“Pronto…”
I managed to mutter, rolling around in my bed hitting the snooze button over
and over again in hopes that another 5 minutes would get rid of the headache
from last night’s wine festivities. “Cristiiiina, dove sei? Trovatemi alla
stazione alle 9!!” (Cristina, where are you? Meet me at the station at 9!!) As
much as I adore the woman, the raspy, worn-in and assertive voice of my Slow
Food boss was the last thing I wanted waking me up at 7:30 in the morning.
Vacationing in Florence is a Godsend full of tours of Chianti, big naked marble
men, and papardelle al cinghiale. Studying abroad in Florence means 5 euro
bottles of 14% alcoholic wine, exceptional pizza for breakfast and underage
“students” stumbling home, taking off their heels in defeat of the cobblestone
and singing whichever of last year’s songs the discotecca can’t seem to let go
of. However, getting your Master’s in Florence is both a blessing and a curse.
While I had been lucky enough to be adopted not only by two of the most social,
friendly and open-minded Florentines a lone American can find, they were also
foodies who loved to drink wine despite the day of the week. Giulia, (a 5’2
sommelier with a passion for Paris, sporting Marc Jacobs glasses and a 6’7
personality), and Costanza, (the subtler of the two, a long, elegant ballerina
who can be found more often in her converses in Santo Spirito than her job at
one of Florence’s most hip restaurants). Unable to grasp the concept that a 9am
meeting with my internship the next morning meant niente vino the night before,
I was yet again manipulated into treating my taste buds and gettin giddy over a
bottle of Rugiagli. I washed my face, ate some toast and cursed myself for not
remembering to put a bottle of water in the fridge the night before.
The tram station was a fun place to people watch and
practice my Italian by eavesdropping. I’ve got some memories at that station:
waiting for my colleague Amanda to survive the mob of Ponte Vecchio on her commute; almost
being assaulted by a drunk bum; and realizing I left my wallet all the way in
San Frediano on a rainy day. We met here
often to take the tram to Scandicci, a small city outside of Florence where we
met our Slow Food boss, Giovanna. My phone rang again.
“RAGAZZE, ci siete? Arrivo fra 5 minuti!” (Girls, are you here? I’ll be there
in 5 minutes!) We got off the tram, hopped in her car, and stopped at a Bar for
an espresso. “Siete pronte? Spero di ricordare dov’è la casa di Alessio!” (Are
you ready? I hope I remember where Alessio’s house is!) Bobbing with every shift and grabbing the “oh shit”
bar, we zoomed through the hills of Chianti in Giovanna’s smoke-filled car.
(Italians don’t typically give a damn about second hand smoke so it’s something
you learn to live with as a non-smoker). Sure enough, we got lost in the hills.
After 1/2 hour of laughing and a sharp turn, we landed on a hill overlooking to
Tuscan countryside at one of Slow Food Toscana’s most recognized
producers—Alessio and his sheep farm.
It was 9am and the sun was already hot, but the breezy hills kept
us cool as we followed the sound of bah’s. They led us to a small corral full
of about 40 sheep attached to a crumbling villa on the edge of a steep hill.
There the masessi, comisani, and sardi sheep from Tuscany, Sicily and
Sardena become a blur of black and white fur, red faces and horns. At the end
was a small, roofed pen with another 20 or so sheep inside. Alessio, a
middle-aged, handsome man with a dirty apron and sun-kissed face, was bracing a
sheep and concentrating intently on his father. The cute, little old farmer
was sitting on a bench, bent over and milking the sheep over an old tin bucket.
With each rhythmic tug a squirt of creamy milk streamed into the tin as Alessio
calmed the sheep with gentle pats. Besides the symphony of bah’s and occasional
bird chirp, all I could hear was the tangy zing of milk hitting the pail. They
moved slowly with intent, almost automatically. When they finished milking the
sheep, they gave her a satisfied look, the old man walked into the villa with the bucket,
and Alessio came to shake our hands. They were surprisingly smooth, but still
strong.
