Slow Food Tour // Piemonte, Italy

“You can’t leave Italy without visiting Piemonte in November,” is all my friend said to me before I took off to Italy for three months, “The colors alone will inspire you.”

Piemonte is best known by Americans for its hills of Barbaresco and Barolo, but for many Italians, its known better as the birthplace of National hero Carlos Petrini and his Slow Food movement. Slow Food is defined as, "Food that is produced or prepared in accordance with local culinary traditions, typically using high-quality locally sourced ingredients." It refers to food that not only has a beneficial environmental impact, but a communal one as well, and more particularly, one that tries to preserve heritage plant varieties and dishes.

I wanted to go to where sustainability was a practiced lifestyle, where Petrini first declared war against McDonald's developing on Rome's famous Spanish Steps, to where sustainability has had time to engrain itself into the soil and show its success in restaurants, agriculture, and tourism. I began first by focusing on visiting Slow Food producers, but later broadened my itinerary to include many of whom didn't have its official seal (for various reasons, mainly financial) but who still practiced its values. The entire 12 days I spent in Piemonte for me were a beautiful exploration of Piemonte's--and arguably Italy's--greatest gastronomic center. Below are some of my favorite highlights.

BARBARESCO TASTING, CANTINA DEL PINO

Renato and his partner Franca live on Renato’s 70-year-old family vineyard and winery, Cantina del Pino, where they invited me for a tour and to taste the wines they had just opened. It was a perfect first stop for Piemonte, as Babaresco was recently declared an UNESCO World Heritage site. It is perched high enough that you can look over the Langhe river and see for miles the foggy haze that wafts through these steep foothills of the Alps. We tasted their Nebbiolo, Barbaresco, Dolcetto, Barbera, and a blend. In each label and year resides a different composition of factors: grapes from different hills or “Cru,” orientation to the sun, and soils that range from more clay to sand-based.

The operation there is precise, where Renato keeps the grapes from different rows of his property separate in the initial fermentation process so that he can taste the individual differences, then blends them in exact percentages to achieve the taste he desires. His intuition is incredible, and both he and his partner Franca do all of the work to create the 8,000 bottles they produce each year. For anyone interested in trying one of their incredible bottles, the 2011 vintages are ready, and the weather was perfect that year in creating an incredible wine.

SILVIO PISTONE, SHEEP CHEESE PRODUCER

I met Silvio at his home, where I was led past rooms filled with antique collections and paintings done by Silvio's mother and friends until I reached the adjoining barn, conveniently located as an attachment to the family home -- a subtle way of saying that these sheep were just another part of the family. 

In this region of Italy, cheese is most commonly made from cow milk, or a blend of cow and sheep or goat. But I was on the hunt for a farmer who continued the rarer sheep cheese traditions of the area. Silvio Pistone was just that. He is a self-taught sheep farmer going on 18 years now, and raises 30 Pecora della Langhe sheep, a local breed of this Alta Langhe region.

His traditional tume cheese is surprisingly simple, but in its simplicity, the quality of the milk shines, a testament to how they are raised. They spend half of their day eating outside on fresh grass and the rest inside feeding on hay he gets from his cousin. The whole animal is used and made by hand—wool meat, and cheese. When I asked "Why not pecorino cheese?" his answer was simple: it's not typical in this region. His cheese is sold privately out of his home to neighbors and to a few restaurants.

He laughs when I tell him our American obsession with pasteurizing our milks and cheeses, particularly for pregnant women. (He has three kids and his wife ate his unpasteurized cheese throughout all of her pregnancies). The practice of pasteurization began after the end of the industrial revolution as our food started traveling longer distances from farm to growing urban centers as a way to retain milk and cheese's shelf life. But when the farm has high quality conditions for the animals such as his, and the distance from production to consumption is shortened, it is perfectly safe to eat unpasteurized milks and cheeses. There are many farms at farmer’s markets in the U.S. trying to practice small-scale old non-pasteurized traditions of cheese making; but because of strict USDA safety standards geared towards big industrial farms, these smaller sustainable farms whose conditions are safer and less bacteria-ridden have a hard time selling their products commercially within our current regulations.

