EFSA, Parmesan Cheese, and Prosciutto

Day 9

EFSA, Parmesan Cheese, and Prosciutto



We woke up fairly early and headed over to the European Food Safety Authority for our morning lectures. EFSA'S headquarter were conveniently located extremely close to our hotel in Parma, and we enjoyed the AM stroll through Parma's morning street scene. The super-modern new buildings hosts the European Food Safety Authority's main offices, an organization which formed in Brussels in 2002 and was recently transferred to Parma. Parma is, after all, petitioning to be granted the status of Europe's "food valley" due to its profusion of artisan producers.

A brief account of what, exactly, EFSA is may be read here.

EFSA functions as the keystone of the European Union's Food and Feed Safety risk assessment. EFSA works with national authorities and independent stakeholders, in an effort to present scientific advice and communication on issues and dangers within the food system. EFSA works in tandem with top-notch scientists and experts to produce opinions on the relative safety of the food system, in the hope of heading off the next food-related disaster. The Authority produces opinions on topics such as nutrition, GMO's, nanotechnology, zoonoses (animal born diseases) and other topics related to issue of food safety.

EFSA was formed as a response to the widespread consumer drop in confidence that occurred after the outbreak of bovine spongiform encephalopathy in the UK, a dreadful malady you may know as Mad Cow. The Authority's representatives presented us with three discussions, regarding how the organization functions, their review process (especially in regards to health claims from novel foods,) and some information on their nutritional review practices.


EFSA's formal headquarters in Parma.

After EFSA, it was time to leave Parma. We stopped briefly by EFSA's formal Parma headquarters - located in a very nice park - then drove out of town, heading across the rolling green hills and farmland to our next food venture. Our destination was a Parmigiano Reggiano factory, located about half an hour outside of the town itself. This valley is the only place in the world where cheesemakers may call their product "parmigiano".



When we got to the factory, an employee greeted us and presented us with a plate of (you guessed it) parmesan cheese. There were two kinds on offer. There was a fresh parmesan with a softer texture and flavor, and a harder, older version more familar to the Ameican palate. They were delicious: a clear, sharp, earthy flavor miles away from the junk in the green shaker-container. It is a shame that young parmigiano is not widely available in the USA.



We were also provided with some nice salami, some grissini (breadsticks) and a curious Italian variant on Coke.



After waiting around a while for the tour-guide to appear and sucking down all of the mysterious soda-pop, we were allowed into the factory to observe the esoteric practice of cheese making. The factory was not very large - it's a small scale cheese producer - and had an either pleasant or icky smell of incredibly strong cheese.



These are the huge copper tubs the milk is pumped into. To make real parmagiano-reggiano cheese, the milk must come from 10 KM or less away. No imported stuff is allowed. The cheese is produced with a combination of whole raw cow's milk and naturally skimmed milk, and the combination is pumped into these vats. They are copper because copper facilitates swift cooling.

Starter whey is added, the temperature is raised, and the calf rennet (don't ask) is put in. The whole mix is allowed to curdle for roughly ten to 12 minutes, whereupon the curd is broken up into tiny pieces and the temperature is risen again.



The cheese-makers let the curd hang out for about an hour, then collect it in a piece of cheesecloth and place it into molds. The infant cheeses are then put into a stainless steel mold which can be tightened to ensure the cheese remains pleasingly circular.



After a few days of this tightening process, the cheeses are placed in brine vats, where they will absorb salt for roughly 25 days.


Fresh parmesan prior to the aging process.



Once the cheeses have been brined, they are transferred to the aging room, where they will reside for a year. The aging room was an impressive sight, a veritable Presidential library of parmagiano-reggiano. There is even a nifty little cheese robot that turns the cheeses over once every two weeks, preventing human workers from throwing their backs out. Still, a human being turns the cheese over once a week as well, just to ascertain that everything is coming along nicely. Fine cheese like this can sell for incredible prices. Hundreds and hundreds of dollars is not an uncommon price to pay for a healthy-sized wheel of fine parmagiano-reggiano.



After the cheese factory, we headed to the Pio Tosini prosciutto factory, located a bit outside of Parma in the prosciutto-obsessed town of Langhirano. Langhirano is a town entirely devoted to the production and consumption of ham: there seem to be at least 20 prosciutto factories along the little burg's main drag. The factory we visited makes a particularly high quality and old-fashioned product, processing thousands of pig legs a year.

We were given a special tour of the factory, which has been turning out prosciutto di Parma since the early 1900's. Final conclusion? Prosciutto is rather like hot dogs. You may not want to know how they are made. Nevertheless it was a illuminating experience, with tasty results.



We had to put on fetching paper gowns to enter the factory for hygiene reasons. Here's Sabrina posing next to one of the tenderizing and salting machines.





After the meat is cleaned, salted and tenderized to satisfaction, it is chilled in these tremendous walk-in fridges. Here our guide is pointing out the fine points of prosciutto. I believe he was discussing the import of a large ventral vein on the side of ham.


Prosciutto fairly early on in the aging process.

The people of Parma and surrounding environs are extremely passionate about their food products. Parma likes to call itself Italy's "food valley" and it is not difficult to see why. Artisan products sprout up everywhere here, gourmet meat and cheese products hang in every shop window, and locals are always happy to expound on their favorite edibles.


Amanda posing with some prosciutti.

The hams are taken through a series of cooling and pressing processes, in an effort to drain all the blood from the meat without breaking the central bone. The hams are hung to dry in a cool environment. High quality prosciutti like these are hung for 500 days.



