The New Gastronomes

A long wooden table heaving with bottles of wine, knocking elbows, and sunflowers, was what I imagined my lunches to be for my up-and-coming masters course. Yes, I may have watched Under the Tuscan Sun one too many times.

Apart from a bout of class dinners at the beginning of our course, and the odd Australia day celebration or Balladin birthday, our class hangouts peetered out. This is of course natural, as a larger group will inevitably split apart. However, after nearly three months, the no-longer-new masters, FCC8, are still religiously carrying out their ritual Sunday dinners. Together. Quite frankly, this is putting us to shame.

On Friday the eleventh of May, as part of a food education course led by Barney Haughton, my class jostled, drank and prepped our food in the Gastronomic Society kitchen. As an aside note, thumbs up to the person who chose this location, I was able to live out one of my cliché fantasies of Italy. We were a world wind of movement that might have been mistaken for a flash mob, except we are in Bra, and we didn’t disperse into thin air. Instead, we uncorked prosecco, white, and red wine, and filled our snail stamped paper cups. In unison, we scrambled, baked, and portioned-out our dishes, whilst others set up outside trestle tables with a view of a garden bathed in sunlight, and the whisping seeds that created a snow-like phenomenon in spring.

From the castle-like building and Piemontese farmers’ cloaks, I had joked that I was enrolled at Hogwarts, but on this day, outside in the sunshine, I was partaking in magic. We might have replaced wands with knives, but for the homework we all learnt the art of transformation. The task was to present a dish to the class that was important to us. We were regaled with stories of mothers, grandmothers, fish bones, and first memorized recipes, and we honored each memory with a single clap (we were hungry). With even more wine flowing, it became increasingly harder to clap in time, and bursts of “salute” chinked around the table.

Plates trembled with food. We sat. We ate. We laughed, and compliments beat down upon us all, as strong and sincere as the Italian summer sun. Some nearly cried, as the realization hit that we had only two months left. But at least it’s not too late. For my first experience of a long Italian lunch, I sat amongst my classmates, in front of a table that heaved with wine, elbows and flowers. I was one of sixteen nationalities sitting at that table, together, under the Bra sun.

Grazie Mille to Stephanie Reusch for letting me use her photographs.

And thank you to the FC7 Class for being all your charming selves…

Rye bread from a small Swiss village called Simplon Dorf. Not the sexiest of gastronomic tales on the face of it, perhaps, but don’t be too quick to judge.  This hefty little loaf has a story and it’s got nothing to do with high fibre.

As you wind up over the northern Italian border, one of the first Swiss towns you pass through is Simplon Dorf. Surrounded by the Alps, with fresh, crisp air and neat houses with glass-walled sunrooms, Simplon Dorf is the type of place where I can begin to picture myself living.

On the main street (which is completely deserted if you arrive Sunday at lunch time) sits Bäckerei Arnold. Owned and run by the Arnold family for four generations, the bakery is typical of the Valais area. Florenteiner cookies, blueberry cakes made with local fruit, and hazelnut-filled croissants adorn the display cabinet in the cosy, wood-paneled bakery and tearoom.

As visually enticing as these sweets are, however, it is the warm, acidic aroma of the baking rye sourdough that envelops visitors as they walk through the door. The Arnold family has been producing their sourdough Roggenbrot for 40 years, with Urs Arnold taking on management of the bakery in 1977. His dedication to maintaining traditional family bread-making techniques and recipes is obvious.  Urs will proudly tell you that he still rolls fruit and nuts into the dough the way his parents taught him, so as not to create holes. A picture of his mother making the bread hangs above the kitchen workbench, hopefully not judging the 1000 daily loaves too harshly.

Each Roggenbrot is shaped by hand, first into a pyramid, which is then squashed down and stamped with the bakery’s eye-like insignia. Urs describes the production process in fine detail, right down to the humidity levels in the oven needed to create a crust that cracks upon baking. The level of expertise and intimacy developed over generations of artisanal baking is evident.