Silvio is a relaxed, laid-back character, but underneath his thick Piemontese dialect there is a fierce political flair, and his cheese making has made him a popular sustainable food advocate in the region. You can learn more about him in the documentary titled Langhe Doc.

IVRINO, GOAT CHEESE PRODUCER AND BEEKEEPER

After visiting Silvio, I drove to San Benedetto Belbo, set even higher into the hills of the Langhe region. Here, I met Irvino and his herd of Alpina Comune goats. As he spoke to us, his young children ate his goat milk-based lattica cheese and giuca hungrily--an old-style dessert similar to fresh ricotta, which is eaten after just one day of fermentation. The goats feed on chestnuts in the old forest up the street from his home, which gives the milk its flavor.

What I found most spectacular about his cheese was that it was aged in an old cellar dug out of one solid rock. The cave was built even before the house was built around it, some 400 years ago. The cave requires no regulation, as the humidity and cold create the perfect environment for the cheese to naturally ferment in.

As the night fell, he insisted that I try his certified biological honeys, using organic beekeeping practices. The honey, lined up by season from early spring to early fall, created a color spectrum directly related to the different foliage they ate in each season. The darkest jars towards the fall got their color from the bees eating the leaves, rather than the flowers. The unfortunate thing, however, was that similarly to the rest of the world, he watched many of his beehives die and collapse for some unknown reason. Determined to continue, he was making space on his farm for 40 more beehives, which carries on the beekeeping tradition that has been a part of this region since the 1800s.

ALBA INTERNATIONAL WHITE TRUFFLE FAIR

Inspired by a conversation I had with my last boss, whose eyes closed and shoulders lifted as she described the "warm polenta topped with fragrant truffle shavings" she had in Alba one year, I made a day of going to the famous Alba Truffle Festival.

Unfortunately, this had been a bad year for truffles, and all fungi in general, due to the lack of consistent rain and alternating dry sun that mushrooms really love, with a cold ground to keep the worms at bay. Truth be told, the locals wait for all the tourists to clear out mid-November, then enjoy the better truffles in December and early January. The festival has been going on for 85 years now, and it’s amazing how the climate change has pushed the truffle season back 2 months since its origins. Many locals I spoke to said that if the festival wants to survive, it will have to change its dates.

Despite the truffles, I wandered through the festival tasting moscato from Asti, castelmagno, blu, and robiola cheeses, sausages, bagna cauda, andtorta di nocciole (a Piemontese hazelnut cake). As I walked by, one of the truffle farmers handed me his prized 350-euro truffle. I had never held food worth that much, and while I was tempted to buy its smaller less expensive cousin, I was advised by a friend not to buy truffles at the festival or at this time. Air and moisture deplete a truffle's taste and fragrance rapidly, and the ones at the festival sit out all day long. Even more alluring is the selection of truffle oils and salamis, but often these are used with synthetic truffle. Supposedly, everything sold within the festival's walls is certified as using real truffle, but given how real truffle spoils quickly, I personally refrained from buying anything with truffle in it to take home. Rather, I was advised, enjoy the truffle freshly shaved over the tajarin or tartare at one of the restaurants in town. So that's exactly what I did.

I ventured to Caffe Umberto – Enoclub at the start of town. The restaurant was chic, boasting a special truffle menu with tajarin, the famous local egg-based thin noodle, and tartare di fassone. While both were well made, the 40-euros worth of truffles shaved on top were undetectable. Oh well. Alba is a cute little town with esteemed restaurants, a thriving local community,  and the birthplace of the famous Ferrero Rocher chocolates. The festival was a wonderful chance to taste a wide variety of Piemontese classics.

OSTERIA DA GEMMA

Here was a restaurant like no other I had ever been to. There were no menus, no choices, no website reading the prefix menu. I had no idea what would be brought to my table. I just made a reservation—the only requirement—and showed up. I was excited by the idea of giving the chef complete authority and autonomy in serving what it is she deems best and in season.

