I did my best and that’s
all there is to it. A carnivore at heart, my short-lived vegetarian experience
was shattered upon my arrival in the culinary Mecca of Florence. I stuck to my
guns with my meat-free habits for a few weeks and I must admit it was not so
painful. The fruit and vegetable vendors on every corner lure you into their
colorful, organic abyss with scents of berries you can smell for kilometers and
tomatoes so succulent you wanna pop em’ like candy. Things got tricky when I
started my internship with Slow Food Toscana and was introduced into the Tuscan
gastronomic tendency to put meat not only on a string, but also on a pedestal.
I threw in the towel pretty early and felt relief and happiness to finally be
sinking my canines into some fresh Tuscan prosciutto and mortadella di Prato.
“What the hell was I thinking?!,” I scolded myself, unaware of the swan dive I
was taking into the consumption of quasi-every possible body part imaginable.
Slow Food was eager to get me acquainted with the Tuscan tradition and so I
made my first bold excursion into the quaint, inviting little world of the
Trippaio (Tripe Vendor). And so I threw away the tofu, held my nose, and took
notes on one of Florence’s oldest and most endangered cultural
traditions—-tripe.
Dating back to street vendors behind the grandiose Piazza
della Repubblica in the 1400’s, tripe took a few centuries to gain its appeal,
(which is easy to understand, being that you are stomaching stomach). In these
days the Trippaio did not yet have its artful reputation and was reserved for
the class-less, socially subordinate poverty of Florence. However with the
rising popularity of the famous dish, trippezampa, tripe was able to gain its
place in Florentine culture in the 1500’s. Only 300 years later, the Trippaio
finally solidified its unique identity and broke free from the negative
reputation of those who hand out scraps to stray cats in the 1400’s. It became
a job-- he who pushes a cart of tripe through Florence, vending his delicious
delicacies to every demographic. The economic boom in the 1960s left
businessmen on the go looking for a quick, yet delicious fix without the hassle
of sitting down in a restaurant. They took refuge at the Trippaio who today
serves many interpretations of the once traditional plates. Today the Trippai
can ditch their wheels for fixed locations in piazzas and street corners
throughout Florence. Slow Food Toscana brought me to one piazza in particular
to meet one of, perhaps the only, truly traditional Trippaio left in
Florence—Leonardo nella Piazza di Gavinana.
Slender, tall, and grey with soft blue eyes and a shy
smile, Leonardo relieved us of the struggle to speak in the formal, warmly
welcoming my friend Amanda and myself into his cozy little stand on a cold
autumn day. 20 years ago Leonardo took on the cultural responsibility of this
“grand bel lavoro.” A people-person who vibes off of the social interaction his
tripe stand provides for himself and consumers, he showed us that the Trippaio
is much larger than the 10x20 ft stand we squished into that day.
We started with a trip to the local frutteria (fruit
vendor). A tedious 100 steps away, Leonardo graciously selected the necessary
celery, carrots, and herbs he needed for the day’s tripe. As he calmly chopped the vegetables needed to
make the most popular dish, panino di lampredotto, Leonardo explained the
necessity of doing the shopping himself in frutterie rather than supermarkets.
“I see what I eat this way.” Having arrived literally from local Italian farms,
to the frutteria, to Leonardo, he can ensure the freshness and origin of the
vegetables he uses, while supporting small local businesses and taking the time
to do so. Leonardo also explains his keenness on seasonality. The frutterie only offer what is in season, giving him fresh new options. When things
like truffle or a certain kind of cabbage are in, Leonardo works with the
Earth’s generous diversity and incorporates it into his traditional dishes.
“Usiamo quello che c’è ora…Credo che sia una filosofia. Non si usa le cose che
arrivano da chissà!” (We use what there is at the moment…I think it’s a
philosophy. You don’t use things that come from who knows where!), was his
straightforward explanation.
Now we get into the nitty gritty as he whips out a giant
tub full of--you got it—stinky, pale, and rubbery tripe a.k.a. cow stomach. The
smell is something particular that I have never before so luckily experienced.
It has a certain chemical-like smell, distinct to organs that, if you never
have to, I’d imagine many of you have never indulged your senses in. Taken back
by its appearance and lovely perfume, I made eye contact with my American
friend in the hopes that she too was bewildered by its strong presence.
Embarrassed by my lack of anthropological appreciation for the new odor, I was
relieved to read the same look of “OH MY GOD” in Amanda’s eyes. Perhaps the
best part was the anticipation of eating the fluffy, spongy stomach we knew was
in the near future.
