose ancient, annual public rites were celebrated on March 17. Liber-Dionysus-Bacchus was the god of fertility, male virility, vegetation, ecstasy, and wine, hence his association with spring’s awakening and the beginning of a new agricultural cycle. Imagery of him includes a staff decorated with flowering vegetation—similar to popular images of Saint Joseph and the shape of many of the loaves of bread found on Saint Joseph’s feast day’s tables. Whatever the origins of Saint Joseph’s Day, the ritualistic activities used to celebrate it are a beautiful request for future abundance and wealth and a wonderful expression of thanksgiving and charity.

Main Sources
– Mariella Barbera and Irene Cavarretta, Architettura dei pani di Salemi. (Bagheria: Eugenio Maria Falcone Editore, 2012).
– Salvatore Farina, Sweet Sensations of Sicily. (Caltanissetta: Lussografica, 2009).
– Fabrizia Lanza, Coming Home to Sicily. (New York: Sterling Epicure, 2012).
– Pamela K. Quaggiotto, Altars of Food to Saint Joseph: Women’s Ritual in Sicily. (Columbia University, NY: Pamela K. Quaggiotto Ph.D. Thesis, 1988).

Click  here to see an example of a St. Joseph’s Day altar.

 

Allison Scola is an independent scholar and professional musician and the owner and curator of Experience Sicily, an education and tourism company.

Click here to read more of Allison’s work on TIE: I Cannoli: Nothing Better in the World, and Genie in a Bottle: Colatura tradizionale di alci di Centara

 

[La Festa di San Giuseppe – March 19]

by Allison Scola

At this time of year, New Yorkers are starting to see a lot of green in honor of Saint Patrick’s Day. Yet in Sicily and southern Italy during these last days of winter, Sicilians and Italians are wearing a lot of red in honor of La Festa di San Giuseppe, or Saint Joseph’s Day, a Christian holiday that is celebrated annually on March 19.

Saint Joseph was the spouse of the Virgin Mary and the guardian-father of Jesus Christ. A carpenter by trade, he is regarded as the protector of all men who earn their livings through laborious work. He is also the patron saint of fathers. (March 19 is also Father’s Day in Italy.) Legend is that in Sicily and southern Italy during the 10th century, a drought caused a severe famine. The faithful prayed to Saint Joseph to bring rain, and in return, they promised to hold a feast in his honor. Rain and recovery from hunger did come, and since then, Saint Joseph has been one of the most venerated saints south of Rome.

It is no mistake that Saint Joseph’s Day coincides with the spring equinox and pre-Christian rituals that were celebrated to mark the end of winter. In the Northern Hemisphere, March marks a period of scarcity, when stored supplies are dwindling yet there are still some months before the Earth will yield a new crop. The festivities of Saint Joseph’s Day are linked to the land, vegetation, and the animal kingdom. It is a feast of thanksgiving for having survived through the winter months and a request for abundance in the spring and summer seasons ahead.

In Sicily and southern Italy, Saint Joseph’s Day is a communal holiday, and in many communities, especially small villages such as Salemi near Trapani, Valguarnera Caropepe near Enna, and Giurdignano near Lecce, starting days before the feast, they perform a series of rituals. For example, on the night of March 18, it is customary to light purifying bonfires where the faithful burn old and broken possessions they don’t want to carry into the new agricultural year. Most common on March 18 and 19, men of observing communities process a statue of Saint Joseph through village streets accompanied by the local marching band and needy children who are dressed up as angels and the Holy Family: Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

The most notable and distinct ritual of Saint Joseph’s Day however, is the prepared altars or tables, known as le tavolate di San Giuseppe (or a Tavulatu di San Giuseppe in Sicilian). Customarily built by women as a prayer of thanks for the mercy and generosity the Saint has granted to their families and friends, the altars are an exhibition of abundance and a dialogue with God. They are a grand display of local specialties and sweets surrounded by citrus fruits, vegetables, wine, candles, pictures of the Saint and deceased loved ones, and plant elements such as nuts, seeds, beans, flowers, and laurel leaves. Most prominent, though, are the sculpted loaves of bread that represent fertility and prosperity.

Saint Joseph’s Day is primarily a celebration of bread, which in Sicily and southern Italy is sacred because wheat is the most important crop of the region. Bread-making is a devotional act that represents the presence of God and spiritual nourishment. It combines the fundamental elements of nature: earth, air, water, and fire. And Saint Joseph’s Day bread, most of which is not meant to be eaten, is artistically shaped as an act of prayer into wreaths, lilies, daisies, fava beans in their pods, fish, butterflies, doves, chalices, hearts, hands, and carpentry tools such as ladders, hammers, and pliers, and importantly, symbols of fatherhood, such as beards and flowering staffs.

