"Grass Fed: A Few Beefs"

Even though it was written a couple months ago, at the end of last year, I recently came upon this article and really enjoyed it. I thought it, in the three different episodes shared by the author, summed up a lot of the thoughts that I have. Thoughts that stemmed from before I went to UNISG, while at  UNISG, even more so while at UNISG, and still continue after UNISG despite all the answers I was looking to find while there. As I tried to explain in my thesis, I don't think these questions have answers. But....interesting enough to consider and to think about...thoughts?

http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/11/10/grass-fed-a-few-beefs/?src=tmcolum

Hogget. 

Mum Comes to Italy: Milan, Colorno, Verona

Santa Maria della Grazie

Once I ended my internship, I had a week to write my thesis paper. A couple days after it was sent, mum arrived in Italy! I met her on Friday morning in Milan. Compared to the rest of the cities I've seen in Italy - especially in Northern Italy, I'm not a particularly huge fan of Milan. There's something dreary about it, something missing in personality. But, this day was particularly sunny with the blue skies promising spring's arrival. Or, maybe it was just because I was out of the Po Valley's encompassing culatello weather. We met to see Leonardo's The Last Supper - I figured, being so close to Milan and having the opportunity to see it, I might as well take advantage. As Mum likened it to seeing the Mona Lisa, it was a bit smaller than anticipated, but I was still impressed with the details in the painting and the way it has been preserved. 

Mum in front of the Duomo

Of course there's a McDonald's within beautiful Italian architecture

After wandering around Milan for a bit after lunch and getting lost any time we tried to go anywhere, we headed back to Colorno to take Mum to Al Vedel to show her where I had spent the last two months interning.

Verona

The next day we caught the train and headed to Verona to find (no such) Romeo. Verona is a beautiful old city. Architecturally, it is similarly characteristic of many in Emilia Romagna. No cars are allowed in the center so we walked up and down the busy narrow streets until we had thought we had seen the entire city at least a couple times over. The main piazza and shopping streets were filled with people, but wander off a side street and it is completely quiet. 

Amphitheatre/Arena - 3rd largest in Italy

Gladiator Shows or Summer Operas...?

Love notes outside Juliet's House

We never found Romeo. We did find Juliet's house. Or apparently so. The walls within the little archway to reach her house were covered in hearts, poems, lovers' autographs, and people trying to find empty spaces to add their own. The courtyard was filled with tourists staring up at the little balcony and groping the statue's breast for good-luck as cameras snapped.

We had an exotic lunch of: sfilacci di equino, which is shredded horse meat. Although taboo in many countries, there are butchers in Italy just serving horse meat. Veneto, where Verona is located, is one of the places in Italy that frequently serves horse meat on their menus. Sfilacciare in Italian means to fray or to unravel and refers to this dried horse meat that is reminiscent of jerky. Served on a bed of ruccola, shaved parmigiano reggiano and full-flavored extra virgin olive oil, the meat is sweet and healthier than beef.

I then had pappardelle with porcini mushrooms and mum had a trio of pastas: ravioli with a sweet tomato sauce, gnocchi with raddicchio and marscapone, and bucattini with olives. then we shared....brain! they were huge and fried - much bigger than the chicken nugget sized ones I had previously. mum couldn't eat more than one bite. I thought it was tasty - subtle flavour, crisp on the outside and a soft meaty middle. It was weird seeing the curves of the brain as you would imagine a brain to look like. One man sitting next to us had the dish too and ate all of it, but I couldn't manage more than one. I wanted to believe eating it would make me smarter. More intelligent like a cow?? not so much.

Al Vedel

I ate at Al Vedel twice. Once for lunch with Arina and Asher and then for dinner (the next day) with mum and Arina. I didn't take pictures of everything we ate, but everything was delicious - maybe it was gone too quickly before I had a chance to snap a photo. 

La speciale selezione di tre stagionature di Culatelli di Zibello dop 16-26-38 mesi con focaccia  a lievitazione naturale 

we also had: Involtini di melanzana con crema di ricotta e ombrina, ragù di scampi al frutto della passione 

and

Bourguignonne di lumache con crema di aglio dolce " Cerasaro" e cestino di patate croccante

Ravioli di verza, crema allo zafferano e chips di cotechino 

Pappardelle di pasta rustica al ragù di cervo

Anolini parmigiani in brodo di carne

we also had: Risotto con salame fresco e funghi porcini

Sella di cinghiale  al  Barolo, tartar di filetto al tartufo nero e giardiniera di verdure

Terrina di coscia di lepre, arrostino di sella

Maialino da latte croccante con cipollotti fondenti e riso

house wine.

