A Foodie in Paradise

But missing sushi in the land of pork and veal

Colorno, Italy

...Nato in Italia,
Allevato in Italia,
Macellato in Italia...

Those three lines are commonly found on packages of fresh meat I’ve been buying over the past four months. Born in Italy, raised in Italy, slaughtered in Italy.

I’m living in Italy for the next few months, while completing a Master of Food Culture degree from the University of Gastronomic Sciences near Parma, in the north-central part of the country. While I’m learning all kinds of fascinating facts about the history and technology behind products such as olive oil, cheese, cured meats, and wine, I’m also learning about differences in food culture.

Italians love to talk about food. A lot. You could easily spend an entire evening debating the relative merits of one type of cheese over another, the cuisine of one region versus another, or who makes the best cured leg of pork.

I am loving the incredible array of cured meat products here. Salamis of every description, paper-thin slices of prosciutto. Fresh water-buffalo-milk mozzarella that tastes like it came straight from the cow. Crisp wedges of raw fennel layered between slices of sweet oranges. Pillows of fresh pasta stuffed with ricotta cheese and chard. And the best cappuccinos anywhere. The idea of a jumbo decaf non-fat latté to go would make any Italian laugh.

Italians are fiercely loyal to food products made in Italy. That’s why the labels of origin are so important, including the fact that the animals they’re eating started and finished their lives within the country’s borders. It’s also why Italy has the production of so many foodstuffs and wines protected by European Commission laws. No one else in Europe can claim to be making Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese or Parma ham, for example, two of the top traditional products of the region where I’m living.
While my heritage is Italian, I am Canadian through and through. My parents were born in Canada and never bothered to teach me how to speak Italian. While I grew up on healthy food, my mom’s repertoire of Italian dishes didn’t extend far beyond spaghetti and meat-balls and lasagna.

I keep comparing my food life in Italy to Vancouver. What do I miss? Cheap, fresh oysters by the dozen. (I paid about $6.50 Canadian for one oyster at a wine bar in Rome.) Fresh wild salmon—or even frozen wild salmon, for that matter. Sushi. Oh, do I miss sushi. Dungeness crab. Halibut cheeks. (Parma is the land of pork and veal.)

I miss non-Italian restaurants. I know that sounds ridiculous, but every region of Italy has its own style of cooking. And nearly every restaurant in that region has a similar menu, most very competently executed, but after the first half-dozen…you get the picture. I miss stir-fried veggies. Dim sum, pho, and won ton noodle soup. Fresh, chewy multigrain bread. Cinnamon buns.
Don’t get me wrong. My life is pretty good here. I miss my wife dearly; she visits as often as she can. But it’s the chance of a lifetime to see artisan food products being created before my eyes, to find out why this particular olive oil tastes grassy and that one tastes nutty, and how the fog rising off the Po River is a necessary factor in aging the best Culatello di Zibello. In the months ahead, I’ll be travelling to three regions in Italy, as well as Spain, Greece, and France, to learn about their food culture. It’s the stuff any serious foodie dreams of.

By November, I’ll be back in Vancouver. Our region has so much potential when it comes to food. Potential to feed ourselves instead of importing so many of our basics, potential to make fine artisan products, and potential to teach our children what real food is and how to be savvy consumers. And I’m going to be part of all that potential when I return.

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