Presidia | The Rambling Epicure

Salone del Gusto versus Good, Clean, and Fair: Part 2

Published by Diana Zahuranec + Monday, November 26, 2012 Permalink 0

In Salone del Gusto versus Good, Clean, and Fair: Part 1, I’ve already mentioned some healthy skepticism about the presence of two big Italian names at Salone del Gusto: Lavazza Italian coffee, and the supermarket Coop.

Lavazza takes on the responsibility of Fair Trade coffee, but wearing a label doesn’t necessarily prove honest actions behind it. There are loopholes to be jumped in any policy. Without venturing beyond the comfort of online research to the plantations in South America, however, I couldn’t say with utter certainty how good, clean, and fair they are. My main conclusions? Don’t check off the Good Deed Done for the Day box just by buying Fair Trade, without knowing all the facts behind it.

It just doesn’t look Slow Food-y

As for Coop, I was very surprised to see this popular Italian supermarket in a haven of small-time producers at the Salone. Coop is no WalMart nor, on this side of the Atlantic, EuroSpin; shopping in my local Coop store, I’ve noticed very high quality, Alpine mountain cheeses, for example, alongside the added-preservatives-colors-skim-milk-binder, generic salumi; and I suppose I notice more organic produce overall. As far as the realm of supermarkets is concerned, my limited observations earn Coop a dull gold star. But a place at Salone del Gusto? Hardly, I thought.

Asking fellow Slow Food members what they thought, a Swiss friend informed me that it was in large part thanks to Coop, a charter member of Slow Food, that Slow Food Switzerland was initiated and is running strong today. Polish that gold star!

In fact, Slow Food and Coop have a partnership, with Coop supporting and promoting Slow Food values through selling local products as well as over 100 Presidia products (a Presidia labeled food being the equivalent of a protected or endangered animal in the food world).

Coop’s powerful, positive presence in the world of local producers and Presidia was brought home when I sat in for a tasting of some products during Salone del Gusto. Not that I wanted to taste anything. By the end of one of Salone’s last days, I had done as much tasting as my belly and buds could bear. But my legs were tired, and Coop had set up a booth lined with dangling Prosciutto legs, plastic chairs in rows, and a tasting of jam and juice. I didn’t resist.

The tasting was introduced by a Coop Quality Control employee and a representative of a Bosnian company based in Bratunac called Frutti di Pace, or “Peace Fruits.” Together, they told a story of how the Coop employee traveled to Bosnia for this product, met with the Bosnian woman, and formed an instant friendship that was strengthened, as in all cultures, over an abundant welcoming meal.

The employee found that the hardworking spirit and community of the women of Frutti di Pace were as charming as the incredible, all-natural flavors of their products were delicious.

Frutti di Pace was established after the Bosnia and Herzegovina War in 1992-1995. The members of this cooperative, mostly widowed women or women with husbands injured from the war, wanted to spur growth: of the local economy, of a long-held tradition ground to a halt from the war (raspberry production), and of a sense of community and confidence.

The first product we tasted was a thick raspberry juice. No colors, sugars, or conservatives were added – just water and red raspberry. It was exactly like plucking a handful of raspberries from a bush, squishing them all into your mouth, and squeezing out the juices with your tongue. The jams were next, and equally impressive in their bright, strong raspberry flavors. It lacked seeds, but that’s a personal preference of mine for raspberry jams.

Frutti di Pace spent ten years trying to get into the European market. The speaker was overwhelmed almost to tears when she recalled how happy they had been when Coop began selling their products. “’To hope’ is still difficult after everything we’ve been through,” she said.

My knee-jerk reaction to “supermarket” is “too much fluorescent light!” and then, “against all things Slow Food.” But this is not true (well, the second one). Today’s food market is pulled in two directions: one towards a global system made of imports, exports, and oil, the other towards local, small production, trends, and being organic. It’s important to consider the possibility that, between these two polar opposites, not everything is black and white. The grey areas will be necessary to marry two things that won’t go away for better or for worse: supermarkets in many parts of the world, and the importance of strong, local economies and good, clean, and fair food in all parts of the world.

