GET IT RIGHT IN THE FOOD VALLEY
Be wary about what you order for dinner, writes James Cann.
There is no such thing as spaghetti Bolognese.
No, the dish you’ve rustled up for dinner a thousand times or plucked from the menu of a high-street Italian restaurant is a fabrication. An abomination, even.
Go on, I dare you. Try to order “spag bol” in any Emilia Romagnan restaurant and see what happens . . .
It is likely you will be told through gritted teeth that spaghetti Bolognese is an American invention, a corruption of the dish that should always be made with fresh tagliatelle.
Semolina-based spaghetti just cannot hold ragu — the authentic name for the meat sauce known worldwide as Bolognese, which so readily soaks into freshly made egg-and-flour pasta.
In Emilia Romagna, also known as Italy’s food valley, such distinctions are very important.
So dedicated to cuisine are the people of a northern region blessed with a humid, subtropical climate, that their excellence in food standards has been recognised by the Michelin Guide.
The unveiling of the Italian edition of the red book, detailing the best places to both eat and sleep, was shifted from its longterm base in Milan last year to Parma, a city with only two starred restaurants.
So why this provincial outpost? Designated a Unesco City of Gastronomy at the end of 2015, more than 30 per cent of its working population are involved in the production and serving of food.
It is the gastronomical capital of the food valley and arguably of the northern half of the country.
And what better way to showcase the craftsmanship and taste of the province than by hosting a lavish Michelin ceremony at the stunning Teatro Regio opera house.
A 1400-seater auditorium that normally hosts tributes to Parma’s musical sons, Verdi and Toscanini, saw the cream of Italy’s chefs rewarded for their culinary endeavours.
But conspicuously absent from the stage were the unsung heroes; the producers who churn milk into Parmigiano-Reggiano, better known as Parmesan, or salt the haunches that will become prosciutto.
The valley’s many food producers may work independently as businesses, but they are united in their commitment to preserving tradition and flavour.
I have toured the Galloni factory in Langhirano, 20km south of Parma, and observed the exacting application of sea salt and seasoning, which delivers mouthwatering Parma ham to the top tables. (Tours can be booked through the local tourist office.)
Federico Galloni calls his army of workers “salatori”, or salty men; they scrutinise the ham hocks before smothering them in salt and hanging them up to dry for months.
A convivial man wearing an elegant cardigan under his white lab coat, Galloni is a grandson of one of the five brothers who established the business in 1960.
Today, they can produce 300,000 cured hams every year. Galloni says it could produce five times that amount if he chose to switch to a fully automated production line. But he instead keeps faith with the serious salty men, who do not smile at gawping visitors as they are too engrossed in their time-honoured handiwork.
In the ominous-sounding ham chamber, visitors marvel at the “spiking” process, conducted with a horse’s shin bone to assess the odour of the prosciutto. The best legs are awarded the famous fivepointed crown stamp of Parma ham.
A tasting session is soundtracked by Verdi in a dedicated sampling room where the luscious ham is washed down with lightly sparkling pignoletto wine.
And how do those swine develop such succulent hind meat? They are fed on natural whey, a byproduct of creating Parmesan.
Those wanting to discover how the fine cheese gets from the farm to that famous little dish with its tiny spoon, can get up with the cows and witness the transformation first hand.
Only 15 minutes from Parma’s historic city centre lies the Consorzio Produttori