UNISG Internships

"you can develop taste, but passion is certainly a genetic thing, like a good ear for music." Judith Jones

Not only have I loved my experience during my stage so far, I love being in Colorno with my friends/other students who are doing their own independent studies and get to learn what they are experiencing. 

Arina for example, is studying the "obscure" left-over/less popular meats like brain, liver, tripe, and pork skin for example. Not only has she been cooking and eating with nonnas and Italians all over the boot, she made a delicious chicken liver pate the other day. (liver is apparently, according to Massimo Bottura, very good for the health of women). and yes, it was very good. 

 Brittany is exploring birra artigianale -  artisinal Italian breweries and brought over a P.i.L.S beer from Pausa Cafe in Torino. I believe it is a brewery inside a jail where prisoners can learn a course on brewing beer. Not only is it a good cause, it's full of floral hops and bright gold in colour. deliciously sinful.

Poppi also went with Brittany to Piemonte to discover the legal world of Robiola di Roccaverano. She brought back cheese that was made 4 days earlier (four days!) as well as an aged Robiola. The fresh cheese was moist and melted in your mouth, not too sticky like some goat cheeses. The mature cheese was full of flavour and relentlessly irresistible to eat. 

"I am not a glutton - I am an explorer of food"
— Erma Bombeck

The Last Weekend.

Before we left for winter holidays, 18 of us rented a house in Piemonte and spent the last weekend there together. Along tiny winding roads in the dark, with the Pole Star and an old fashioned map to guide us (GPS what?) with instructions that noted "keep going up is always the correct way" we finally made it to this gorgeous house on top of a hill. Everyone brought all their leftover food and I think all we did was cook and eat. Very appropriate for ending our UNISG year. 

 We played football until we ran out of breath (3 minutes later), 

  took a walk until we saw the snow covered Alps in the distance, 

 tried unsuccessfully to visit a Robiola di Roccaverano DOP cheese maker, ate snow, 

laughed, cried, smoked out the pizza oven, 

 ate some more (just some of the food that was brought), cooked some more, 

 ate Polly's Pancakes from NH (hello, Erns), made bread, 

 my bread was incredibly edible, 

 played cards and solitaire,

 ate some more,

 drank Piemonte wine and Irish coffees, 

 "Only Irish coffee provides in a single glass all four essential food groups: alcohol, caffeine, sugar and fat."— Alex Levine

 danced, reminisced, played dj,

  wrote Tuscany reports, tried not to get shot by hunters,

 ate, drank and laughed all weekend.

xoxox

The First Snow of the Winter and an Apres-Ski Party.

Snow came to Colorno on the 1st of December. We started with snow in Colorno, and are ending with snow. It was not enough to cancel classes like on the first day. As we crossed the bridge to class, we found the Christmas tree being put up in Piazza Garibaldi. It was a little skimpy, making me feel cold just looking at the bare, naked trunk that barely supported the evergreen branches, but festive Colorno made me happy. 

 Being stuck inside later that night staring out in the blanketing white snow, the winter weather inspired us to divert our attention away from our barely concentrated year's end homework assignments and plan a Apres-ski Party. We had cocktail class in the afternoon (rough life) and a free day for some Italian holiday the next day (really rough life) so it was perfect to plan a themed party! 

snow fell from the sky

With some construction paper, scissors, tape, a visit to the euro store and a bag full of leftover toilet paper rolls, our creativity really shone. I like to think we transformed our little apartment into a winter wonderland  where even Anton from Tyrol would be impressed. 

snow flakes frosted the windows 

what's green and goes down a hill?

santa even popped in for a visit.

toilet roll holders are a waste of an invention.
for some reason we kept a bag full of empty rolls.
for some reason we must've known they'd be put to use.

dinky wreath.
yes those are chocolate coin wrappers

gluwine. mulled wine.

we even had a christmas tree!

the boys. 

Themed costumes were recommended. Decked out in winter clothes, despite the cold December night air, the windows were opened to cool us off.

Asher won the prize for best costume.
and best dj.

hostess with the mostess.

we even had Apres-ski dance moves:
moguls! downhill! jump! cross-country!

And the dancing started immediately and lasted into the night...until the neighbours pretended to call the police. ugh! they are noisy all the time morning into night!

Tuscany: our LAST stage.

Tuscany was our third Italian study trip and the last of the year's stages. What better way to end it than with a bus ride that didn't correspond to the schedule's timeline, an artisinal pasta maker, an upscale olive oil producer, lunch of cured meat and cheese, a free night to roam the city to find wine and typical regional food, a visit to a family-run large scale winery, a too-many-to-count-course dinner in a quiet cobblestone village, a visit to a family-run small scale winery, a multi-course lunch filled with laughter and wine, a crammed ride in a white van - just like crete, just like friuli, the distinctive-wafty room of hanging homemade cured meats with a cured meat sampling dish to follow, a visit to a luxurious winery with a tour of its village-like compounds - just like crete, followed by a visit to another winery, free time in a small town where we scatter but all end up at the same bar, a visit to a butcher, a visit to a cow farm, numerous olive oil tastings, hundreds and hundreds of oak barrels, multitudes of steel fermentations vats, hours of bus rides for sleeping, reading, laughing and singing karaoke*, an album of food-photos, tear-induced belly-aching laughter, unanswered questions to definitions of vocabulary that have haunted us this entire year, and of course lots of nerdy note taking. oh, aaand a week's worth of unforgettable memories. 

a great way to complete our last UNISG stage together, but hopefully not our last trip together. 