The devotional tables are traditionally dressed with white clothes and branches of myrtle and laurel, which are agrarian symbols of good fortune. The tables are built with three tiers, recalling the holy trinity: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. They also don baskets in which the faithful place their prayer petitions for the year ahead.

After days, and sometimes weeks of preparation which often comes at a great monetary expense to the creator, a priest will come to the home or piazza where the altar was built in order to bless it. It is traditional to make as much food as one can afford with the aim of giving most of it away to the community—and specifically, to hungry and poor children of the village.

An essential element of the feast day’s activities is the tupa, tupa, or knock, knock ceremony. In a symbolic reenactment of Joseph seeking accommodation for his family the night of the birth of Christ, children dressed as the Holy Family knock on three homes’ doors—again recalling the holy number three. The first and second knocks are ceremoniously ignored or answered with, “There is no room for you here.” The knock on the third door is positively answered, and the three saints are joyfully invited to enjoy the bounty of the table.

The children, dressed as Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, are served a portion of all of the dishes prepared. Because the feast is during lent, the main dishes are meatless. Most Sicilian tables will include macco, a dried fava bean puree.  Fava beans are recognized as having saved the population from hunger back in the 10th century because they were the one crop that thrived during the noted severe drought. Macco is eaten as a mash, spread on bread or as a soup, with or without pasta. Other dishes are made with wild fennel, artichokes, cauliflower, asparagus, or chickpeas. Most recipes include breadcrumbs, recalling the sawdust of Saint Joseph’s carpentry craft.

The highlight of the Saint Joseph’s Day feast however, is the sweet sfince di San Giuseppe. Sfinci are fried cream puffs served hot with a dusting of cinnamon, confectioner’s sugar, and honey or cold and open-faced with a smear of ricotta cream and decorated with candied orange. Depending on the town, sfinci may have a different appearance and different ingredients. In Naples, for example, they even have a different name: zeppoli. In Rome, they are called Bignè di San Giuseppe.

Once the saints have quietly and earnestly eaten, the hosting family and all their guests are invited to join the meal which is a communal and lively gathering of several families and a grand celebration of food.

Some historians believe that Saint Joseph is the Christianized representation of the ancient Greek and Roman mystery-cult figure Liber-Dionysus-Bacchus whose ancient, annual public rites were celebrated on March 17. Liber-Dionysus-Bacchus was the god of fertility, male virility, vegetation, ecstasy, and wine, hence his association with spring’s awakening and the beginning of a new agricultural cycle. Imagery of him includes a staff decorated with flowering vegetation—similar to popular images of Saint Joseph and the shape of many of the loaves of bread found on Saint Joseph’s feast day’s tables. Whatever the origins of Saint Joseph’s Day, the ritualistic activities used to celebrate it are a beautiful request for future abundance and wealth and a wonderful expression of thanksgiving and charity.

Main Sources
– Mariella Barbera and Irene Cavarretta, Architettura dei pani di Salemi. (Bagheria: Eugenio Maria Falcone Editore, 2012).
– Salvatore Farina, Sweet Sensations of Sicily. (Caltanissetta: Lussografica, 2009).
– Fabrizia Lanza, Coming Home to Sicily. (New York: Sterling Epicure, 2012).
– Pamela K. Quaggiotto, Altars of Food to Saint Joseph: Women’s Ritual in Sicily. (Columbia University, NY: Pamela K. Quaggiotto Ph.D. Thesis, 1988).

Click  here to see an example of a St. Joseph’s Day altar.

 

Allison Scola is an independent scholar and professional musician and the owner and curator of Experience Sicily, an education and tourism company.

Click here to read more of Allison’s work on TIE: I Cannoli: Nothing Better in the World, and Genie in a Bottle: Colatura tradizionale di alci di Centara

 

Photo by Jennifer Martiné

by Julianne Clark

There is no greater pairing than the pungency of garlic and the umami taste of anchovy. Add a few bottles of extra virgin olive oil, and you end up with a local Piemontese dish called bagna cauda.

Bagna cauda is not for  someone who plans on an intimate conversation soon thereafter. You will not get the taste of this potent combination of garlic and anchovy out of your mouth for at least a week’s time.

It is traditionally eaten during late fall and early winter months with fresh vegetables like, fennel, bell peppers, celery, potatoes, and carrots.  There are some variations depending on which region in Italy, some substituting olive oil as the main component with cream or butter. It is generally served in a small terra cotta pot to keep warm over a small candle or flame. I have eaten it in a local trattoria served on a plate poured over bell peppers, but it is not quite as fun as the fondue family style of a home, which consists of having a huge pot in the center for dipping and a plate of vegetables for everyone to share.