Only a few simple ingredients are used in this sourdough. Rye flour grown and milled in Valais is mixed with water and salt. A small amount of dough from the previous day is used as the sourdough starter. No yeasts are used in making the bread as the sourdough acts as a natural preservative, allowing a loaf to keep for three weeks. Due to the simplicity of the ingredients and techniques from the original family recipe, you can taste the pure nuttiness of the rye flour with the unique tanginess of the sourdough. It is deliciously chewy when toasted and cries out for some Swiss honey and a cup of tea (or a hot Ovaltine malt drink, as the Swiss do).

Roggenbrot is dark, rustic, and heavy; a loaf in the hand conjures images of discus throw competitors. Locals use this sustaining bread to make cheese and cured-meat sandwiches for a packed lunch while hiking through the surrounding Alps. As one Swiss lad put it, “Eat a sandwich of this stuff and you feel like you could run a mile.”

As the western palate becomes accustomed to highly processed, light and airy breads, many may find the taste and texture of rye sourdough unusual. In fact, my dad queried the sour taste, asking whether the bread had spoiled after making the trip back to Australia. Whether it’s to your personal taste or not, it’s refreshing to be reminded of the many faces of bread, and that a simple loaf from Simplon Dorf, with solid, distinctive characteristics and history, is still being made and appreciated.

That is a question that my classmates and I have been asking ourselves ever since the first study trip in Emilia-Romagna left us with some extra weight. During that first, memorable trip, we got served salami, salami, and salami. And also a bit of cured meat. In summary: a lot of fatty meat which led to some fatty consequences elsewhere.

We heard the stories and the warnings ever since we set foot in Pollenzo in November last year. Tutors informed us about the possible consequences, professors made remarks, and fellow students showed us the before-and-afters of their months here at the University of Gastronomic Sciences.

But we did not want to believe it. We would succeed. We were the ones that would prove that you can live in Italy and study gastronomy without gaining a gram of extra weight.

Now we are six months later. Unfortunately, we have to admit it to ourselves. We failed. We tried hard, very hard. But the food was just too good, the wine was just too tasty.

But though the pants are getting a bit tighter and some body parts a bit rounder, we do comfort ourselves. It could have been worse. Because there are some ways to keep the weight gain under control.

This is how most of the students compensate for the overconsumption of good food and wine:

• Bike! Some of us start the day speeding down the hill from Bra to Pollenzo by bike to go to class. In the afternoon however, we curse ourselves when we have to face that same hill in the opposite direction. I hate that hill, and yet I keep on biking up it every day. Because it is good for me, good for the legs, and it burns a lot of calories.
• If you don’t like biking, then walk! The walk takes a bit more time, but offers the same scenic views and also a great workout. And no matter what, you still need to get up that hill to reach Bra.
• Go to the gym! Not only the perfect way to stay in shape, but the local Italians are always more than happy to practice some Italian with you.
• Run around Bra! I am not an expert runner, but apparently Bra has some nice running tracks. The advantage is that you can avoid the hills. Unless you decide to run all the way to the Zizzola, the highest point of Bra.
• Swim! Bra has a nice swimming pool where you can swim laps as long as you want. There is usually not a lot of people, unless you go during the daytime. Then you may risk to bump into a class of schoolchildren. It is slightly expensive, but the sauna is included in the price. So after the workout, you also get to relax.

Vittorio Beltrami is a cheese extremist, a philosopher, an Italian Einstein (with matching hairstyle), and a village madman. He confronts everybody around him with his “I am more Slow Food than Slow Food” philosophy, whether they will listen to him or not.

“Too much technology! Everything should be made by manually! Goats are as smart as people! Nobody makes cheese like I do anymore! Slow Food has turned into a company!”

The tirade starts passionately and angrily, but for the patient ones who continue to listen to him, it ends with hope and friendliness. And, if you’re a woman, with a kiss on the hand.

Because I didn’t know what to do with six weeks of summer holiday, I spent two weeks working for this character. I heard the monologue above many times, directed at many different victims: customers in the cheese shop, tourists, his employees, or just random passers-by. I noticed that most of them actually listened to him and respected his authority on these matters. Maybe because his small, round goat cheese (Caprino) and cave-aged sheep cheese (Pecorino di Fossa) are actually really impressive, or maybe because of his olive oil, which can sometimes be found in the top ten of Italy. Maybe this was not a bad place for a summer job after all….