Crostatina calda alla crema di limone e meringa, frutta fresca 

we also had: Semifreddo " Bacio di Parma" con salsa profumata al nocino

Podere Cadassa

Here are some pics from when I worked with the butchers:

Culatello di Zibello being tied and hung

Luciano putting the ground up pork meat into the intestinal lining

salami!

Tying the salami. 

Cutting the fat off. 

Shaving the skin off the leg.

Spalla cotta - wrapping and tying.

Riccardo salting the spalla cotta

Spalla cotta is the shoulder

Wrapping it to keep it's shape.

the salting process. 

culatello hanging in the cellar. 

DOP

open windows for the culatello to absorb the "culatello weather"

Things I've learned So Far in my Internship part 5:

Work nightmares still continue. But as I've moved on from Secundo to Dolce to Macelleria - they now involve culatello sponge cakes with chantilly cream frosting.
How to tie a culatello in an entwined spiderweb network.
That twine is the traditional and best way to tie culatello.
The twine will give you blisters. Even when you're not strong enough to pull hard enough.
Viscichetta means blister.
Legs are bought based on weight.
They pigs come from different farms in the area, but they must eat feed with Parmigiano Reggiano whey in it.
That pancetta is cured between wooden blocks and needs a good brush dusting.
Watched how the salami (strolghino) is spewed into intestines.
How to tie salami into sections. Well. Not quite mastered that yet. I feel knotslexic.
Salami Gentile is wrapped in rectum instead of intestine.
How to scratch the rectum covering and poke it with a fork to let the water drain.
How to tie the Gentile so it stays straight while curing.
Busy cured meat/culatello time is Oct-Feb
It used to be just Dec and Jan when the weather was coldest and just right, but now the Consorzio requires the meat to be hung in refrigerated rooms, cella, so now they can produce more meat over a longer amount of time.
It was thought that the meat hanging in damp cellars was not sanitary.
How to clean a piece of shoulder by removing it's fat.
That glands on the shoulder when cooked are bad.
That a pig's leg is shaved, then cut into a culatello (rear) piece and a fiocchetta (front) piece and then broken down into meat and thick fatty skin bits to be cooked to pork scratchings aka ciccioli
While working, huge chunks of meat can fly pass your face.
Metal gloves, no matter how large and taped around your wrist, are finger-savers.
That I dont understand why anyone trusts me and a knife anywhere near their food...
How to tie fiochetta with twine without chafing new blisters on top of the post-culatello-tying blisters.
Blisters hurt. Damn.
Like prosciutto di parma, culatello is quality-checked using a horse bone pin to smell and a knocking hammer to check for air. A hollow sound is a bad sign and means that the culatello was not cut or closed properly as water remained and spoiled the meat.
I'm fascinated by the quality-control skills of the nose.
These cured meats are truly artisinal - all hand made, lots of labour of love.
The older the culatello, the better flavour.
The smell of meat stays with you, absorbs into your clothes, seeps into your hair, a constant reminder on your fingers. 

Culatello from the Po Valley: "You can't just eat good food. You've got to talk about it too. And you've got to talk about it to somebody who understands that kind of food." — Kurt Vonnegut (Jailbird)

"....è la mia terra: la Bassa Parmense, la pianura emiliana in riva al Po. Qui la passione politica arriva spesso ad una intensità preoccupante: eppure questa gente è simpatica ed ospitale e generosa e ha uno spiccato senso d'umorismo.
Deve essere il sole, un sole maledetto che martella i cervelli durante tutta l'estate.
Oppure deve essere la nebbia, una nebbia cupa che opprime i cervelli durante tutto l'inverno.
....Per me il Po comincia a Piacenza, e fa benissimo perché è l'unico fiume rispettabile che esista in Italia: e i fiumi che si respettano si sviluppano in pianura, perché l'acqua è roba fatta per rimanere orizzontale, e soltanto quando è perfettamente orizzontale l'acqua conserva tutta la sua naturale dignità.
Le cascate del Niagara sono fenomeni da baraccone, come gli uomini che camminano sulle mani."

        - Giovannino Guareschi.

......


"Proprio nelle parole di Guareschi si possono cogliere tutti gli elementi che contribuiscono a creare l'unicità della Bassa e del Culatello: la gente ☺, il Po ~~, la nebbia ☁ e il caldo afoso☀. I pochi, piccoli, semplici, ma magici e preziosi segreti del Culatello di Zebello e del suo speciale legame con la Bassa Parmense, risiedono quindi nel particolare e felice connubio tra la sapienza delle genti, lo spirito del luogo e il clima di questa terra."

         - Elisabetta Bertuzzi, Il Culatello di Zibello da prodotto a marca

I TIED THIS CULATELLO!

Things I've learned So Far in my Internship part 4:

.....my week in dolce....