As soon as I sat down, I was greeted with two different salamis, served unapologetically on a plastic cutting board with a chef knife. It is implied, as I looked around unsure of what to do, that you cut off what you wish. After I did, the server passed the plate from table to table. The dinner lasted 3 or 4 hours, including 10 different classic Piemontese dishes of tajarin, pin, and Russian salad. The tartare di fassone was the best I had anywhere, and I just wished for a bigger stomach to finish everything.

A certified Slow Food restaurant, Osteria da Gemma gets its name by its creator and chef, Gemma. An older woman with white hair and a sweet smile, she makes appearances on the floor of her restaurant in her nondescript white apron, house slippers, and basic black knee-length skirt and cotton tshirt. The restaurant originally began as a circulo, which is like a casual dining club for farmers. The circulos became popular in this region in the 1980s, just as Slow Food was starting to build itself as an organization. The "members" club, just 10 euros to enter, were made up of local farmers who supported each other by eating communally and locally. She would make meals in her living room with friends and family, which is the same way the restaurant operates today. Word got out about her fabulous cooking, she was invited to teach her tajarin all around the world, and her restaurant was created.

She’s built up quite a community of international foodies and local fans. Every table, everyone, receives the same dishes no matter who they are. The restaurant, run by her family, preserves the customary dishes of the region and the community of Roddino, the small town on the Alta Langhe it calls its home.

GATASSO, RODDINO

Throughout my time in Piemonte, I made my base a sweet little farmhouse in Roddino that I found on AirBnb. I was given a room down the hall from the rest of the family that looked out on the green hills dotted with their white Fassone cows with black-rimmed Egyptian eyes. On the steep hills that led down to the stream, they grow organic Dolcetto that the daughter makes into a small batch of wine sold in restaurants around the area. The father raises the cattle, while the mother takes care of the home and breakfast for guests. Her true talent however, besides her incredible meals, are her hand-illustrated comic books. Her most recent was a re-publishing of her Mago di Oz, originally illustrated in the 1970s. The book is one of the most beautiful I've seen, and retells the Wizard of Oz in bright watercolors. Their home is filled with a wide collection of books and records, and the family is well versed in the small artisanal food community in Roddino. Their home was a place of beauty, ease, and inspiration, not to mention fabulous home-cooked meals.

ANTICA TORRE

My last stop before heading to Turin was the famous Antica Torre in Barbaresco. Maurizio, the chef and son of the first chef and founder, Cinto, has taught many successors, one of which is the original chef and founder of the famous Seattle restaurant, Spinasse. Cinto originally started cooking in his own circulo, a similar setup as the previously described, and began his career cooking banquets for friends next to his little fishing cabin by the river. Word got out, membership grew, and he was urged to open a restaurant. I had lunch with the marketing director of Prodoturri del Barbaresco, Aldo, who is credited in the last 25 years with putting Barbaresco on the international map of quality Italian wines. We ate favorites like veal with tuna sauce, Russian salad, and last but not least, Antica Torre's famous tajarin with sage. I watched as Maurizio cut the tajarin pasta by hand so thinly with a knife that the pasta fell into a heap of shredded confetti. It is then cooked for its precise time -- one minute--before its tossed with butter and sage. The pasta was so delicate that it evaporated in my mouth.

While Piemonte is a hot spot for winos, the region is still largely off the beaten path, compared to places like Amalfi and Tuscany. And while some could argue that Slow Food has done a lot to boost food tourism in the area, in the various interviews and conversations I had, I got the picture of this being not a tourist-driven movement, but a moral and spiritual one. Sustainable food is a hot topic globally right now, in relationship to the larger Climate Change debate raging in the political and social spheres. But the factor that we often forget in regards to sustainable food, the one that I found ubiquitous throughout this region of Piemonte, is the preservation of cultural practices and heritage cooking. This is the aspect of the movement that feeds the soul of its locals and the community that survives off of it.