In the beginning it did get a little bit too much for me, those dictatorial monologues against technology. Yes, I am happy with my iPhone. How many inhabitants does Amsterdam have? Wait, let me Google it. About 780000. Wow, that’s a lot right? What? Did I make you angry? (He points at my iPhone, then to my head). Oh. Yes, I should have known that myself.

The first days I was mainly occupied with introducing myself to family members. And when I, after three days and about 12 family members, thought that must have been the entire Beltrami clan, a tiny little wrinkled creature walked into the room. He looks up, waves in the direction of the refrigerator about three meters next to me, and shouts something that I can’t understand, both because of his dialect and his misfitting dentures. His eyes are hidden between glasses as thick as bricks, and from the two pupils behind them, one looks up and one to the right corner of the room. But all of this above a giant, friendly smile. Before I can reply to his greeting, Vittorio’s daughter walks into the room, and as soon as she sees him she immediately sends him back to bed. That was Grandpa, Vittorio’s dad, 93 years young, blind, deaf, and with still so much positive energy that the entire family is frightened by it. And yes, of course, his wife is still alive too. Four generations of Beltrami in one shop. Maybe cheese is not that bad for your health after all?

(Picture: right Vittorio Beltrami, left his dad)

In the two weeks that I worked at this family business I got to help with everything there was to do: making goat cheese and ricotta, working in the shop, picking overripe figs and wild peaches from the trees and making jam from them, assisting with tastings, and bringing orders to restaurants. And in the meantime the whole family kept teaching me and explaining everything to me in slow and easy Italian sentences, and they listened patiently to my replies, nodding even though I knew they might not understand a thing I said. This family was really starting to grow on me.

On my last night we go out to dinner with the whole family. While driving to the restaurant I’m sitting next to Vittorio and he starts his monologue against technology again. Here we go again. I quickly hide my iPhone in the bottom of my purse while his tone gets louder and louder.

“I never go to a supermarket, everything I need I can find in my village! Supermarkets are plagues, we have to go back to small family stores!”

Oh no. How am I getting out of this?

“Hey Vittorio, look, a McDonalds! Have you ever been to McDonalds?” I give him a playful but slightly nervous smile. And thank god, the smile is returned.

“Yes,” he smiles, “one time.”

“And? What did you think?”

“It was okay. But that’s not what it’s about. It’s not about consuming, it’s also about selecting ingredients, about preparing the meal. Just like with women; it’s not just about the sex, it’s about the man you are when you seduce her, and the man you are when you take her arm and lead her to the bed….”

Suddenly it’s all clear to me. The supermarket is an unreliable douchebag, McDonalds is a smooth Italian womanizer, and the gastronomy of Vittorio Beltrami is an old-fashioned and respectful gentleman.

I’m not sure about the year, maybe 2007-2008, when Carlo Petrini came to our university in Turkey to make a speech about Slow Food and UNISG. I listened to him, got brochures and dreamed—yes dreamed—because at that time it was just a dream for me to do a master in Italy at UNISG.

Time passed very fast; I was about to finish university. In the meantime I was working for Slow Food Turkey as a volunteer, trying to launch the Youth Food Movement in Turkey. Right after graduation I started working, and continued to volunteer for Slow Food. But somewhere in my mind l was still keeping that dream. I had some ideas about Italy already, like everyone who is especially interested in food. I liked the food and the culture. I was sure there would be a lot of things that l could learn. But still it was unaffordable for me and l had already studied gastronomy.  I asked myself, “Do l really need to do a master? Will it really be worth it?”

I decided I needed to see it, I needed to see that life, I needed to see the university, I needed to speak with teachers and students. So my car trip to Italy began. My Italian friend Luca and I went to Parma, to the Colorno campus, where at that time the master program was being held. Even after that wonderful visit there were still question marks in my mind. I was so confused, and somehow I was looking for a sign to decide.