Every morning fresh tripe arrives from its complex
preparation. The tripe and lampredotto, (the first two stomachs of the cow that
serve for storage and the absorption upon digestion) come fresh from the
treatment facility where it is emptied, cleaned, trimmed of its fat, and
boiled. All of this is done by hand, eternally omitting the common Western
finishing touch of freezing. Intact, clean, and ready, the never-frozen tripe
arrives at Leonardo and nothing is gone to waste. Unfortunately for the future
of the Trippaio, the job of preparation is not exactly that which most bambini
dream of. Decked out in rubber gloves, boots, and gators, the 80-year-old man
who prepares the tripe for Leonardo, (one of 3 left in the Florentine area),
wakes up at 2 am every morning to start the dirty and difficult task of tripe
prep. Leonardo adds that today a machine can also effectively perform this art,
but he makes it clear that machine-prepared tripe has a different quality and
taste. Quality over quantity rules the kitchen of this nice little nook,
shooing away industrial ideas of efficiency and mass production. Leonardo fears
it may not be possible much longer if no one inherits the most precious job of
the dedicated vecchietto. Although smelly, its essential role in cultural
preservation adds an enchanting element to the profession.
Unlike
its complex appearance and smell, the recipe is fairly simple—a few vegetables,
spices, canned tomatoes, and love. (To provide the exact recipe would be taboo,
for Leonardo made it quite clear that the information he shared with us was a
hefty secret). The strange aroma of the raw tripe and lampredotto quickly
succumbed to the rich, savory scent bubbling up from the giant, simmering pot.
Amanda and I quickly exchanged looks of approval, forgetting about our fears
and apprehension from earlier.
Then
came the moment of truth. Surrounded by Florentines chomping away on their
sandwiches, Amanda and I were put to the task of tasting. Leonardo
enthusiastically and generously prepared us 3 of his prized dishes. The first,
and best might I add, was the panino di lampredotto. Bathed in a complex,
intense sauce full of seasonal aromas and tangy tomato, the very foldy,
not-so-chewy sandwich went down like cake. Apprehensive, yet still brave from
the satisfaction of our first expedition, we dove into the next plate: tripe.
This time we didn’t have the safety blanket of bread. Drenched in the same
aromatic sauce, the chewy tripe yielded a pleasant, subtle flavor. The texture
was something to get used to, but yet again another success. One may say three
times the charm but in our case perhaps we should have stopped at 2. The last
plate, bollita, revolutionized my thoughts on my own limits and capabilities. A
hearty stew of cow tongue, snout, breast, uterus, and tendon, it was definitely
a shocking plummet back into the world of meat eating. I was literally
speechless. Amanda and I looked at the dish as the Florentines watched us with
anticipation. Leonardo giggled, acknowledging the discomfort and difficulty he
was subjecting us to in this classically awkward and textbook cultural
situation. After verbalizing our obvious apprehension and admitting our
ethnocentric difficulty to our audience, we opened, chewed, and swallowed.
Surprise! We survived as will the tradition of the Trippaio if people will take
the plunge like we did.
 |
| Panino di lampredotto |
That’s the unfortunate reality of
the Trippaio, as with many other culinary traditions in Italy. Leonardo works
hard to preserve the Florentine identity associated with his unique occupation.
He chooses, unlike many other Trippai, not to serve non-traditional dishes of
the Trippaio, like wild boar, tortellini, and even cheeseburgers. Perhaps the
most rewarding effect of his Slow Food efforts is the social environment he
creates. People can mingle in the piazza, munching, chatting, and getting to
know each other. It brings an element of ritual back to eating as people form
social bongs through aesthetic pleasure. However, working to provide
Florentines with the comfort of knowing where their food comes from, careful
preparation, and a social experience doesn’t seem to be enough to rejuvenate
this century-old recipe. The problem is obvious in the difficulty Amanda and I
experienced in our meal. Tripe is something you must eat from the time you are
little in order to gain an appreciation. These days, many parents do not
introduce their children to Florentine culinary traditions like tripe. Leonardo
disappointingly claims that most parents don’t want to listen to the whining
and demanding of their kids so they just give in and take them to MacDonald’s.
I know I’m definitely not a mother and don’t have to deal with poopy pants, 6am
wake up calls, or angry teachers, but let me ask you this—-if your kid begs and
screams not to take a shower are you going to give in? If they stomp and cry to
watch porn and scarface are you going to press play? If they shout and demand
to camp outside on a cold, seasonally inappropriate night are you going to
shrug it off and “deal with it?” Why, then, is what they eat compromised when
it is one of the essential elements of our existence?! I’m not saying we have
to force-feed our kids uterus and tendon, but if they are not taught the unique
cultural traditions of today, who will ensure their persistence tomorrow? What
will happen to the dedicated traditional practitioners like Leonardo? Will the
children of tomorrow loose the sanctity in well prepared, traditional, and
quality cuisine?
This is what Slow Food is trying to
change. Leonardo explains concisely and without hesitation what it means to be
a Trippaio. “D’essere una cosa abbastanza particolare con un ruolo particolare.
A me piace. La responsabilità non mi sento.” (To be something particular enough
with a particular role. I like it. I don’t feel the responsibility). I’m not
condemning the pleasure in the occasional international delight, but cuisine is
a part of the whole identity of a culture. By working to maintain these
traditions and using what the Earth provides for us, we can help save the
existence of something truly unique. Food cannot lose its enchanting quality
and quality must not be sacrificed. Diversity is beauty, even if it means I
have a stomach full of stomach.
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| La Trippa |
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