Piemontese people are generally private and hesitant to open up until you show them you are someone they can trust. Luca is different. I met Luca at a party through another friend about a year ago. He was hosting a dinner party for two Spanish students who were helping him on his farm. Luca, naturally athletic, is a builder by day and socialite by night. He is almost always in his work boots, jeans, and a t-shirt. His permanent tan from working outside gives him a healthy glow, complimenting a friendly smile.

Every few months he hosts travelers from around the world to come stay with him in exchange for work . For each guest he will host dinner parties filled with close friends and plenty of Barbera wine from his brother’s winery. I was able to attend paella night with two guests from Madrid, homemade pizza night with some of my friends from the University of Gastronomic Science and bagna cauda night with visitors from The States.

Luca is never too busy to have people over, and makes you feel guilty if you don’t come. People come and go from his house about as often as they check their face in the mirror. His place is there, and you generally know exactly what to expect. What you get at Luca’s is a nice hangover the next morning; nonetheless you also get memories to cherish after the headache subsides. He is the first to greet you and the last to ask you to leave, encouraging one more drink.

Dinners always start late, and end past late. During the winter months there is always a warm stove in the kitchen that acts as a central meeting place for two dogs that are about as mobile as your metabolism after Thanksgiving dinner. The friendly old neighbor Francesco is a permanent fixture at the house and rarely misses a night. Other regulars include old family friends and hunting buddies.

For bagna cauda night, Luca, with a cigarette already in his mouth, came in carrying bags of fennel, bell peppers, anchovies, and extra virgin olive oil. As guests slowly arrived, a new dish or wine was added. While everyone else started peeling and chopping garlic, Luca simmered the olive oil and anchovies in a big pot. After a few fistfuls of garlic were added to the oil, the combination was stirred for a little over an hour. Finally, the garlic and anchovies had melted in the oil, creating a thick sauce with tiny bits and pieces of anchovy sticking to the pot.

I had a pretty good idea of what it would taste like as the aroma was stinging my nose, but what I did not expect was the pungency of the  garlic and the slightly hairy texture of the anchovies after you swallow. The first spoonful felt like thousands of tiny knives going down my throat. I was a bit disappointed at my ability to take the pain.

By 2 AM the bagna cauda pot and the wine bottles were empty. The only things left on the table were a few lonely pieces of fennel. We had been sitting around eating garlic and anchovies for 6 hours. Some of the guests, including myself, were either too tired or felt too smelly to go home that night, so we stayed in one of the spare bedrooms.

I will remember the dinner for a long time, not only because of the bagna cauda smell I had on my clothes, but the warmth of Luca’s kitchen and the unexpected friendliness of his Piemontese friends.

The other night I attempted to make bagna cauda on my own with my small, inferior pot and could not duplicate Luca’s version. My kitchen felt cold and sterile in comparison to his. Garlic and anchovies are easy, but friends, a warm fire, and two lazy dogs are not.

Julianne Clark is currently a master’s student at the University of Gastronomic Science in Pollenzo, Italy. She will be graduating this May with a MA in Food Culture and Communications. After graduating, she will be pursuing her interest in Piemonte food and wine. 

by Kunal Chandra

Photo Courtesy of Richard Rayner

There are two kinds of people when it comes to tattoos: those who have them and those who don’t. It’s that simple. Those who don’t have tattoos either don’t want one or can’t decide on their chosen ink. Some are reluctant because of the impending pain, some fear social repercussions and a majority are just unsure of the design that would become a permanent feature. I was a member of this group until a humble porcine being became an integral part of my life in Italy.

The pig plays a fundamental role in Italian gastronomic culture. The country, perhaps, makes the widest range of products from a single culling. Every part is revered, evident in the sheer variety of cured meats turned out by artisanal and large scale producers; culatello from the hind leg, capocallo from the shoulder, pancetta from the belly and guanciale from the cheeks. Pork fat, called lardo, derived from the back, effuses a meaty richness to any frugal dish transforming it instantly into a symphony on the palate. Then there are the ubiquitous ribs and loin or peculiar feet (zampone) cooked on the grill or in stews and braises. Every portion tastes better than the other.

