Cheese and Ham

It is written that Parma is the food capital of northern Italy.  We haven’t ventured outside the region to get an idea of whether other towns lay the same claim or even match Parma’s fierce pride in its local produce.  But it is certainly true that the Emilia-Romagna region produces internationally regarded foods, specifically Parmigiano-Reggiano (aka parmesan) cheese and Parma ham.  These two foods are perfect examples of a speciality that is in great demand, and the techniques that contribute to its uniqueness broadly celebrated, and yet is under threat from the homogenisation of our food and the insidious dismantling of localisation.

 

So on Friday (17^th of October) we felt very fortunate to go on a guided tour that showed how these foods are produced.  By the way Wikipedia offers the following clarification:

“Parmigiano is simply the Italian adjective for Parma; the French version, Parmesan, is used in the English language. The term Parmesan is also loosely used as a common term for cheeses imitating true Parmesan cheese, especially outside Europe; within Europe, the Parmesan name is classified as a protected designation of origin (or DOP).”

Our first stop was at a small Parmigiano-Reggiano DOP producer.  The owners, the Araldi family, live near a little town called San Michele di Gatti near Felino in the Province of Parma, about half an hour south of Parma city.  They produce perhaps eight (albeit it large – see below) cheeses per day: this is handcrafted, small-scale, high quality cheese production – the type that has connoisseurs drooling and premium prices being exchanged.

 

The family, I guess, has been making Parmigiano-Reggiano for generations and by all indications (and my inexperienced palate) the quality of their cheeses is very high.  Our guide, Laura, gave us a detailed talk on how the cheese is made – the process is surprisingly simple – and we saw batches at different stages.  Unfortunately they had a mechanical problem that meant we couldn’t see the day’s milk being curdled in the vast copper vats.

 

The wheels of Parmigiano-Reggiano are enormous: the final products are roughly 500mm in diameter (although they look larger than that to me), 250mm high and 39kg on maturity!  I don’t know the weight of the fresh cheeses but I suspect they dry out during their maturation, which means they must initially be 45+kg.  Sobering thought: they used to do the trimming by hand, requiring them to lift and turn each wheel manually.  Now they have a machine for that job, which I think is a good example of appropriate technology being used to support a traditional process.

 

Here are some facts and figures (from the website of the Consortium of producers – Consorzio del Formaggio Parmigiano-Reggiano, which is excellent and well worth a look):

•       16 litres (of milk) to make 1kg
•       550 litres to make one wheel
•       20-24 average ageing of the wheels (in months)
•       39 average weight of a wheel (in Kg)
•       3,080,605 number of wheels produced in the 2007
•       18% export volume / total production

 

Production of Parmigiano-Reggiano is carefully monitored by the Consortium and also, of course, by the food safety mob (perhaps through the Consortium – I didn’t have this clarified).  The Consortium checks to see that the ingredients, production methods and final product conform to the prescriptive and very detailed standards, which must be followed in order to have one of the prized stamps of Parmigiano-Reggiano bestowed upon it.

“The Consortium's tasks were (and are): the defence and protection of the Designation of Origin, the facilitation of trade and consumption by promoting every initiative aimed at safeguarding the typicality and unique features of the product.”

 

Anything less is rejected and sold as an inferior (but still pretty damn good) cheese that obviously attracts a lower price from the wholesalers/retailers.  Little is wasted – even the trimmings are processed and sold as ‘ready to use’ pre-packaged grated Parmesan cheese – and each individual cheese is nurtured for obvious reasons.  A top class cheese aged for 30 months will retail for at least €14 per kg, making the wheel potentially worth €500 or A$1,000 (we saw 24-month old cheese selling at the market for around €11 per kg).

 

At the end of the tour, Mamma Araldi gave us a taste of 12-month old cheese versus 36-month old cheese, and the difference was stark.  I’ll try to describe it but you really had to be there: the flavour of the 12-month old was, as expected, mild in flavour but quite aromatic, surprisingly creamy and with a lingering taste mid-palate.  It tastes almost earthy.  Oliver enjoyed this cheese and I could imagine it in a panini sandwich or eaten by the chunk.