Selling local food (or organic, or from a small producer, etc.) through a medium that everyone uses and will continue to use as long as it exists is ethically responsible and also quite genius.

The question remains: Does Coop Italia earn the good, clean, and fair award? It is still a supermarket that sells items ranging from low to high quality, from all parts of the world, and at prices too low to actually be profitable for the producer. But the answer is nevertheless yes – just, in a rather grey way.

A Look at Slow Food’s Salone del Gusto, October 2012, in Turin, Italy

Published by Diana Zahuranec + Saturday, November 3, 2012 Permalink 0

by Diana Zahuranec

Salone del Gusto ended on Monday 29, but I can’t stop thinking about it.

Salone del Gusto, held in Turin, Italy, is a Slow Food biannual food fair and conference. To sum it up in these few words undermines everything else it is, too, and its importance as an event that brings together producers from all over the world. These are producers that grow ancient varieties of grain to save genetic biodiversity, that make Slow Food Presidia cheeses or salumi, that pipe their cannoli full of the freshest organic ricotta you’ve ever tasted, and whose principles and values align with your own and, it goes without saying, Slow Food’s – good, clean, and fair food for all.

The Slow Food mascot

For all things Slow Food, here are some links courtesy of Scoop.it and Slow Food. To understand a few of those words in the paragraph above, just look at the end of the article.

This year, Salone del Gusto was a marriage of the original Salone del Gusto, first held in 2006, and Terra Madre, first held in 2004. While both events had food artisans and producers from all over the world, different activities were held at each and were not all accessible to the public. Salone del Gusto focused more on the exposition and sale of high quality foods and products, while Terra Madre was a gathering of a network of food producers from around the world. Having never been to either of these before, I can’t offer judgment on the differences of before and after. What I would love to do is share my first-time impressions of this year’s.

To say Salone is a food fair means that, like your down-home county fair, the place is jumping with activity – with a few notable differences. The funnel cakes are replaced with French butter cookies in 20 different flavors, the groundhog whacking game is replaced with the foodie’s (divisive word, I know) form of fun, that is vertical Barolo wine tastings, and that feeling of riding the Zipper right after you eat your funnel cake is replaced by the feeling of pressing up against crowds right after you drink your Barolo wines.

Stalking the Black-Eyed Villnösser Brillenschaf Sheep

Published by Diana Zahuranec + Tuesday, February 28, 2012 Permalink 0

by Diana Zahuranec

The most terrifying ride of my life was up a slick, steep mountain road in Alto Adige. Alto Adige is the northernmost region of Italy that touches Austria and melds with its language, architecture, and mountainous geography. This little-known region to the usual American tourist is prosperous, picturesque, and culturally stimulating. Before its annexation from Austria-Hungary as part of the Treaty of Saint-Germain in 1919, Alto Adige had been part of the Austrian Empire and the Holy Roman Empire for centuries. The identity of the region has been tugged between Austria and Italy ever since its annexation, a dual identity that is seen on everything from road signs to cultural heritage sites.

: The charming architecture of Alto Adige

Alto Adige itself is divided into two other regions, Südtirol, or South Tyrol in the north, and Trentino in the south. The closer one gets to Austria, the stronger the Germanic influence is. In the northernmost parts of Alto Adige, the Austrian culture can be seen as the primary one, while the language and culture of Italy is definitely secondary.

The field trip that took a class of 26 and I to the Dolomite Mountains of the region was part of the curriculum of the University of Gastronomic Sciences, a school in Piemonte, Italy. Our journey was to begin with a monster of a man at odds with his traditional wear of embroidered, tan leather lederhosen, and end with the rare Villnösser Brillenschaf sheep breed with black fur “glasses” framing their dark eyes and black-dipped ears.