These cuts support my belief in using the whole pig. With an increase in household incomes, consumers are buying costlier cuts of meat, typically found in top restaurants. The rate at which my friends consume tenderloin is both alarming and disturbing. But I question, isn’t it disrespectful to slay an animal just for a single need? It’s a similar perspective with ivory to elephants and fins to sharks. A few of my favourite chefs share a similar affinity for pigs.  Chef Fergus Henderson of St. John’s restaurant in London and Chef Andreas Dahlberg of the Bastard restaurant in Malmo are tireless crusaders of the nose to tail culinary philosophy, currently inspiring a new generation of carnivores to indulge in offal and entrails.

The location of my tattoo, on the lower rib cage, raised a few eyebrows and even more questions. Did it hurt? Are you crazy? Didn’t the needles sting you every time they reverberated over your ribs? The answer to all of the above is yes. But pain can be viewed as a positive feeling. Pain, in this context reminded me of how fragile life is, a part of being mortal just like the animals we enjoy eating. Call it sadistic or a triumph of empathy, but I wanted to feel a smidgen of the suffering felt by a pig as its death knell resounds midst its squeals. And the location close to my food friendly stomach was quite serendipitous.

The parts of the pig were written in Italian on the tattoo. This would ensure a lasting memory of the wonderful country – its language, the culture, the people, an incredible family of friends and life I have enjoyed. The words remind me of every slice of focaccia I have savoured with a cup of steaming espresso, each glass of prosecco had post work at aperitivo and platefuls of risotto with rivulets of unfiltered olive oil and an abundance of parmiggiano reggiano.

The tattoo was also an endeavour to help support local farmers, artisans and entrepreneurs. This piece of art was created by a local artist Elia (post consultation with a local butcher called Marco) who in the process of creating a customised work of food art has now reached out to over 500 students of my former university and even more gastronomes.

Lastly, every time I see myself in the mirror, the tattoo is a reminder of the moment I made a decision and stood by it. It resurrects the strength I have, the pain I can endure, the endless possibilities and beauty that lies beyond.

The humble pig may not be able to speak like Babe but it shows me the path to stay inspired each day and speak on its behalf to the food generation of today… or maybe until my next food tattoo.

Kunal Chandra is a recovering spice addict who has recently received a Masters in Food Culture and Communications in Italy and traversed the gastronomic pathways of Europe. He is back in India now on his latest culinary adventure. View his work at www.kunalchandra.com

by Stephanie Mamo

Small-scale farming has important economic and environmental functions, especially in rural areas. By using local resources and traditional knowledge, small farms preserve natural surroundings and protect biodiversity. Even so, small-scale farmers are continuously facing serious challenges that make it difficult to earn a sufficient income. Issues such as price instability and competition, brought about by globalization and industrial farming, are making it more difficult for these farmers to find a market for their products. In addition, European farmers rarely have any financial support from government institutions, so they often lack the capital and access needed for financial credit.

Figure 1: The Piemontese Breed
Source: http://www.anaborapi.it/gallery_concorso_02.htm

Facing these challenges is not an easy task unless farmers decide to join a co-operative, pool their resources and work together. However, there happen to be a lot of farmers who just run away with the slight mention of the word co-operative. But until farmers understand that their strength lies in unity, we are destined to see more farmers belly up.

Such conviction took me to the small municipality of Genola in the province of Cuneo in the Italian region of Piedmont, where I met Dr. Sergio Capaldo, the director of the Piedmontese cattle breeders’ cooperative, La Granda. He explained how the co-operative managed to save the occupation of numerous local farmers and a hardy cattle breed from extinction.

The Piedmontese Cattle

The Piedmontese cattle, as the name suggests, originated in Piedmont. There are many theories surrounding its origins but perhaps the most compelling is that by Professor Maletto.[1]Through evidence obtained from cave writings and fossil remains, he concluded that this breed is a descendent of the ancient cow, Aurochs, and the Pakistan cow, Zebu. According to his theory, the Zebu breed immigrated to Piedmont in the 1600s and, trapped by the Alps Mountains and rivers, settled in the same area of the Aurochs.

This breed immediately caught the attention of farmers and Italian agricultural institutions due to its groppa doppia or double-muscle characteristic. However, not everyone was in favour of its diffusion since some perceived this characteristic as a weakness. In fact, according to Dr. Sergio Capaldo, around 100 years ago, farmers used to kill this kind of cow as soon as it was born, as they thought it had a defect. Consequently, in the beginning, this breed was only used by farmers to help them in their work.