 

The grandfather cheese, however, was an altogether different experience.  The dry, crumbly Parmesan we buy in Australia in 200g plastic-coated wedges is a pathetic experience compared to this, which was more crumbly in texture than its younger counterpart.  The flavour was rich and complex, and the aroma flooded the nasal passages.  Rather like the effect of holding a matured red wine in the mouth, the flavour changed and was still lingering on the back of the tongue for minutes afterward.

 

Oliver didn’t like it, which was great because I got to have his share.  No sandwiches for this cheese: it is for savouring and enjoying in its own right.  Parmigiano-Reggiano is a staple in the diet of people in this region, and for good reason.  It is an excellent nutrient-dense and easily digestible food, which means Weston A. Price himself would have recommended it, I’m sure.

 

“The protein in Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese has two particular characteristics; it is rich in essential amino acids that in turn are easy to digest. Because of the activity of protein enzymes coming from milk and natural whey starter, the casein is broken down into smaller fragments, as it will happen in stomach, so that aged Parmigiano-Reggiano created by this ‘pre digestive’ activity is more easily digested and absorbed by the body. 
Beside this the combination of these amino acids with those contained in wheat supply the full gamut required by the body. 
The degradation of casein during cheese ageing, also reduces a part of it to specific bio active peptides that activate very specific functions either on the gut or secondary organs. 

Bio active peptides potentially control various bodily processes by:

•        stimulation of the immune system;
•        antibacterial activity;
•        enhancing of calcium absorption;
•        control of blood pressure.”

 

Interesting reference to the combination with the amino acids contained in wheat: science once again proving what tradition has prescribed for generations.  Thus, the Emilio-Romagnan’s staple of naturally fermented bread, pre-digested Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese and well-cured Parma ham has sound nutritional roots.

 

It’s also interesting to consider the future of Parmigiano-Reggiano should the politicians have their way.  How tragic that food with such a long and glorious history should be at the mercy of the short-term goals of 20^th century economic rationalism.

 “When it is said that Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese has been "a great cheese for at least eight centuries", it is not only highlighting its ancient origin. Indeed, it means pointing out that this cheese today is still identical to how it was eight centuries ago, having the same appearance and the same extraordinary fragrance, made in the same way, in the same places, with the same expert ritual gestures.”

 

For example, the approved production methods specify that in relation to feeding the cows that supply the milk that supplies the cheese producers:

•        at least 35% of dry matter must be supplied by forage produced on the farm;
•        at least 75% of dry matter must be supplied by forage coming from the Region of Origin.

“Based on the previous clause, a farm is considered suitable if it has an area/cattle ratio (UAA) of at least 0.33 ha per lactation cow in the plains and 0.50 ha in the mountains. Should the farm area be less, the farmer must provide the necessary documentation proving the origin of the forage purchased.”

 

This makes the cheese extra special because currently only a small percentage of Italian bovine milk is produced from cows on pasture.  The challenge is this: according to Laura, the European Union has capped the quantity of milk produced in Italy and, consequently, Italian politicians have signed off on the requirement for Italy to purchase its additional milk needs from France.  Thus, should the quantity of suitable Italian milk diminish, the level of production of true formaggio Parmigiano-Reggiano will dramatically fall.

 

Another threat is that due to global warming and other key influences, the price of suitable milk is going up, but the price of cheese is not rising in correspondence.  I’m not sure why this is so, possibly it’s a consequence of marketplace dealings, where products are often pre-sold.  This means the producers, who are not necessarily the suppliers of the raw milk, are bridging the price gap.  This is not sustainable.

 

It is ironic, then (from my perspective) that the future of Parmigiano-Reggiano probably lies in the rigorous application and defence of the standards that make this cheese so special, together with careful political lobbying and consumer education.  Having argued for years against external regulation, I can now see that third party accreditation is beneficial in reference to the quality of the end product, more so than its safety.  There is a strong case for returning to the guild approach, where quality is determined and prescribed by those who produce it, and thereby recognising the art of good quality food production (‘artisanal’ in its truest sense, instead of just a marketing term).