* i have video recordings. 

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked. Peter Piper must have been a Masochist.

442. That's the number of pepper varieties that are grown just down the road from us in Parma, at Azienda Agraria Sperimentale Stuard. Only 20% of them are original species, the rest have been cross-bred by Mario Dadomo, making it Italy's, or I think possibly the world's, largest collection of peppers. It is wonderful to see that although many veggies are becoming less diverse and standardized, it is not true for Parma's peppers. Although Italian spicy food may be more associated with Calabria, and hot chili peppers are often associated with India or South America, Parma has the right climatic conditions to grow such diverse varieties of peppers. 

Rows and rows of peppers grow in alphabetical order, with appropriately heated names like Apologize, Ciao, Bodyguard, and Sahara. Red, orange, yellow, purple, green, chocolate-brown, black splattered across the rows of plants like a Jackson Pollock painting. Long, round, fat, wrinkled, split, squat, berry-like, phallic, olive-shaped, and bulbs of strung Christmas tree lights are only a few adjectives to describe the shapes. I especially liked the topepo - a pepper that looks like a tomato - hence tomato + peperoncino. The diversity was overwhelming and fascinating. Some pointed vertically like reprimanding witches fingers. Some sprouted spiky red tubes with a sparse amount of leaves. Some had nearly-black dark purple leaves with green undertones that looked identical to basilico rosso. Some dangled sadly, rotting from the season's cold and dropping easily to the ground. Some were like an open box of Crayola - red, orange, yellow, green and purple begging to be picked. Some looked like marbles or Christmas ornaments, bunched together.

Twinkled like a starry night.

Peter Pepper. mmhmm.

basilico rosso?

grapes? berries? ornaments? peppers?

We followed Mario through the field, stepping over the low rows of plants and burying our feet into the mud saturated by the weekend's rain. Our tongue's burned as we tasted different peppers and we tried desperately to remember not to touch our eyes with our spice-stained finger tips. Despite the balmy autumn weather, Arina's nose is still glowing like rudolph since she touched it yesterday morning. 

taste the habanero's burn.

Mario started growing peppers 15 years ago as a hobby and could tell a story, and/or history, behind every pepper. SiQuiero was grown to mark his wedding with his Spanish wife. Habanero Chocolate is not named brown because that sounds less appetizing. One pepper from Bolivia only grows in the early spring, typical to the weather of the Bolivian Andes. Many people think that it is the seeds that give out the spice in the bite, but it is in fact the membrane - but the seeds are attached to the membrane so the association, although wrong, makes sense. Birds cannot detect the heat from peppers and in this way as they prefer to nibble on the little peppers, the ''shit'' of the birds, as Mario so awkwardly explained, will spread the seeds and create new pepper plants. And of course, the smaller the pepper, the spicier in general.

Mario and his pepper catalogue-bible.

It awe-astounding to see such a field of peppers - really just beautiful against the dreary Saturday morning fog. It is also a pity that it costs about 2,000 euro to register a new variety, so that the majority of his peppers are not protected. He is trying to promote his e-commerce business online and needs help with translating the Italian catalogue into English so that more people internationally can buy the seeds. Arina and I offered to help translate in our spare time, for our own interest in peppers and all that is spicy - tutti piccante - and in exchange, he gave us two plastic bags to fill with our hearts desire from his pepper collection. It reminded me of going apple-picking in the fall, but instead of baking pies, we'll be making hot hot hot sauce. 

and this what's left, even after we gave
handfuls away at Caro's brunch.

Terra Madre & Salone del Gusto: Opening Ceremony

I don't know if I realized how lucky I was to attend UNISG this year until we arrived in Torino for Terra Madre and Salone del Gusto. Sure, next year the students may be able to go to Slow Cheese or Slow Fish, but Terra Madre and Salone del Gusto are by far the biggest and most important for Slow Food and it only happens every two years.

We left early Thursday morning to arrive in time for the Opening Ceremony. I felt a little overwhelmed for not having any idea what to expect from the weekend. Despite our lecture on Salone del Gusto, which really just explained the outline of the event's floor plan, fascinating, there was no way for me to be prepared. I think I am still trying to process the immenseness of the events experienced throughout the weekend.