Table 1: Development of the Piedmontese Breed

1886  

First appearance of the groppa doppia or double-muscle characteristic in Guarene d’Alba

1887 

First tentative start to the Piedmontese Herd Book

1960  

National Association of Piedmontese Cattle Breeders (ANABORAPI) was established

1976 

 Piedmontese cattle declared apt for meat production

1984  

Consorzio di Tutela della Razza Piemontese (COALVI) was established

1988

COALVI quality label was obtained

1997  

La Granda association was formed

2009

Application for IGP designation filed “Vitellone Piemontese della Coscia IGP”

Source: “La Razza Bovina Piemontese,” 9-11

Then, after World War I, as demand for meat consumption increased, breeders changed their rearing methods to make the breed suitable for milk production and meat consumption. However, it was not until 1976 that the Italian Ministry of Agriculture declared this breed apt for meat production.[2]

Another important contribution to the development of this breed was the foundation of the National Association of Piemontese Cattle Breeders (ANABORAPI) in 1960.[3] This association works to establish selection criteria, it keeps records in the herd book and it runs a genetic station. Today, the meat of Piedmontese cattle is protected by the Consorzio di Tutela della Razza Piemontese (COALVI) quality label, which gives traceability and added value.

Compared to other European breeds such as the Chianina in Tuscany or the Charolais in France, the Piedmontese is still relatively unknown. Despite dramatic improvements in quality and promotion, Italians still prefer other breeds, with the sales of Piedmontese meat reaching slightly less than 5% in the Italian market in 2009.[4] Piedmontese meat is not even popular in its homeland, as less than one-third of Piedmont residents purchased this meat during that same year.[5] With such low sales, there is hardly any space for price improvements and so breeders are faced with the dilemma of whether to continue raising this breed or switch to other more profitable ones. Indeed, Dr. Sergio Capaldo explained how until some years ago, breeders wanted to stop raising the Piedmontese cattle as there was no difference between the price of good and poor quality meat production. The fact that the breed is still relatively unknown shows the struggle these breeders are facing to promote, market and distribute their products.

Furthermore, the breeders have to cope with the increased pressures of globalization. In Europe, while indigenous and regional breeds are struggling to find a place in the local market, the latter is being flooded by imports from Brazil (65.5%), Argentina (17.2%) and Uruguay (7.2%).[6] In Italy, 45% of bovine meat is imported from France, Germany and Ireland.[7] Hence, the Piedmontese breeders, besides struggling among the local competition (such as the highly regarded Chianina meat), they must also compete with the international market.

Another problem is the fragile market that cattle breeders operate in. The outbreak of diseases has the potential to temporarily wipe out demand for meat as people will fear consumption. Case-in-point was the bovine spongiform encephalopathy (BSE) and the foot-and-mouth disease crises in 2000, which caused a sharp decline in meat consumption. It took several years for the market to return to its original levels of consumption and during this period, demand for meat in Italy fell by more than half.[8]

La Granda: How it works

In the light of all these problems, the Piedmontese breed population started to decline as farmers preferred to either abandon or replace the breed.[9] It was then that Dr. Sergio Capaldo decided to set up La Granda; a cooperative, made up of sixty-five small to medium-sized breeders, with the aim of giving value to the breeders’ role in raising the Piedmontese breed. La Granda purchases the whole animal and does the slaughtering and butchering itself. Some of the meat is transformed into a pre-packed product under the label La Granda Pronta, giving additional value to the product. La Granda offers its members a fixed price, irrespective of market fluctuations. The price is set at the beginning of every year after consultation with breeders and butchers.

Also, La Granda works with a traceability system, providing a label with the name and address of the breeder. Unlike other traceability systems, it is possible for the customer to know the exact provenance of the meat. In this way, the breeder is not being replaced by a number or by the name of the retailer, but is being recognised for his work.

Quality is another important factor for La Granda. According to Dr. Capaldo, quality meat depends on rearing practices that emphasize animal welfare and product quality. Being an experienced veterinary, he takes care of the health and well-being of all the cattle; he makes sure not to use antibiotics in the first six months, using herbs instead. The breeders of La Granda raise mostly females and castrates. Every cattle is born within the farm and all are registered in the Piedmontese herd book. Another determinant of quality at La Granda is the cattle feed, where every breeder grows different cereals to feed his cattle. Dr. Capaldo stresses the importance of providing a varied diet made up of hay and different cereals such as maize, barley, fava beans and peas.

Through its methods, La Granda seeks to provide assistance and improve the lifestyle of its members. By joining this cooperative, the breeders are able to profit from several benefits.

One key advantage is the annual fixed price that helps minimise market vulnerability and it gives the breeders more financial security. In return, this helps safeguard the indigenous Piedmontese breed from extinction. By working directly with the breeders and giving them economic assurance, there is greater potential for  breeders to start rearing this breed. Indeed at La Granda, the breeders have an average age of around forty.[10] This economic security could encourage more young farmers to undertake this activity. Also, in collaboration with Slow Food, La Granda has set up a Slow Food Presidium to further protect this breed, while giving more value to the meat.