The prosciutto warehouse is an awe-inspiring place. It's a tremendous dark building hung with thousands upon thousands of prosciutto, and it is dark, close, and silent. We took a huge clanking meat elevator everywhere in the building, and it was a bit of an offputting experience. I found myself thinking that a horror movie set in a prosciutto factory would be so very easy to make. (It's not pigs - IT'S PEOPLE. You get the picture). The lights went out for a moment among the resplendent meat, producing a particularly bizarre moment: standing in the dark among a veritable pantheon of swinging hog legs. The place smells exactly as you might expect. It's the scent of a good ham duplicated about five thousand times. Overpowering.


After the prosciutto factory, it was off to the Prosciutto Museum, located nearby. We were, it must be said about at the point of prosciutto factory overdose. Still, I happen to really like prosciutto, and only longed for vegetables a little tiny bit.

The Museum is devoted entirely to Parma's favorite meat product, with exhibits focusing on topics such as the area's favored pig varieties, butchering tools, different curing and production methods, and the history of cured meats throughout the ages. It was interesting stuff, and the museum itself - located in the city's 1928-built cattle market, or Foro Boario - was a gorgeous piece of architecture. It is one of food-crazy Parma's four food museums. The others are a Museum of Parmesan, a museum devoted to Salami di Felino (as we sampled at Slow Food) and an institution in Collecchio all about tomatoes.

We had come for a Prosciutto degustation. This was a tasting of the area's finest meat products, accompanied with local wines and cheeses, a veritable feast of ham. The degustation was held in a lovely brick-and-ham lined room, where we were attended by a resident prosciutto expert, who bore a certain resemblance to an Italian and pig-obsessed George Clooney. He guided us through the magical world of Italian cured meats, a voyage which was accompanied by some excellent wines. You should probably do this immediately.


Decorative hams on the tasting room's walls. Meat is a form of household decoration in this part of Italy. (It's the same in Spain).


Giardinara, which are Italy's common mixed pickled vegetables. These were not too intensely vinegary and were very pleasant with the cheese. New Orleanians may recognize a relative of our beloved olive salad here.


Some very interesting hard rolls were served with the meats. These had a cracker-like exterior and a yeasty, soft interior. I liked these a lot. I have never had anything like them.


The excellent, local white wines we were served with the meats. The amadei was especially fine, with a sharp, white-fruit flavor. The other was a bit sweeter, with a taste almost like piquant honey. I'm going to seek these out when I get home.



Here we have our second taste of high-quality parmagiano-reggiano. The cheese is made by a tiny production group, who are developing their own "creme de la creme" brand - They are moving towards certifying each individual slice instead of each wheel, as is generally done. We were instructed to eat this fine cheese with millefloure honey and it was an ideal combination. The sharp, interesting bite of the cheese contrasted perfectly with the subtle sweetness of the honey. Millefloure honey, incidentally, is so named because it is made "from a 1000 flowers". It is harvested when the bees have finished their seasonal work.



The cheese was served with these delightful condiments. From left to right: walnut conserves with orange peel, strawberry and balsamic jam, and caramelized onion preserves. We went through more of these then we were necessarily supposed to. This is because they were delicious.




Everyone enjoying the tasting. The guide was extremely wordy and those of us ignorant of Italian could not catch too much of what he said. You should probably consult the English language guides to the rich history of prosciutto, conveniently sold in the museum store. I read most of the history, and it was well worth a look. It's very interesting and involves lots of warring Italian families and drama. And pork products, like all good matters of history.



You guessed it: fine, aged prosciutto di parma. Delightfully smoky, melts in your mouth, not greasy or heavy in the slightest. Yeah, this stuff deserves a museum.



Culatello, which is a particularly special variant on the prosciutto theme. If you are in any way familar with Romance languages, you may have guessed that is made from, well, the butt-regions of the pig. The meat is seasoned, lightly salted, then stuffed into a well-cleaned pigs bladder. It is then hung in a nice cool environment for 8-12 months, giving it its distinctive aged flavor. It takes an entire ham to make a culatello, and as a result, it's expensive stuff. This is fo good reason, as it is indisputably delicious.



A board covered in prosciutto and coppa. Coppa is produced from the necks of mid-sized swine, and then is "massaged" with spices. The meat is wrapped up inside a pig "bowel" (I did not inquire further) and seasoned for quite a few months. Although coppa is a form of sausage, it does not look like one. The taste is delightful: spicy and meaty, a good contrast to the subtle, buttery flavor of the prosciutto.



We were instructed to consume our prosciutto with this fine local butter. Sounded bizarre and was a bit difficult for our fat-phobic American palates, but I soon warmed up to it. Our meat curator claimed that prosciutto and butter are not actually bad for you when they are this high quality. I would like to believe him.



Salami di felino, another of Parma's iconic food products. Salami felino is produced using the first part of the small intestine, producing a larger sausage with a longer life then other varieties. The salami is produced with about 75% lean pork meat (from the shoulder) and 25% delicious pork fat, which is ground together and spiced with salt and pepper. The meat is put into the intestinal casings and ripened for a good long time. 110 days is the industry standard. It's delicious and interesting stuff.




This is a special cake. Called pasta-rossa (though I think my spelling is wrong, as I can't find it on Google), it takes three days and 17 ingredients to make. The ingredients include what tastes like cherry preserves, butter, various chopped nuts, and a big hit of campari. The cake is dense, sweet, and delicious. The recipe, like many old Italian recipes was almost lost. It was only preserved thanks to the memory of an elderly Italian lady, who passed it on to willing acolytes. We devoured this with a bottle of excellent muscato.

Slightly lit, we got into the car for the five hour drive back to Bolsena. The drive happened to be through some very attractive territory, and I enjoyed dozing in the car, looking out the window as illuminated castles, mountains, and the flashing lights of Firenze zipped by. We arrived back at the convent around midnight in the middle of a pouring rain. We were also full of prosciutto.