On the way back home we stopped in Bologna and stayed a night with Luca’s friend. Two couples were sharing the house. Luckily for me, the other couple had won a lottery that day and they were going to celebrate at home. Celebrating at home? Like having a party, drinking and maybe dancing all night? I was a bit surprised because if a Turk wins a lottery the first thing they will do is spend some of the money in a bar. But they said “No, we will be at home. We are going to cook and eat all together.” Cooking and eating together? I was amazed. This was my dream. This was what I had wanted and dreamed of for a long time. They were like me. This is the 100% Italian way of celebrating and feeling the joy of life. I was feeling like I belonged here. It was one the best nights that I have ever had in Italy, even though we couldn’t communicate properly because of language barriers. But did we really need that? No. That night, I decided I must live in Italy even for one year, no matter what happens. This is what I was looking for. I needed to be more connected to that culture. I needed to live with these people, people who have the same mentality as me.

If you ask me, this is the secret behind la dolce vita. For Italians, food is something more than just food. They feel a strong relationship with their past, future, and culture. It is an important part of their daily life. It is more than just feeding yourself. They connect food with their experiences, feelings, and—most importantly—they know how to appreciate it.

To make a long story short, three years later my dreams finally came true. I’m here. I’m at UNISG. I’m in Bra, my little lovely town. Sometimes things are intensely Italian—you know what I mean—and lessons can be boring, especially if there is not sunny weather. But life?  Never. I keep learning new things and feeling the joy of la dolce vita every day. Don’t ask me what they are, as the things I have experienced are another big, big story.

What can I say, I just want to nail my feet down here. You think I can?

Scoring an 80-Euro return ticket from Torino to Sicily for Easter holiday is like hitting the foodie jackpot. As students of gastronomy in Italy, we have small wallets yet big taste buds, always eager to discover the cornucopia of flavors accessible from the top to the heel of the boot. A winter in Piemonte with countless aperitivi of the raw Salsiccia di Bra washed down with bottles of Barolo had us dreaming of lighter fare (and smaller waistlines). With extra room for Sicilian goodies in our bags, we flew south with visions of freshly caught sardines, silvery leafed olive trees, brightly perfumed lemons, and red-faced tomatoes.

The sheer abundance of the Mediterranean foodscape soon became visible on the narrow, winding streets of Palermo’s vibrant markets. Darting between the crowded produce stands and Vespas blasting by, my Turkish travel buddy Ceylan introduced me to the local Sicilian ingredients that have Arabic roots. Over the blare of horns and two-stroke engines, she pointed out the shiny eggplant, bags of sundried tomatoes, pistachios, green and black olives, and bread topped with sesame seeds, explaining the importance of these ingredients to Turkish cuisine. I had known that Ceylan had a culinary background and had owned a restaurant in Istanbul before moving to Italy, but here in Palermo her passion came alive in a way I had not seen (or tasted) before. She effortlessly moved from market stall to stall , choosing the ingredients skillfully but with the exuberance of a child in a candy shop. Her mind was always scheming menus, but for this occasion, Ceylan was preparing to make us a Turkish breakfast with the bounty she collected from the Sicilian markets.

The next morning, we awoke to Ceylan busily banging pots and pans in the pocket-sized kitchen of our rented flat near the port. Soon enough, the scent of sautéed onion mingling with garlic roused me out of bed and into the kitchen to see what was happening. As I poured a cup of tea, Ceylan explained that a Turkish breakfast is mostly savory (as opposed to the sweet brioche of Italy) and heavy on the garlic. On the stove was fresh zucchini sautéing with onion for a farm-egg frittata, which was light and satisfied my American breakfast craving for eggs. In the oven were fist-sized mushrooms stuffed with a mixture of creamy goat ricotta, plumped sundried tomatoes, parsley, sautéed onions, and garlic. A caponata of eggplant, tomatoes, and olives slowly stewed on the stove, concentrating into a rich sauce that was supple and sweet. And the pièce de résistance: a ripe orange and fennel salad that embodied fresh Sicilian flavor. A generous drizzle of extra virgin olive oil brightened the spicy anise of the fennel and sweet citrus of the orange, and the contrasting textures made both crunchy and juicy mouthfuls. Now, I re-create this salad time and again at my home in Piemonte, and it recalls the brightness of an Easter holiday in Sicily and memories of a Turkish breakfast.