--------

***Other worthwhile stops:

• Cherasco, double helix snail-capital of Northern Italy
• Barolo, touristy but cute town tucked on top of the hills
• Roero, a sweet valley on the other side of the Langhe, filled with the delicious white wine, Arneis and hiking trails

---

Day in the Life, Alle Rose Farm // Tuscany, Italy

Every morning, I am greeted at my fogged up door from the breath of two cats and two dogs who are both eager for attention and food. The cats, perfect opposites of each other, clearly try to reconcile how to be both domestic felines, dependent on the food given to them each morning, and rustic terrors of mice, responsible for keeping the farm clean and rodent-free. The male cat, fat and lazy, has decided to dedicate his life to being fed and petted, and tends to rule the bowl at feeding time. The other cat, a smaller female, has made due with the situation by becoming the more athletic hunter, wandering the farm throughout the day and night. For this, she has the respect of the family.

The two dogs, Otto and Asia, also play contrasting roles. Otto, bred to be a dominant sheep herder, has decided that being a playful puppy is far more fun, and in his first 4 months of life, escapes the sheep pen whenever he can to roll around with his human colleagues. Now, he is beyond reprimand--an adorable Pastore dei Carpazi whose puppy fur still stands atop his head, and whose gait still resembles a new born deer. The only one he remains inferior to is his counterpart, Asia, who remains the fierce boxer and ruler of their territory. They are like toddlers in their understanding of dominance and space. If Asia likes a toy, Otto wants it. And if Otto wants it, Asia makes it very clear that he can't have it. The game restarts once Asia has lost interest in the toy, and thus Otto moves on as well.

Asia escorts me to the oldest pigs first, where she is only brave enough to bite their ears when there is a fence separating her from a 300-pound pig, hungry and large enough to crush her if it wanted to. The pigs are the breed Cinta Senese, and have been a part of this Tuscan landscape since the year 1300 (you can see Cinta Senese in royal paintings of that time). Their existence nearly evaporated in later years before the Tuscan government reintroduced them and encouraged farmers to raise them again in the 1970s. Now they're celebrated as the regional pig of Tuscany, famous for the way their meat is naturally marbled with fat, its texture and flavor unique and delicious. The oldest Cinta Senese, who are next in line to be slaughtered for salumi in November, can smell the approach of their feeder (me), and will run as a herd to the gate to greet me, climbing over each other to get in. We put food in their pen the night before, so as to make the morning process more swift, as the ears can only take so much of their eardrum-bursting squeals of hunger in the morning. I ensure you though, these pigs are well fed. The farm follows the rules of the DOP, Denominazione di Origine Protetta, which says that Cinta Senese farmers must feed their pigs a combination of what they produce (in this case we feed them our ancient cereals, which we also use to make our own pasta and flour) and whatever the pigs find naturally in the forest and on the land. Cinta Senese farmers are only allowed to feed them once per day--then they must forage on their own for the rest of the day. But pigs will always eat if they smell food, and nothing tickles their nose quite like the grain I feed them each day. When I open the gate, it's important to stand clear of the way, as hundreds of pounds of might and hunger rush by me. Then, a negotiation ensues as each pig looks at their helping, wanders around to make sure no one else has more than they do, and finally settles to eat. 

I next visit the teenage pigs, whose pen is now shared with the litter of half breeds, whose mother, a Cinta Senese, was approached by a wild boar roaming the nearby forests. You can imagine the surprise of the family when they found a litter of half wild animals; (there is a bull for breeding here, usually responsible for this job, but it remains to be known how he felt about this occurrence). The tame teenage Cinta Senese and the baby wildings don't quite get along, as the babies nibble and bite, try to drink the pee of their cousins, and crawl over each other for food. Perhaps they are a bit too wild, though I think both parties have come to terms with their cohabitation. Even so, their shrills of hunger in the morning are deafening. One can't imagine what a lot of hungry pigs sounds like, though to give you an idea, take any torture scene from Game of Thrones, and multiply it by 21, which is how many pigs eagerly await my arrival at this pen each morning.