Another advantage is the prospect of reaching larger markets; being part of Slow Food and participating in its events such as the Salone del Gusto, La Granda is increasingly creating awareness of the Piedmontese breed. Moreover, these events help create new distribution links as they provide the space to attract potential new customers.

La Granda has already established new distribution channels, including local butchers, restaurants and the famous Eataly, where La Granda is the exclusive meat provider. Furthermore, La Granda exports its products to Germany and Luxemburg. Through its new product line, La Granda Pronta, where the product is transformed and pre-packaged, it is reaching new markets and increasing the value of the product. Except for the website and promotional booklets, most marketing is done by word of mouth and Dr. Capaldo admits that he prefers to work this way as he believes in the power of recommendations.

It is worth mentioning other developments taking place, independent of La Granda, that also promote the Piedmontese breed. Important to mention is the Consorzio di Tutela della Razza Piemontese (COALVI), established in 1984, which promotes the rearing of the Piedmontese breed according to local traditions and offers technical assistance to the breeders. It also performs several promotional campaigns to increase awareness. In May 1988, the COALVI managed to obtain a quality label for the Piedmontese breed that is recognised by the Italian law. Currently, the COALVI is working to obtain an IGP label for the Piedmontese meat; this label will not only improve the overall quality of the meat but will increase the recognition of the product, hence facilitating access to markets.

All these developments place emphasis on a local product reaching a wider market. This is vital in terms of profitability and adding value to the product. It is evident that specialist network groups such as La Granda are of great benefit to small-scale farming as such networks help alleviate small farmer’ economic burdens and assist them in selling and marketing their products. In addition, this kind of cooperative can also be considered a positive alternative to an increasingly centralised system of food production and supply, dominated by large-scale retailing and manufacturing interests.

Bibliography

ANABORAPI.“ANABORAPI è.” Accessed September 19, 2010, http://www.anaborapi.it/presentazione.htm

ANABORAPI. “L’ Evoluzione Della Piemontese Dalle Origini ai Giorni Nostri.” In Patrimonio zootecnico del Piemonte: La Razza Bovina Piemontese, by Regione Piemonte, 9-18. Turino: Stamperia Artistica Nazionale S.p.A., 2005.

ANABORAPI. “Rilancio per la zootecnia nazionale.” La Razza Bovina Piemontese 1 (2002): http://www.anaborapi.it/RIVISTA/attualita/2002/RIV-SOMM-zootecnia.htm

Ataide Dias, Mahon, and Dore. “EU cattle population in December 2007 and production forecasts for 2008.” EUROSTAT (2008): http://www.eds-destatis.de/de/downloads/sif/sf_08_049.pdf

Bosticco, Attilio. “La Storia Della Razza Piemontese Dal 1941 al 1960 (1ª parte).” La Razza Bovina Piemontese 3 (2010): http://www.anaborapi.it/RIVISTA/ricerche/2010/RIV3-StoriaRazzaPiem_1parte.htm

COALVI. “Coalvi.”Accessed September 19, 2010, http://www.coalvi.it/Consorzio/coalvi.aspx

Dalmasso, Christopher. “Quando La Qualita’ Non Basta.” La Razza Bovina Piemontese 4 (2009): http://www.anaborapi.it/RIVISTA/attualita/2009/RIV6-Qualita.htm.

La Granda. “La scommessa della qualità.” Accessed September 19,2010, http://www.lagranda.it/

Onley, John. “World Italian Cattle Congress.” Accessed September 19, 2010, www.romagnola.com.au

Pacher, Fabia. “Il consumo e l’immagine della carne bovina.” La Razza Bovina Piemontese 2 (1999): http://www.anaborapi.it/RIVISTA/ricerche/1999/stu-carne.htm

Sergio Capaldo, “Rassegna delle attività di mercato: l’associazione La Granda,” La Razza Bovina Piemontese 1 (2009): http://www.anaborapi.it/RIVISTA/attualita/2009/RIV1-LaGranda.htm


[1] “La Razza Bovina Piemontese,” 9-11

[2] “La Razza Bovina Piemontese,” 9-11

[3] “ANABORAPI è,” accessed September 19, 2010, http://www.anaborapi.it/presentazione.htm

[4] Christopher Dalmasso, “Quando La Qualita’ Non Basta,”  La Razza Bovina Piemontese, No.4 (2009)

[5] Ibid.

