Winter Wonderland of San Marino

It was with glee that we leaped into the rental car, revved the motor and sped off in the opposite direction of the bus.  This stage more than any others incurred a serious state of exhaustion and numbed taste buds, and Wendy & I were giddy with joy at taking off on a short adventure without 23 other people.  So as the bus turned southwest on the Autostrade towards Bra, we went southeast.  The destination?  Oh, just a tiny mountain republic called San Marino.  A country within a country.  And, oh yeah, a point for Wendy's rack-up-the-countries-visited travel game.

Funnily enough, neither of us thought ahead to the winter + mountain-top city = probable snow equation.  But snow there was, and plenty of it.  Not to mention ice.  But San Marino was stunning.  To be sure, I would rather eat an entire platter full of culatello paired with sparkling Barbera than go there in summer as I have never seen so many tourist shops crammed into one small walled city.  In January however, it's a little magical.  The perfect antidote to a very long, cold stage.

Good morning!  The view from our quirky hotel.

Studio Time: Food Photography

We are a camera-obsessed bunch.  Paparazzi to the food production of Europe, if you will.  I find myself taking photos of our entire class studiously bending closer to whatever object is on display, cameras furiously clicking, just for the sheer absurdity of what passes for normal behaviour.

There was a fair amount of grumbling Thursday morning.  Our dinner the night before had run substantially over, and we hadn't arrived back to our convent/hotel until well past 2am.  Piero, our trusty and beloved driver for our last three study trips, had a regulated 9 hour rest break and so was entitled to a lie-in.  We however, were not.  Our day-long food and travel photography workshop at Alberto Cocchi's studio in Parma couldn't be rescheduled, so 9am found us dragging our heels onto the train to Parma.  And of course, in true Italian fashion, the ticket office and dispensers at the Casalmaggiore station were no longer in operation.  Our tutor was overtired and slightly stressed.

We eventually trickled into Alberto's studio and let out an audible gasp.  Two large, airy brick warehouses side by side, tricked out with thousands of dollars of equipment in an ultra-modern style.  And Alberto, smart man, had plenty of coffee at ready.

It was an incredibly memorable day.  We started with lectures, our Canon G-series out to test the tips we were learning.  (Our class has become sheep in regards to cameras - over the course of this year no fewer than ten of us have fallen in love with this particular model.)  A chef came in and began preparing a gorgeous meal in the back kitchen, which we all ate in the reception area next door.  Again, Alberto came through with beer and more coffee.

After lunch, we got down to business.  Walking us through his decision-making process, Alberto photographed several spectacular dishes prepared by the chef.  Whether huddling around the table, or watching the process on the massive screen in the centre of the room, it was a first-hand look of a professional at work.

The rest of stage found us comparing f-stops and shutter speed for every photograph taken.  Alberto, you've created a class of monsters.

Freezing on the Farm

Layering is an art form.  As a rabid bike commuter here, I've become accustomed to multiple pairs of merino wool socks, always sporting leggings under my jeans and being one with my long-sleeved Icebreaker shirt, its "chocolate drool" stain of unknown provenance (so charmingly dubbed by my ex) carefully hidden underneath wraps and hoodies.  I am always just warm enough, comfortable and a little bit smug.  Hey, there's no bad weather, only bad clothing, right?

Emilia-Romagna, you officially kicked my ass.  I bow to the power of your constant foggy humidity, icy winds, frost-bitten plains and my frozen limbs that never quite thawed out in the six days I spent with you.  Our flirtation is so over.

But regardless of personal (dis)comfort, many many hours were spent in freezing concrete structures or outside on farms. 

Attempting to warm up over deep frying lard

Some naughty cows get nose rings to stop them from partaking of their friends' milk

Another attempt at staying warm: the group hug

What the best-dressed gastronomes are wearing

Free-range pigs cavort in the mud while our trusty bus driver Piero naps road-side

Buffalo. 
We're serving his friend in the form of osso buco for dinner next week. 

The two Alpha males fighting for farmyard domination.  This was taken
two seconds before the buffalo bit the dog's ear, causing a massive
frenzy of snarling, barking and thundering hooves.

A Prayer Before Prosciutto

If the Lord's Prayer had been written in Emilia-Romagna, it would read "Give us this day our daily pork".  It is well-nigh impossible to find a meal without at least one cured meat element, so of course we knew this study trip would be meat heavy.  Let's just say my love affair with cured meat is still very much on hiatus.

Proscuitto di Parma
Slaughtered between 9 - 15 months of age at a weight no less than 160 kilograms, traditional pigs from the 11 designated regions in Parma donate their legs for the cause of proscuitto.  These legs are massaged, salted, cleaned and aged whole for 1 week to 3 months in cellars and fridges with strictly regulated degrees of humidity and temperature.  The Consortium tests the legs with a sharpened horse bone to ensure quality, stamps each with producer information and the official Proscuitto di Parma label and they are cellared for continued aging.

Cotechino
Created originally in the 1500s in Gavello to preserve meat while under siege, cotechino is a boiled sausage of secondary cuts of meat (aka the parts no one in North America likes to eat), pig skin and fat with an almost raw texture.  Interesting history, but needless to say, not a favourite.  Even when served in a church basement by fiesty nonnas.

Culatello
When the iron-stomached Asian of the group gags and begs for aromatherapy oil upon entering the facility, you know there's no hope for the rest of us.  Culatello is the top part of the pig leg, which is salted, washed and cured.  But the aroma?  Well, it's cured in pig's bladder.  And according to my stage roommate Liz in a fit of disgust at 7am the next morning "my clothes still stink like pig urine!".  Let's just say it's a rather unique ammonia scent, only added to by the white mould that grows in the traditional cellar, fueled by breezes from the open windows.  Seeing as it sells as a delicacy in the US for upwards of 80 euros per kilo, it must be a (very expensive) acquired taste. 

Hmmmm.  I think I like my pig better au naturel.

And So We Eat

There's one inescapable fact of study trips:  we will eat too much.  Every morning, like the addicts we are, we nibble on yogurt and fruit, sip our cappuccinos and promise ourselves ferverently that today, we will eat less.

It never works.

Even as stage experts, knowing full well the gastro-intestinal discomfort inherent in imbibing copious amounts of wine, protein and carbohydrates, we still insist this is a once in a lifetime meal and must be consumed. 

So, general pre & post stage behaviour is exhibited in the form of detox: no alcohol, plenty of vegetables, fruit, white rice and broth, and then more vegetables.  But we're not driven to these drastic measures solely by six days straight of cured meats, or bottles of Lambrusco at every meal.  It's more the six hours daily spent sedentary at the table; continuous courses served as we ruefully expand in our stage stretch pants.  Refusing courses might gain you a brief respite from the onslaught, but can often be offensive to our hosts who have proudly crafted meals highlighting their region and culinary traditions. 

And so, we eat.  We pour another glass of wine to coat the stomach, brace ourselves, and anticipate the inevitable nap once back on the bus.

Emilia-Romagna was an interesting Italian stage finale in the sense that the products we were served are ones most widely known worldwide: it was the first study trip without exciting new dishes to discover.  It's not that the meals weren't enjoyable; it's just that our jaded palates have already been exposed to the foods consumed.  But please, don't pity us.  We certainly didn't suffer - and we deserve every minute of stomach pains we experienced.

You REALLY don't want to know what we were talking about...