With the greediest animals out of the way, my morning calms down. I visit the two pregnant Cinta Senese, who now reside in their own luxury suites--almost an acre for each to walk, eat, and sleep comfortably without the pressure of the other pigs. They each have their own little house to sleep inside when it rains, and a private mud hole to rest in. I found one of the mothers, due any hour now, calmly laying in her mud hole as if she were in a multi-jet Jacuzzi. Her eyes were half closed, her breathing a little shorter, but content nonetheless. ***

The sheep at this point know that I am around, but patiently wait their turn to feed. They don't complain, or whine, but their curiosity is far greater than their timidness to resist, and so they will send one out to me to scout the situation for food. If their pal stays, the rest know they can proceed to food, but if it turns and runs, there is no hesitation to follow as a group. They are the breed Razza Di Agnello Pomarancino, who were originally found here in Tuscany, though in which year no one really knows. Most of the sheep we recognize in Italy are a race originally from Sardinia, who are raised, and well known, for their milk for the pecorino cheese. The Razza Di Agnello race of sheep we have are solely raised for their meat (they don't even produce milk except for their babies), and thus there is something a little more special and more delicious in how their meat tastes. It is considered a highly localized sheep--only about 25 farms raise this type in this area. Each morning, I feed them a mixture of grain and hay, and whatever they find out in the fields. However, a few times now (no ones knows really how), the door was accidentally left open and the sheep were found in the neighbors field, eating the herba medica, a green plant that is both very good and very delicious for sheep (and no this is not a reference to marijuana). If left to their own devices, they are almost always found there, and Otto the sheep herder no where to be found, doing almost anything but the job he is meant to do. 

I next open the door to the chicken coop, which we close nightly to protect them from foxes; though, it is nearly pointless. The twenty or so chickens that reside at the farm live a far more radical, free range life, and I rarely see any of them inside their coop. Instead, they choose to lay their eggs in the tool shed or on top of the hay feed, sitting like princes while the sheep munch around them. They take us on an easter egg hunt every day, just looking for their eggs. Sometimes the cat huntress perches on top of the chicken coop, tempted but also too nervous to ever make a move, watching as the chickens prance about happily and care-free.

I smile often as I watch the animals interact with each other--Otto barking at one of the half-breed pigs, neither sure of what to make of the other. Or the chickens reeking havoc in the fields with the pigs. I imagine sometimes that I am in George Orwell's Animal Farm, and the pigs hold congressional meetings every night with the other animals to decide what games they will play next with their farmers. I anthropomorphize these animals because to me, there is so much whimsicality and silliness, both in our encounters and with each other. I can see their caring nature--a reflection of the love and freedom they are given throughout their life. There is a relationship here between farmer and animal in which never are too many killed, never too many placed in a small area, and food scraps saved for their feed. The animals are raised for our own consumption and also for the adjoining restaurant, which resides 4 km away in the center of Volterra, a small community in the hills of Tuscany, home to rolling grain hills and Sangiovese. 

A tourist draw for foodies and winos, Volterra also hosts a strong local community including farmers, wine makers, and artists. It is a big enough town to have its own schools, local police, and stores, but also small enough to know almost everyone. What I find most charming about this town and this place is the pride in which people create their art--whether its alabaster sculpture (which is famously found and formed here), Sangiovese, Cinta Senese, Razza Di Agnello Pomarancino, local honey (from the beehives we raise), or wild boar pasta made from boar hunted in these forests, everyone enjoys what they do. I feel a part of a community here, not just of people passionate of their craft, but of animals who care as much as I do, the beauty and essence of their lives.

---------

*** The two pregnant pigs had their babies after this was written. Nine babies each the same rainy night. Two have died the first few days for each mother, but this is one of the most successful numbers the pigs have produced, a testament to their healthy way of living here.

---