 

This then brings me back, once again, to the thorny issue of quality – what is it?  Can it truly be objective or is it by necessity subjective when applied to food?  How can we include in standards references to ‘mouth feel’ and ‘crumble sensation’?  How can we quantify, measure and standardise the outcomes of a consortium tester smelling the aromas being released from the carved horse tibia he uses to probe hams before determining their grading?

 

If taste, texture, mouth-feel and other sensual qualities are not valued, the arguments for standardisation of food according to economic criteria become stronger: the safety of the food and its price become the over-riding factors.  I am beginning to appreciate why Carlo Petrini has asked that discussions of quality be included in the curriculum of the undergraduate course at the University of Gastronomic Sciences.  This discussion is critical to the future production of good quality food.  Without it we may as well be eating gruel.

 

Our next destination was a large producer of Parma Ham – the Conti factory in the hills behind Langhirano.  Here we experienced the relationship between an operation’s size and its concern for health & safety: after signing a liability disclaimer, we donned disposable coats, hats and shoe covers before entering the factory.  The sheer scale of their production was overwhelming.  Imagine room after room of hundreds of hams at different stages of curing, including one special room with timber rather than metal racks, which housed possibly two thousand top quality hams.  Each ham will be sold either whole or in two halves for many hundreds of dollars and the factory holds the best quality ones for more than 12 months – talk about appreciating assets!  I found it interesting that not only is the flavour standardised but also each ham looks exactly the same as its neighbour.  The visual effect was stunning.

 

From Wikipedia again:

“Prosciutto (pronounced "pro-shoo-toe") is the Italian word for ham. In English the word is almost always used for an aged, dry-cured, spiced Italian ham that is usually sliced thin and served without cooking. In Italian, however it's paramount to distinguish between "prosciutto crudo" (raw) and "prosciutto cotto" (cooked - which instead identifies the wet cured ham). The most renowned and pricy legs of "prosciutto" come from central and northern Italy (Tuscany and Emilia in particular), such as Prosciutto di Parma and Prosciutto di San Daniele.”

 

Like Parmigiano-Reggiano, Parma Ham is produced under strict guidelines specified by the Consortium, i.e. Consorzio del Prosciutto di Parma, which has been established, in part, to protect from imitations this ancient food – references to ham production in this region date back to at least 2 BC!  I wonder if imitations were an issue back then: I suspect they are more an indicator of successful branding than of any problem with copying good food production practices.

 

However, the origin is especially important in this process: here the unique geographical makeup creates the perfect combination of temperature and humidity for optimum curing.

In a gentle landscape, with softly rolling hills, fields and farmsteads, the dry and sweet-smelling breezes from the Apennine mountains creating the perfect and unique environmental conditions for a natural “drying” of Parma Ham.

 

Even with today’s high-tech production, the hams are still naturally air-cured for a good part of the process: the buildings have specially designed windows covered with perforated slats to draw air in from the shady side.  This cool mountain air is part of the overall ‘terroire’, if you like: no other place in the world could obtain the unique Parma ham flavour (which makes imitations doubly offensive).

 

Laura explained that even factory curing, even though it is done in large, temperature-controlled rooms, is designed to mimic the traditional methods.  Pigs are traditionally slaughtered around the time of the harvest moon and so the factory schedules the hams to spend several weeks in conditions of lower temperature, higher humidity (winter) followed by several months of higher temperature, lower humidity (spring/summer) followed by a period of cellaring.  The final product is concentrated in both flavour and size: the hams lose about 28% of their initial weight.

 

During our travels in this region, we haven’t seen any obvious evidence of pigs, which made the sight of so many hind legs hanging in row after row almost surreal.  In 2007, the Consortium says that 9.5 million Parma hams were produced, so somewhere there are this year’s 4.75 million Parma pigs lurking around a corner we haven’t yet turned.