The man was burly, tall, straight out of a German-Austrian fairy-tale that could involve lumberjacks fighting giants, and he was our driver. We stood huddled in a damp group at the bottom of a hill, ready to be transported to the top of the mountain to see the sheep and learn about them. The charter bus we usually took could not go up the mountain, because it was too big. We were ushered into two large vans. The driver of mine was Herr Lumberjack (he was not a lumberjack, that I know of; but for lack of a name, this is it). I regret that I didn’t take a photograph of him, but he was a bit intimidating even with embroidered lederhosen. I felt – we all felt – we were in sure hands up this mountain road that grew steeper every ten feet, and which a charter bus could not hope to climb.

: View from above: the Dolomites as seen from the bus

The road was much like other frightening mountain roads: unpaved, steep, narrow, and sans guardrail. I was not nervous at first, but the road was longer and steeper than we thought. The rain came down heavier and our breaths fogged the windows as we climbed in altitude into cold clouds. The hairpin turns were stomach-churning when Herr Lumberjack stopped, backed up a few inches towards the cliff – and a few more for room to turn – and looked back, grinning widely through the hand-wiped back windows to determine how much further he could go (answer: not another inch).

Looking over the edge from up high in a large van, my stomach dropped. It seemed from the high vantage point that the road’s edge was exactly at the tire’s edge. The trees were cut back at intervals, and the cliff of the mountainside fell away to reveal beautiful, jewel-toned landscapes, wet and saturated with color. I snapped a few hurried photos when I wasn’t gripping the headrest in front of me, because it was safer than closing my eyes and less frightening to look through a lens. All the photos turned out blurry; and talk about a photo not doing the real thing justice.

When the last switchback was so narrow that the inching, maneuvering wheels were too close even for our driver; when there was actually not enough room to turn at all; when Herr Lumberjack’s face was serious in concentration and not grinning manically; and when we were all sweating and silent from nerves was when we stopped to walk the rest of the way to the top. My legs were shaky, and the gravel slippery when I climbed down to solid ground from the steamy van. The air was cold, colder on the top of the mountain, and our breath came out in foggy, hot puffs. We hiked to the top.

: Mountain top with Villnösser Brillenschaf sheep

We were greeted with a beautiful pastoral scene. In the dipping center of two hilltops was a small, wet wood cabin. Scattered between and up the vibrantly green hills was a small flock of sweet, white sheep, all with black glasses patterns circling their eyes. We walked with restraint, eager to see the peaceful scene with the stormy backdrop while not frightening the animals. Threatening, grey clouds opened to a steady, cold drizzle as the shepherds told us the history of the sheep. We huddled under shared umbrellas.

The Furchetta company, named after the mountain chain, tends to one of only two flocks of this breed of sheep, which is the oldest race in Alto Adige. It is seemingly a mixed breed with its black markings on white fur, and so had a tough time surviving during the Second World War when Hitler was bent on eliminating anything not of “pure” race. The Villnösser Brillenschaf was nearly eliminated, and about 400 survive today thanks to the shepherds and farmers of companies like Furchetta. The particular breed is also a Slow Food Presidia, which both protects and promotes it.

: Villnösser Brillenschaf sheep are a Slow Food Presidia

Furchetta’s main product is cooked lamb prosciutto, which we had the pleasure of eating at lunch only an hour later at a restaurant in the foothills; but the farmers also realized that the high-quality wool was often going to waste. The price of wool has dropped significantly in recent decades and producing wool products is expensive. Furchetta strives to capitalize on the fact that, because the Villnösser Brillenschaf breed has extra-oily wool, its heat-retention and water-wicking properties are superior. The high quality and excellent taste of the prosciutto and various lamb salumi have encouraged chefs of Michelin star restaurants of the area to purchase the meat.

: Cooked lamb salame

I would like to experience a little adventure like this for every food I eat. The harrowing ride into the clouds and the perfect scene at the end, offset to biting cold and wet weather with the promise of a full, hot meal at the end, were stimulating. The memories of the Villnösser Brillenschaf sheep and how we arrived to see them in their mountain environment connect to the meal we ate later, a meal whose memory would have already faded had it not been for all the elements of the experience.