To get pomegranate juice, cut it in half, cover with a cheese cloth and squeeeeeeeze.
That if you want something done correctly, you have to show me. Not just tell me. I'm a visual learner.
Microwaves are associated with fast, prepared, frozen food which is why I associated them with cheating. But they actually are time savers.
Shake-Weights are unnecessary when you've got zabaglione to make.
How to make zabaglione filled chocolate truffle balls. Molded Shells. Filling Stuffed. Sealed Fingerprint-less.
How to make almond biscotti.
How to make a pastry shell.
How to make pastry dough.
To make lemon curd filling you need 10 lemons, zest of half the lemons, 400g of lemon juice, a buttload of sugar and 10 eggs. Then whip it...for over forty (yes, 40) minutes by hand (yes, by hand) until it goes from 14C to 84C. Then, add 750 grams of butter. Whip some more. Healthy. Really. Delicious. Better if you don't know the ingredients.
That even if you think your arm could fall off, it won't.
To remember to prick pastry dough before putting it in the oven.
How to use the ice cream machine!
That a teaspoon can be used to make balls of apple.
balls = palle.
Mandarines have seeds. Clementines don't.
That no one leaves until everyone's prep work is done. Everyone works together.
That Europeans want to go to America. Americans want to stay in Europe. They don't understand why we don't want to go back.
Blank stares are universally understood.
Virgin Radio loves Katy Perry.
37 eggs make 680grams of egg yolk.
Milk boils very fast.
I know nothing about the metric system.
Or math...
How to make individual tiramisu. It's very delicate.
How to hold a pastry bag without getting the cream inside too warm.
That, yes indeed, I am still allergic to kiwi's.
Kiwi in English is Kiwi in Italiano.
Pecorino is sheep's cheese. Pecorina is not the feminine form. Pecorine does not mean many sheep.
It's either done when it's 84C or known from eye sight.
How to make a Torta Diplomatica. And that diplomatica means....shrug.
Even though I think my Italian is pretty good, I don't know the difference if someone is telling me to do something, or explaining it to me.
I like the explaining.
Sugar. Butter. Milk. Eggs. Water. Cream. and a Whisk. Can't go wrong...
Roberto è un artista.
I like the dessert station.

Focaccia. It's not Parma Bread.

ok, a post about focaccia. One of the fears you must overcome while living in Italy is the fear of all things white. White bread. White pasta. Butter. Whole milk. Lard. White fatty bits on cured meat. It's just impossible. It''s inevitable. Not only is it everywhere and typical of the cuisine, it's delicious.

I have not been a fan of what is known as parma bread. I honestly don't think anyone is. It is hard on the outside. Pretty dry on the inside. It's boring. I'm sure if thrown at someone's head, it could lethally be the perfect murder weapon. I couldn't understand why northern Italy couldn't have better bread. That is, until now during my internship, I tried focaccia from Al Vedel.

Every day for staff lunch there is meat and potatoes or cheesey/meaty/buttery pasta and always bread sprawled out across the table. Carbs. White carbs. But it doesn't matter. << over the fear >> the focaccia is freshly made in the morning and so light and fluffy it just melts in your mouth. It sits on the cotton table cloth and taunts me. << thinking about the fear >> it's not the hard, dry, boring shit. 

Today however, there was no bread on the table. for lunch, we had focaccia pizza. FOCACCIA PIZZA. foccaccia topped with red onions. focaccia topped with tomato sauce and mozzarella. focaccia topped with gorgonzola. focaccia topped with tomatoes. Even after three slices of this peppy pizza, I wanted more. Even after sneaking a slice during clean up, I wanted more. Even after bringing home three slices, I wanted more.

Bravo Mauro.

Thank you for showing me that the area can have good bread. No more micca di parma. No more merda di parma.

I told Mauro the other day I wanted him to teach me how to make bread. Now, I'm not so sure it's a good idea....I might make it every day. 

Things I've learned So Far in my Internship part 2:

"Firework" is a universally liked song (age, gender, language, country)
More salt is always the answer.
Artichokes are not a spring vegetable in Italy.
It takes 7 minutes to boil artichokes in Malvasia, vinegar and water.
I'm still scared of choking customers with the "beard" of the artichoke.
If something is burning, do something.
Somethings don't translate so literally from English to Italian. You can't literally walk out of un armadio.
That dry hands are inevitable. So are hives.
Egg yolks are a great natural hand moisturizer. Fried chicken batter is not.
How to make fried pumpkin and jerusalem artichoke chips.
How to make frutti di mare salad (cooked mussels, clams, seppia, quartered tomatoes, boiled courgettes, and perfectly diced parsley)
Don't put salad on the same plate as pasta. sacrilego.
fidanzata means girlfriend. fidanzato means boyfriend.
Biancaneve e i Sette Nani means Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.
Standing for eight hours makes 22:30 seem impossible to stay awake for.
But going for a run after work, despite the lack of feeling in your legs, in the rain, in the cold, in the dark is invigorating. Foggy culatello weather is the best.
How to cut, season, and tie wild boar saddles.
How to tie goose thighs stuffed with it's foie gras.
Giraffes are not llamas. Nor camels nor a dromadery (new word).
Sasha, Suzie, Samaglia, Shana, Chowna, Sofia, Sonya, Fiona all pass for Shauna in Italian.
Constant nightmares about cutting up vegetables is a common occurrence.
That I'm not incompetent, but that I have to work on my confidence and not feeling like I'm in the way or overstepping chef boundaries.
How to "stamp" anolini parmigiani pasta!
Ignorance (in italiano) is still bliss. Sometimes.
Two months is not long enough for an internship. Oh wait, February is an even shorter month. Not fair....


‎"In four months, you learn the essentials of the place. If you want to learn them properly, you have to stay a year, to cook through the seasons." Thanks, Jess, for the quote. Maybe I'll stay...

"What I say is that, if a man really likes potatoes, he must be a pretty decent sort of fellow." — A.A. Milne

As I was peeling my second crate of potatoes for the day, which filled the 6th bucket in the last two days (that's a lot of potatoes), I was thinking not only how miserabley monotone peeling potatoes is (what was I thinking when I begged Cava to please hire me as I'd even peel the potatoes) but also thinking how much I liked working in a restaurant. The conviviality, the constant motion, the comfy unflattering outfits, the dopey paper hats, and the satisfaction from seeing food that I have prepared being used to plate dishes. I've been working on the "segundo" station (there's antipasta, pasta, segundo, dolce) so we are in charge of the meat/fish/veg main dishes. I'm shown what to do with an example and then am put to work - I'm just surprised that they trust me so much with my lack of professional culinary experience. My minced onion was larger than the brunoise-y carrots that took me probably 30 minutes to do what a real chef could do in 3. But in they went together for a salsa to be stuffed into an artichoke. I frequently laugh with embarrassment as I cannot imitate the arm motions needed for the cutting knife skills that look so flawless, so natural yet so clumsy and awkward on myself.

Back to the potatoes. In the morning, I cut up potatoes (previously peeled yesterday) to be boiled and then roasted with aromatic salt and rosemary. At lunch, we had roasted chicken and the potatoes I had "made." (made is peeled and cut - not technically in charge of the roasting time). Martin had taken them out of the oven and showing them to Matteo said, they are cooked perfectly. So as I sat down to lunch, I said to Marco, I made these! and later he made an "attenzione attenzione" announcement to the table that I had made the potatoes. I learned a new word. Arrossire means to blush.

Back to the potatoes. Everyone's making fun of me as they walk by for the constant potato action. Just as I'm thinking how horrible it was, Martin comes over and says basta. stop. He calls me over to his station and shows me how he plates some of the dishes as the tickets came in for the lunch service. Then he goes, in three minutes, it's your turn. AHHH. I plated a dish!  Branzino with seafood salad and a vegetable stuff phyllo-pastry. Complete with the sauce streak across the plate like I learned at Cava. It was thrilling and I was grateful and definitely worth all the potato peeling. I went happily back to my bucket, also known as un secchio, and dipped my hand into the icy cold water for another potato. 

Things I've learned So Far in my Internship:

How to stand with a straight back to avoid shoulder cramps from leaning over a cutting board and from using kitchen tools all day.
How to poach just the delicate egg yolk.
To wear gloves when cutting artichokes or else your fingertips will turn brown and stink.
That I hate the responsibility of peeling artichokes because of the one time Poppi came over "choking."
The high standards Cava has set the bar for me.
Topinambur means jerusalem artichoke.
How to make and roll grissini.
Chefs must wash their own knives.
That whipping zabbione will make you want to saw off your arm.
When frying chicken, the batter calls for 3 eggs per 1 chicken.
I make delicious fried chicken.
How to not flinch when boiling water or oil is splashed onto me.
How to properly chop parsley. let the knife gliiiiiiiide.
Microwaves seem sorta like cheating.
Paper chef hats give you awfully flat hat-hair.
How to pretend to not to understand Italian (and how to really not understand Italian).
Not all restaurants have expediters.
Malvasia is a great meat marinade.
A menu should state when tartare is hand-cut. no really.
Manciata means handful (as in a measurement) (my hands are smaller than Martin's)
How to cook under pressure (not sous-vide, but when given a time limit to finish a task. my confidence, competence, and comprehension are not quite up to par)
Don't forget the ice bath.
Grilling is sweaty.
Work is better when it feels like family.