[6] Rodrigo Ataide Dias, et. al, “EU cattle population in December 2007 and production forecasts for 2008”, EUROSTAT (2008), http://www.eds-destatis.de/de/downloads/sif/sf_08_049.pdf

[7] John Onley , “World Italian Cattle Congress,” www.romagnola.com.au

[8] ANABORAPI, “Rilancio per la zootecnia nazionale”, La Razza Bovina Piemontese, No.1 (2002)

[9] Sergio Capaldo, “Rassegna delle attività di mercato: l’associazione La Granda,”No.1 (2009)

[10] Dr. Sergio Capaldo (personal communication)

 

Stephanie come from the tiny Mediterranean island of Malta.  She earned her Master’s degree at the University of Gastronomic Sciences in Bra, Italy. She currently teaches Diploma in Gastronomy at the University of Malta. An advocate of the Slow Food philosophy, she is an active member of Slow Food Malta.

(As seen on the Heritage Radio Network Website)

A Taste of the Past – Episode 89 – Fabio Parasecoli

First Aired – 02/16/2012 12:00PM
Download MP3 (Full Episode)
From food culture in 800BCE to the present day, this week’s episode of A Taste of the Past will take you there. With the help of New School professor of food studies, Fabio Parasecoli, host Linda Pelaccio takes you on a world tour of food globalization throughout major world time periods. Parasecoli, who has also edited an encyclopedic 6-volume tome on the subject– A Cultural History of Food— discusses the rise of food scholarship in major learning institutes around the world as well how food, not just eating, is taking an ever-expanding presence in every aspect of daily life. This episode is sponsored by Fairway Market

“Food has become very important in social and political debates. So my question is were those debates already there at the Roman times, what happened in the middle ages? For example, is the family meal really an institution or did we create it 100 years ago and we just pretend its been there forever?”

–Fabio Parasecoli on A Taste of the Past

Hosted By
Linda
Sponsored by
Fairway

By Christine Mitchell

When I moved to the seaside Italian village of Monterosso al Mare, I was ready for a lot of things. I was prepared for the buttery summer sun, heaps of pesto coating trofie, and shimmering silvery anchovies topping soft foccacia.  I was ready to stretch out on the beach in the morning, splashing in the clear as glass water.  My afternoons would be spent learning to cook with the fresh ingredients available at the market as I pursued my quest to discover authentic Ligurian cuisine.  I would spend my evenings serving food in a local restaurant to blissful tourists, clinking glasses over a vivid orange sunset.   Days off would be happy afternoons on the beach, and long, extravagant dinners with friends at the little restaurants dotting the main street of town, eating under the stars.  My first summer in paradise went exactly as planned in my little slice of the Italian Riviera, light on the glitz that covers nearby towns like Portofino, but heavy on the charm.

Monterosso al Mare sits in the Cinque Terre, an Italian National Park and UNESCO world heritage site, nestled in the hills of the Riviera that spill down to the aqua Ligurian Sea.  The five isolated fishing villages of the Cinque Terre are all within sight of each other, but maintain their own unique spirit.  Pastel colored houses lean on each other in the shadows of hills terraced by vineyards, battered softly by sea spray and summer sun.  They sit precariously over the rocky seashore, where instead of falling in, they gently slope to meet cobblestone streets full of lovingly worn fishing boats and friendly cats reaching for scraps.  Lemon trees, full of fruit, brush the tops of tourists’ heads as they swarm into the towns all summer snapping pictures, laying on the beach, and in a second, disappearing on the next train.

On October 25th, 2011, the heaviest flash flooding in the history of Liguria devastated parts of the region.  Monterosso was one of the worst hit.  The mountains melted into mud, and flowed with the incredible current into town, filling the winding streets with over 10 feet of solid earth.  The damage Monterosso sustained was worse than all previous disasters combined, including the devastations of World War II.  I looked out the window and saw my street turn into a deadly torrent of mud and water as I saw all the cars, parked helplessly, swept into the sea.  The day was spent without water, electricity, and phones, as was the next week. The isolation that makes this touristy region so incredibly special becomes apparent in a dangerous, petrifying way when you need help, and there is no way in or out.  Nothing prepared me for the sudden, drastic change of my Italian dream into my Italian nightmare as the “red mountains by the sea,” that gave Monterosso al Mare it’s name, became the very thing that almost destroyed it.