Recipe for a fresh fennel and orange salad….Buon Appetito!

3 Sicilian oranges

1 fennel bulb, sliced, fronds reserved to sprinkle over the top

3 generous drizzles of high-quality extra virgin olive oil

sea salt

freshly ground pepper

Massive highs on Parmigiano Reggiano, hallucinations on bagna cauda, and even the eventually bad trip caused by excessive consumption of Prosciutto di Parma. We got it all. If Las Vegas is for compulsive gamblers, Italy is for those addicted to food. Now try living here for one year, studying food at a gastronomy university. By the time you get back to your country (with a loosened belt), you won’t be able to have any conversation that doesn’t involve some culinary experience.

All of the more than 300 students at the Università degli Studi di Scienze Gastronomiche, in Pollenzo, wake up, breathe, and sleep food. Nutritionists from the United States, business graduates from Germany, photographers from Taiwan, food scientists from Switzerland or cooks from Brazil. Here, they all have one thing in common: uncontrollable eating desires. And those needs gets stronger every day.

Some, of course, more than others. Not long ago, a talented Indian photographer with a bright future ahead got himself to a place of no return. He got a tattoo of his favorite addiction on his belly: a pig, with all the cuts of meat and everything. Disturbing. In another extreme case, an Australian cook decided to open his house every Sunday to prepare special treats. He calls it “brunch”. From 10:00 am to 2:00 pm you can see dozens of UNISG students looking for a “fix”. While sipping glasses of tea, shiny eyes lost in some distant place, devour meatball sandwiches, apple pies, french toast and other unspeakable indulgences in a silent frenzy.

Be prepared: if you encounter one of these people after a trip to somewhere, his first (and probably only) question will be “what did you eat there?” Do not dare visit a place without experimenting with its novelties. They will question you, ask about the flavor, the smell, how it looked, the first, the last, the remaining impression. They are always looking for more. They are doomed and they love it.

A brilliant man, once upon a time, said you are what you eat. If that really is the case, for the past five months since I’ve been here, I must’ve slowly but surely turned into some form of Pecorino that is washed with good Piemontese Barbera and Nebbiolo! Yes, this is Italy, and cheese, along with wine and cured meats, is the daily food staple.

I must admit, though, I have grown up eating cheese on a regular—possibly daily—basis, perhaps confirming that there is something to the claims that cheese has certain opiate effects. However, there are those poor souls in our class who are not nearly as keen to taste all sorts of cheese—cow’s, goat’s, ewe’s, mouldy, stinky, gooey, in almost every shape and size they come in—as regularly as we do, as part of our master’s coursework.

Cheese tasting, bliss or torture?

Kelly is one of those poor souls. She grew up in Taiwan where her diet did not include cheese, and was only a novelty she got introduced to in her later years. During one of our first weeks in Bra, a few of us convinced her that it would be educational and inspirational for her to make a visit to Giolito’s with us, the renowned cheese maturer and retailer that every cheese-loving person in the vicinity in Bra needs to know about. Kelly agreed to make the trip. She stayed in the shop the whole time we were there, which lasted about twenty minutes, during which time we tried about five different cheeses, two hard cow’s milk cheeses washed with whisky and wine respectively, a Fontina, a Parmigiano Reggiano, and lastly a Mascarpone and Gorgonzola Dolce concoction. She calmly said yes to the whisky cheese, the Parmigiano Reggiano, and the concoction, and tried to finish the tasting morsels that were handed to her.

Since then, Kelly and the rest of my classmates have had the chance/misfortune of eating a whole array of cheeses, ranging from a hand-shaped artisanal Fior di latte straight out of the vat—still soft, warm and milky—in the town of Agerola in Campania, to the not-for-the-faint-hearted Pannerone, a cow’s milk cheese that gets fermented via the mixing of the cow’s own manure into the milk. There were moments of pure bliss, and other moments of coughing, choking, and even spitting.

