Have you ever had baked beans in Boston? How about deep dish pizza in Chicago? Have you ever longed to try sourdough bread in San Fransisco or the midwest’s most confusing submission to the US national cuisine, Cincinnati Chili, in Cincinnati? That is admittedly a very US-centric list. Eh… how about a single malt on the Isle of Skye? Lángos in Hungary? Kürtőskalács in… Hungary? Feta in…. I feel like there is no good way to continue this train of thought without offending entire countries.
What I’m trying to say is that today we’re sticking to the hottest new diet craze ever to come out of an obscure and sparsely updated cheese blog: The Do The Thing In The Place Diet. Trademark The Functioning Cheese Addict. (Thats how you register trademarks, right? I declare a trademark!). I swear there’s something about cheese here somewhere. Parma! Today, and despite all evidence to the contrary, I’m writing about Parma. The city, the legend, the birthplace of (food) kings.
Years ago, when the world was young and the US had a fully funded government, I traveled to Parma with my wife and best friends as part of a camping and cheese tasting trip through northern Italy. Like a dirtbag-y Grand Tour that constantly smelled like cheese. All we were missing was a DIY converted camper-van. It was without exception breathtakingly beautiful, and I’ll have to mention the valley of Taleggio sometime later, but today prize of place goes to Parma and the King of Cheeses: Parmigiano Reggiano.
We traveled miles and miles south of the alps, across the Po River valley, and very nearly were thwarted by a downed bridge, but just when we were near to giving up we stumbled upon Caseificio Soziale San Salvatore. We were late arriving and walked in just minutes before the riposo began, but the staff were legends and not only sold us their wares but also gave us a tour. A tour of their beautiful beautiful aging room. A tour of the (already finished for the day) vats. A tour of the brining room. We walked past and gawked at a small fortune’s worth of Parm, and as the photos give evidence I was completely overwhelmed. I speak, of course, effectively no Italian, but as it so happens having 100% of your vocabulary in a language be cheese related makes you fairly well situated to talk to a cheesemaker. We purchased a three year reserve Parmigiano Reggiano and a tub of Ricotta Fresca, thanked the man profusely, and retired to a nearby park to descend upon our bounty.
That is the story. Here is the cheese.
Origin: Parma, Italy
Rennet: Animal
Milk: Cow, unpasteurized
Affinage: 3 Years! Woop Woop!
Notes: 3 Years of aging technically makes this a ‘Stravecchio’ example of its kind, but here’s the real hot tip: They definitely had more aged versions there in that beautiful, beautiful cheese case. So if you are all about adding some -issimo to your Stravecchio (proof that I don’t speak Italian), go to the source. That being said, is the 12 month version also fantastic? Abso-lutely. Only, make sure you’re getting the genuine article. Parmesan need not apply. Not even ironic-hipster artisan-revival Parmesan in redesigned chic green bottles. Just trust the stuff with the seal on the rind.
Thoughts: Ok. So you’ve had Parmigiano Reggiano before. Cool. The big spoiler alert here is that this also tastes… like Parmigiano Reggiano. I mean, it should, because it is that same cheese that you had at 12 months but this one has been aged and flipped with decreasing frequency for another couple trips around the sun. Does it taste more… intense? Yeah, probably. How often do you just eat a plain slice of Parm? A little goes a long way. A lot goes a long way, too. Too much probably goes all the way to the hospital. This is not health food, no matter how pretty it looks on your Insta. Of course the flavor of the 3 Year is somewhat more concentrated, the texture noticeably drier, and the bite of that unpasteurized milk ever present. The truth is, dear reader, we tore into it like it was our last day on earth and didn’t look back. That half kilo of Parma Gold lasted us a good long while and was the star of many an appetizer and pasta dish, but to sit down and describe it today feels… cheap. It deserves poetry, it deserves fanfare, it deserves to be hunted down and bought from the kind man behind the counter in the white apron. It’s a good cheese. You will like it.
The train trip through the alps from Germany to northern Italy is absolutely stunning. Even if the destination wasn't a wonderland of freshwater lakes and mouthwatering delicacies, which it definitely is, the ride itself would be a worthy vacation.
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