 

Apparently the pigs are raised elsewhere, but still under very strict guidelines in relation to their breed, feed, final weight and slaughter.

The secret of Parma Ham begins with careful and accurate selection of the raw materials: the pigs.  The Large White, Landrance and Duroc breeds are used and the mean weight per batch must be 160Kg (+/- 10%).  Only castrated males are used in the production. The feeding of the swine and the breeding techniques are regulated to ensure a heavy pig with a moderate daily growth in an excellent state of health.

 

It’s interesting that one of the traditional foods for Parma ham pigs – and another factor that would have contributed to the celebrated terroire – is whey, which comes from guess-which-process.

 

Factory tour over, we retired to a restaurant on the other side of Langhirano for a ‘degustazione’ of products we had just seen being made.  The restaurant is part of a larger enterprise, Ariola, where they make wine and various other products, but through which the Conti hams are distributed – I suspect we would not have managed to taste such a prized food otherwise.

 

We were first served a platter of the said ham, together with a selection of pickled, oiled and dried vegetables such as onion, capsicum and tomato, and accompanied by the ubiquitous basket of country bread and the house sparkling white wine (I didn’t catch the name but it was excellent).

 

I’ll have a go at describing the meat but, again, you really had to be there (better still: shout yourself 50g at the best importing delicatessen you can find).  It’s so unbelievably delicate, a quality that is aided by being cut into paper-thin slices.  The texture verges on melt-in-the-mouth but with a bit of ‘chew’ to give it a pleasant mouth feel.  I thought it was a bit like very thin fruit leather.  The flavour is surprisingly aromatic and sweet but also quite strong – you don’t need a lot to experience Parma ham (which is a good thing if you are concerned about cost: the top shelf ham retails around here for about €50 per kg).  This is a food to savour and swoon over.

 

The next course consisted of other meats, including coppa, which is cured pork neck meat – a similar but stronger flavour and more robust texture than Parma ham.  Some people here prefer coppa, perhaps in the same way that some back home prefer a solid t-bone to a tender eye-fillet.

 

Next we were treated to some 30-month old Parmigiano-Reggiano served in big crumbles and drizzled with 7-year old Balsamic vinegar.  This way of eating cheese was new to me but I’m sold.  Vinegar of this quality is unlike vinegar I’ve ever tasted – even the best Balsamic vinegar I’ve had in Australia seems rough, sour and raw in comparison.  This nectar was something quite different: very thick, so that large voluptuous drops fell from the pourer; sweet and aromatic; and with almost none of that sour, astringent effect on the palate.  I think it should be called something other than vinegar, because the two products are like chalk and cheese.

 

This second course was served with Ariola’s Lumbrusco Marcello, and I’m officially an addict.  The label describes the ‘colore’ as “rosso scuro, intenso” and the ‘sapore’ as “secco, corposo, fruttato”.  Yes, yes and yes.  It was a perfect accompaniment.

 

I love the way the Italians are so generous with their food.  We’ve found this in many places, with people offering us little extras – at no cost – because they want to share something their uncle makes, or because as visitors we MUST try it as part of our on-going regional/Italian education.  I don’t know whether it was included in the price of €20 per person but our host left us with not only the bottle of the preceding white wine but also the bottle of Lambrusco.  I think our cause was helped by us being the only ones in the restaurant and I guess he would have wasted the remnants, or drunk them himself.  So we unselfishly helped him out but probably shouldn’t have – I was not fully in control of my being on the journey home, a dangerous thing when travelling on the right (wrong) side of the road.  But what could we do?

 

I sincerely hope the respective Consortia continue to preserve the integrity of these wonderful foods and protect them from the rationale of shared resources, centralisation, free trade and other short-sighted economic policies.  I would also hope that should the wolf get too close to the door, we consumers (or ‘co-producers’) of these products would get up in arms and support any actions against the madness.  Governments have been dismissed on lesser matters.