Alessio is one of the few small-scale farmers in Tuscany
who produce fresh pecorino from un-pasteurized sheep’s milk. The happy
sheep bathe in the sun of their spacious ring and local fields on the
surrounding hills grazing on fresh grass, rice grains, maize, hay and even
beans. Everyday Alessio and his father patrol the sheep, checking for those who
need to be milked. He checks for full udders, showing us how to tell if the
she-sheep needed a milkin. Floppy, full udders means milk time, although he always
leaves enough for the baby sheep trailing behind their mamas and breakin my
heart with their cute little bah’s. “Quando sono incinte, non vengono toccate
per cinque mesi” (When they’re pregnant, no one touches them for five months),
Alessio explained. They take the milk from the sheep pen and bring it right
into the barn where it is immediately made into cheese. However, unlike in
Sardinia where many traditional sheep farmers have changed their production
methods to keep up with their debts to national banks, the price of milk is
still more than the price of its production in Tuscany. The milk is taken and filtered twice to ensure
there are no pieces of wood, dirt or sediment. The milk is never pasteurized,
Alessio assured as he explained il caglio,
or rennet. The rennet is a complex of
enzymes naturally produced in the four stomachs of the sheep that permit the
milk to become solid, separating the curd from the whey. Alessio takes the
solids, grinds them, puts them in water and salt and little by little adds a
compound of fresh milk. Little by little, while it condenses into yogurt, he
adds the curds as it becomes grittier and finally aggregates. From there, it
becomes various types of pecorino cheese.
Conscious
of the delicate balance between nature and producer necessary for sustainable
agriculture, Alessio respects the needs of his sheep. Once a month a
veterinarian comes to inspect the sheep and give them vaccinations. In fact,
the sheep even have names. Mucca, a big female who has been around for years,
was my favorite. “Questa fattoria è
particolare,” (This farm is special), said Alessio. The sheep receive no
hormones, no antibiotics and no pesticides. Although many Americans are under
the impression that these products do not exist in Italy, the harsh reality of
their existence negates this hopeful belief. Yet, the health of his sheep is
not the Alessio’s only concern. “Si rischia la saluta pubblica. Si deve stare
attento.” (You risk public health. One must be careful).
It is his close connection and understanding of his sheep
that makes Alessio a producer worthy of attention. “Se vengono tratatti bene,
il prodotto viene bene. Il rapporto con gli animali fa una differenza sul
prodotto” ( If they are treated well, the product is good. The relationship
with the animals makes a difference on the product). Unfortunately, the number
of farmers who use traditional methods like Alessio took a dive in the late 20th
century. Not only is there a shortage of grazing land as a result of the
increase in vineyards in the late 20th century, but globalization is
also a problem. Alessio explained the difficulty in remaining in business when
factory farms are taking over Italy and health standards restrict the use of
raw milk in food products. The rapid period of industrialization in Italy from
the 1950s-1980s made it difficult for small-scale producers like Alessio to
stay competitive in Italy’s increasingly international market. Like the
production of cars, infrastructure, clothing, and other elements of life that
standardized during Italy’s post-war industrial period, agriculture and
alimentation adopted similar standards. In fact, 50% of the milk consumed in
Italy today comes from abroad for half the price. The “hygiene-obsessed”
bureaucrats of the European Economic Community in Europe and the US became more
comfortable with cellophane-wrapped, symmetrical, and sterilized processed and
packaged foods that the agribusiness of the industrial revolution stamped as
the only viable and safe option. While in theory pasteurization is beneficial in that it protects consumers from
harmful bacteria, it also kills good
bacteria and much of the sour, tangy flavors only present in raw milk.
Let’s face it—cheese made from raw milk tastes fresher and is richer in flavor!
Luckily Slow Food works to protect producers like Alessio
from being forced to standardize their traditional production methods. When I
finally got to taste the cheese from Alessio’s farm I was speechless. All that
I could think was “how on earth could anyone ever STOP this delicious cheese
from being produced?!” It was tangy, chewy, slightly spongy, and juicy. It
didn’t need bread or pear marmalade. All it needed was a swig of Chianti to
wash it down and a bons vivant to
recognize its divinity. The hangover, cigarette hot-boxed car ride, and lack of
sleep didn’t matter. I visited a pecorino farm that is in danger of
disappearing, as more and more small-scale farmers cannot keep up with the
expensive competition of today’s agricultural market. I’d chose sheep over
sleep anyday in this case. Although Alessio does struggle to keep up with large
competition, he has no intentions of changing his production methods. “Si deve
sposare alla vita di una fattoria di pecore,” (You must marry yourself to the
lifestyle of a sheep farmer), Alessio said with a roll of his eyes and smirk on
his lips. He wants his sheep to stay happy and live simply, they way a sheep
should live. Fortunately for food lovers like Giulia, Costanza, Amanda and I we can
keep eating food that is produced the way it should be—o’ natural and free of
the big baaaahd factories that have taken over 20th century
alimentation.
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