The next day revealed a tentative, apologetic sun, as stunned residents left their houses, digging out their front doors and realizing the scope of the damage.  The ground underneath us was debris and twisted pieces of street atop of an unforgiving tower of mud, in some places over 10 feet high.  We cautiously walked eye level with the second story of the houses and buildings in town.  Lives were lost- both in the sense of livelihoods and investments, as well as in the literal sense – the community lost a beloved volunteer in the current who was trying to clear drainage.  That day was a miserable haze that faded into night, and I met up with friends in the destroyed streets of the town center.  Muddy, exhausted, with flashlights and haunted faces, we hugged each other shakily, mute in our feeling of loss.

We could do little, waiting for the train tunnel to be cleared and the road to be dug out so simple supplies like shovels could arrive.  What we could do, at that moment, was the most important thing.

Eat.

With a tank almost empty of kerosene, we found a burner and a huge pot.  Pasta was hunted down, and as a community, Monterosso dined by flashlight in the mud, for the first of what would be many times.  When it seemed like we had so little left, the idea of a hot meal gained monumental importance.  “Breaking bread with friends” took on a new meaning for me that night.

Emergency crews arrived a few days later, and by the end of the week, Monterosso was supplied with two huge tents for the west and the east sides of town, as we continued to struggle without water and electricity.  The act of eating together, crammed on picnic benches, with plastic cups of local wine, became our escape from the hard work of digging the town out, literally, with our bare hands.  The seats in the tent became seats to the best (and only) meal in town.  Next to that deceptively still Ligurian sea, there were no relaxed sunset dinners, but plenty of relieved smiles.  Grandmothers ate at long tables with their hyper grandchildren.  The exhausted town priest, sleeves rolled up just like the rest of us, sat down to inhale warm food. Volunteers from all over Italy, staying with us as we rebuilt, happily joined the residents.  They might have been unfamiliar with the local dishes, but the warm sentiment of sharing a meal is international.  Jokes were shared, plates were passed – over dinner, these strangers became our brothers in the mud.

Restaurants that still had doors opened them, becoming warehouses for donated food and water, and staging areas for the hot meals served in the tents.  With a nod to the long history of the cuisine of the mountains and the sea, it was here I was able to truly taste the flavors of Liguria through the food of the flood.  Cima, a meatloaf of sorts, sliced thin, or pansotti served with a wild boar ragu, caught in the woods a short hike away.  Salted anchovies, that had held this region together through lean winter times for centuries, and warming minestrone, a medley of vegetables and dried beans cooked thoroughly to make a filling soup.   The Italian food philosophy of eating what was seasonal and local served Monterosso well, and there was nowhere more evident then in these tents that the food history of the region was, in fact, a simple and hearty peasant food.

Long before the hordes of tourists, Liguria was a poor region that could sustain itself only on what it could produce.  Again, isolated and alone after the flood, Monterosso never forgot its culinary heritage.  It had been present all along on the tables of family meals, and here again, it was what people turned to for sustenance and something familiar, something comforting, in a time where the whole world seemed to have turned upside-down.  In sparse times, when a town is stubbornly unwilling to disappear into the disaster submerging it, the idea of a satisfying meal takes on a whole new meaning.  People, like their ancestors before them, provided food as a means of fuel for the hard work ahead, and these simple, traditional dishes provided a shared history that helped everyone remember what we were trying to save.

The tents remained up for months.  They served as a Church for Christmas, a concert hall for musicians from around Italy who came to play, a meeting hall as residents started trying to sort out insurance policies, a dance club on New Year’s Eve and still, where we all came together to eat.  For this small community, a meal served as a reminder of what we were lucky to still have.  The beach was no longer full of colorful umbrellas, but covered in villagers waterlogged possessions and shattered pieces of homes. The lemon trees sagged into the weight of the flood.  The pastel houses now seemed to lean a little closer to each other, no longer gently sloping into the lively streets below.  They were now holding on to each other for support, grieving, but still staying strong, like the Monterossini.

In the battered white tents we ate the food of the flood, but also the food of a region that had to deal with rocky soil and a sometimes-harsh sea, and now a disaster of unimagined severity. In searching for the best restaurant and that perfect Italian culinary experience, I instead saw, in the midst of a muddy field of broken lives, a community pick itself up from the rubble while passing plates.  It’s through this flood food that I saw the heritage of Monterosso, and I felt incredibly proud to have those people around me.  It’s true that “tutto il male non va per nuocere” (“every cloud has a silver lining”) and I learned how food and community go hand in hand, especially in my little slice of the Italian Riviera.

Having traveled to Italy almost every year since she was 15 years old, Christine Mitchell one of the many who fall hopelessly in love with the country. She packed up her life in New York City and New Jersey, after completing her Masters Degree in Food Studies/Culture at New York University, and moved to the village of Monterosso al Mare in the Cinque Terre.