The feared Pannerone

A few months after our first visit to the cheese retailer, Kelly and I had the pleasure of talking cheese again. I asked her about that first experience. She admitted that she almost suffocated through the smell in the cheese shop when she first entered. She continued on, saying that when she first got here she really, really did not like cheese, and would never, ever consider eating cheese on a regular basis. But four months into the program, she is trying more and more to enjoy that particular source of protein and umami. She no longer winces at the sight nor smell of cheese. I even saw her in action smelling and tasting three different blue cheeses today, as part of a sensory analysis exercise, including a very strong Roquefort that was very salty and metallic. She now admits that she will not go so far as to say she loves cheese, but that there are now some she likes and would like to keep on as part of her life after Bra.

So, the question is, to cheese or not to cheese? I would very much urge those prospective students considering a program at the University of Gastronomic Sciences to go for “CHEESE”, because, whether one likes it or not, it’s pretty big in Bra!

Extra-virgin olive oil is part of the daily diet of every Italian, but I believe that most people are not aware of the huge differences that exist between high and low quality.

Let’s take me, for example: I never really cared about the quality of oil and I used to get it at the grocery store without paying too much attention to which one I was buying. Well, things changed radically after learning how oil is made and what it should taste like!

I definitely fell in love with extra-virgin olive oil during our study trip in Tuscany when we visited a couple of olive oil mills, in the Maremma area. And it was just the right time of the year: November! The new oil had been processed and we were able to taste it, and I discovered that I missed a lot in all these years buying some cheap “wannabe” extra-virgin olive oils!

At every meal during the study trip, we were served bread with a cascade of the newly produced extra-virgin olive oil: I enjoyed every single drop of that tasty and spicy olio nuovo!

Tuscan extra-virgin olive oils are mostly characterized, in the nose, by an intense smell of green olives with notes of fresh grass, artichokes, and thistle. Those last two components are also prevalent in the mouth, where the bitterness and spiciness are strong and very well balanced.

Extra-virgin olive oil must fulfil specific chemical analysis and sensory requirements. In fact, to be considered extra-virgin, an olive oil must have a low acidity and, furthermore, the only allowed aromas are nuts (from the crushed pit of the olive), leaves, grass, olive fruit, and some vegetables, such as artichoke, tomato, or thistle. Any other flavour or smell is considered a defect.

The bitterness and spiciness of excellent quality extra-virgin olive oil are given mainly by the presence of polyphenols, which are the natural antioxidants present in the olives.

Ever since the trip to Tuscany, you will always find a bottle of real extra-virgin olive oil in my kitchen and I will use it anytime I can: on salads, pasta, any kind of vegetables, or just on bread.

In my thirties I got addicted to extra-virgin olive oil!

After an eight-day study trip to Switzerland with 27 of our classmates, one would think visiting more producers would be the last thing we would want to do. But having already arranged to visit some local growers of nebbiolo beforehand, four classmates found themselves on another little trip into the small community of Annunziata, right next to the town of La Morra. Such a visit to producers was perhaps excessive but we considered it a worthwhile replacement for Vinitaly and a weekend in Verona. And what could be better… face-to-face discussions with passionate winemakers in their own vineyards or facing the throngs of people at Vinitaly and trying to emulate a similar experience? The former will always be a first for me.

We had organized to visit three producers…but of course the Italian rule of lateness applied, and we found ourselves racing against the clock all morning and having to cancel the third. Although disappointing, it didn’t lessen our experience. The two producers we did visit are visionaries. They are leaders in their fields and not just because they produce delicate and smart wines. Both producers have (in their time) stood up to the “status quo” of production, challenging conventional thinking, and have built their own path to success. So it wasn’t so much about the differences between the 2001, 2006, 2008, and 2012 (the latter not yet released) single vineyard barolos that they freely educated us about, but more about the passion and focus that have and continue to give these producers the edge. You can only get this type of exchange and experience from personal exposure to people. Large groups of students don’t always work, and classrooms or expos don’t necessarily provide the context for complete learning. So during your time in Bra, use your initiative: get out to those producers around UNISG who are passionate and leaders in their field. Get inspired and enhance the journey that you are on!