"I don't need a pass, I'm a pecorino." - J

With passes hung around UNISG lanyards, we walked into the giant arena, Palasport Olimpico, which was originally built for the Olympics. We filled the seats as we watched people from all over the world, wearing their traditional outfits - often shoes and underpants excluded - walking around with suitcases having just arrived, chatting and introducing each other. A rainbow of coloured clothes and skins trickled in as there were kimonos with high heels, headdresses that could easily block the person sitting behind, Middle Eastern robes with Nikes, and we curiously eyed the UNISG students from Pollenzo identifiable by our new school-labeled t-shirts. Whether they were farmers, producers, musicians, educators, fishermen, chefs, students, or supportive guests, everyone was there for the same reason: as Sergio Chiampanino the Mayor of Turin said, to come together to exchange goods and ideas in order to reach a resepct that doesn't only enrich a few people. If we rearrange the hierarchy of values, not material values, we can change the world through how we relate to each other and use Terra Madre as an engine to promote these relations amongst each other. 

The fourth edition of Terra Madre kicked off with 300 school children, "Pequenas Huellas" from all over the world singing with the Orchestra Internazionale Per La Pace. They sang in various languages and played while representatives from Afria, the Americas, Asia, Europe, and Oceana walked in proudly waving colourful country flags.  From each of the five continents was a representative speaker addressing the audience in their native languages.

the choir and orchestra.

Malebo Mancha Maze, a Gamo from a mountain area in Ethiopia spoke to us, loud and clear. He animatedly shared an anecdote about 5 bulls and a hyaena: 5 bulls went to the low land where the grass was nice and tasty, spending the whole day grazing. They joined their rears together in a circle with their horns facing out ready to attack. The hyaena came and said to get rid of the white bull and they would be safe forever. So, the white bull was sacrificed. One by one the pack got lighter and it was easier for the hyaena to wipe out the bulls. The lesson is, if all of us, brought together from 150 countries, embrace each other and work together, we can survive.

Africa represents.

Adolfo Timotio from Brazil didn't look up once during his speech. He heavily stressed the process of colonization that the Guarani went through from the Spanish, Portuguese, English and Dutch who brought borders, diseases, slavery and genocide. He implored us to recognize the indigenous people and to guarantee the application of the law to them as we all are the custodians of the world - we need to look after it and make sure that all differences are respected. He was so bitter, I wonder what it was like for him to be in Italy - the colonizer.

Americas. North, Central and South.

Albina Morilova, dressed in a traditional Kamchadal headdress, was from the extreme western part of Russia where for 7-8 months of the winter the temperatures are below 40C. Through describing her culture, she discussed the importance of conveying knowledge to new generations. Her indigenous  culture has had to adopt the Russian culture and their traditional language is in danger of extinction as teachers nor youth are interested in learning or preserving it. 

Asia.

Ol-Johan Sikku is a Sami, an indigenous group from the area of Northern Sweden, Norway, Finland and the Kola Penninsula of Russia. He too talked of the exploited land that divided his people but hoped for a rivival of language, culture and land through community development. As we have borrowed from Mother Nature, he said, we can no longer live in the same nature, but we have the knowledge to work together to advise the rest of the world on how to protect it. 

Europe. Yay Ireland.

Aunty Beryl Van Oploo from SW New South Wales in Australia also talked about her indigenous culture and about a college of aboriginal culture and cuisine. 

I swear the translator called this part of the world "Oceana"

 Carlo Petrini, the Slow Food International President, supported what each of these indigenous speakers had to say, agreeing that the defense of traditional knowledge gives us the tools to not only create good practices and respect nature, but we can start a dialogue to support those least considered by politics and media: natives, farmers, women, and the elderly. These humble, modest people need to show us the right way towards the future as they are the ones who preserve the earth and give the world common sense. Petrini also strongly addressed the youth in the audience who he believes have a great opportunity to match and combine modern science that we know with the traditional knowledge from our ancestors. To connect these is an extrodinary challenge, the best challenge ahead of us and the best struggle to fight for. Since we (I will consider myself part of the youth) are the subjects and creators of the transformation need, we need to grow and decrease at the same time - not only increase the development of material goods, efficiencies and profits, but to develop the love, friendship and understanding amongst people. His main three points to come away from were to enhance diversity, strengthen reciprocity, and to encourage dialogues and meetings.  For Petrini, and what he wanted us all to understand and feel, was that being here, getting together for the weekend, would prove to be more valuable than all the money in the world as we open each other up to new experiences, beliefs, and languages. It will force us to go home stronger, to not only defend and expand our networks, but to live intensely. 

Carlo Petrini: the man behind it all.

It was empowering and encouraging and Petrini's energy could be felt throughout the entire arena. I left feeling like I had every capability to make a change in the world. I also left thinking that it wasn't anything new that I hadn't already read in his book, Terra Madre. Slow Food is a powerful movement but not without its problems and I understand that Petrini's speech was reinforcing the basic foundation and principles of the movement but a slight change in approach could strengthen it - if something isn't working, something can always be altered. I left unsure if I wanted to return again in two years, but the Opening Ceremony still had not prepared me for the weekend to come.

afterwards, the Greeks started dancing and Popi joined in.

(This was all from my notes and observations from the presetation, but more information and Carlo Petrini's translated speech can be found here.)

"Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaking suspicion... love actually is all around." - Hugh Grant as Prime Minister in Love Actually.