So much more than bed and breakfast

At this time of year in Italy, people who can afford holidays head to either the sea or the mountains. In Rome and Bologna, the heat rose from the cobblestones, and on the flat country around Modena the mowed paddocks revealed the cracked clay and the cut-off cereals looked spikey.

In researching my trip, I discovered the word ‘agriturismo’ which brought up wonderful search results in Google. Italy has fantastic networks of farms that offer accommodation, and often restaurant-quality food too. When I made my bookings, I avoided the castles with swimming pools and hammocks, and looked for the ones with free range chooks and rambling gardens.

In Savignano sul Panaro, not far from Modena, we stayed at l’Alpenice – a small four-hectare organic farm with a bed and breakfast. Lorella runs the accommodation, while Andrea works off the farm selling seeds and agricultural products to farmers. They grow grapes for wine, and fruit for making conserves for the visitors. (Have a listen and look at the slideshow to hear more about why they run an agriturismo and who comes to visit).

At l’Alpenice there was a French family on a two-week holiday, and an Italian couple with a toddler stayed briefly en route to their mountain holiday. It was lovely to sit with them all at breakfast eating prosciutto, parmigiano, greengages, chocolate cake, and bread and jam, showing my farm photos and delighting as we learnt the Italian words for the animals.

In the evenings Andrea and I talked farming in Italy and Australia, comparing the crops we grow, government support for farmers, and the ageing farming populations. Lorella and Andrea both spoke English well, which was very helpful for this single-lingual Australian. Lorella even volunteered to come to the Bianca Modenese farm with us to be the translator. (Increasingly while I am away I am feeling very guilty for not having learnt another language at school).

After l’Alpenice, Bronwyn and I drove to Parma (yes, the famous ham place) and then headed into the mountains, singing “staying on the right, on the right… and giving way to the left, to the left”. The drive to the village of Tizzano felt like a long, drawn-out stage of Targa Tasmania: we zigzagged up and up the hills, and were overtaken constantly by zoom-zoom cars with more guts than our Panda.

We found Agriturismo Casanuova among the bright green forest trees. It’s run by Franca and Manuel Saviola, their son Diadorim and his wife Chiara. Franca welcomed us with elderflower cordial and clear instructions about dinner and breakfast times and where to hang our door keys.

Each night at 8pm, Diadorim rang a bell for dinner, and the guests filed into a dark and cool dining room. The long table can sit about 14 people, but there are extra tables if needed. Diadorim and Chiara served a starter of pasta: wide tubes with fresh tomatoes and basil with parmigiano reggiano “dust”. Then the salads began arriving: lettuce from Franca’s kitchen garden, grated zucchini with basil and vinegar, pickled capsicum and onions, beans with parsley…

Franca’s mains were amazing – simple food made with quality ingredients. Over five nights we had dishes that included: almost-raw roast beef served with a parsley/onion/vinegar sauce; the best chicken schnitzel and roast potatoes I have ever had; quiches and pizzas; fried rectangles of home-made pasta spread with a soft cheese - my mouth is watering at the memory.

Dessert was fruit in a sugar syrup, apple cake, hedgehog slice (but better), and grape jelly. Then it was Manuel’s turn to show-off, pouring his homemade liqueurs from walnuts and prunes.

I knew it would be good staying at agriturismos, but it exceeded all possible expectations. We had a cultural experience you could never get in a hotel, and we made real friends with the same values. They even started looking up flights to Tasmania.

Guy often talks about having a farm-stay at Mount Gnomon, and I’ve always been a bit cool on the topic – thinking of all the washing and cleaning I would have to do. But now I can see that we could offer a fantastic experience for visitors – so much more than only a bed and breakfast.

Casa Nuova, a set on Flickr.

Lean beef and lean times in Italy

Beef production in Italy, a set on Flickr.

I realise I’ve been taking grass for granted. It’s hay-making time in Italy, and every valley, meadow, and road verge is being baled to feed stock. If you think Australian farmers take their tractors to dangerous places, you should see the hills they’re working on here. I’ve been wondering how many round bales bounce across the roads and end up in the rivers.

I have actually seen very few animals grazing outside: a flock of Cornigliese sheep, four horses, five Friesian bulls, and a herd of black pigs. I think it’s for a few reasons. Firstly, some areas get a lot of snow in winter, so there’d be no grass and the animals would get thin in the cold. If the animals grazed, farmers would need bigger farms to rotate the paddocks – but the farms are mostly small and there’s little room to move. And I think some of it is because of tradition and tastes. 

Andrea Mongiorgi has a large farm business at Castelfranco near Modena. It’s a mixed farm, growing grass and maize for fodder, grain for pasta flour, vegetables, grapes, and beef. 

When I visited his stable, he told me Italians don’t like the flavour of grass-fed beef – so the cattle are fed only hay and maize. Dairy cows used for Parmigiano Reggiano production cannot be fed fresh feed because it can cause fermentation in the milk and ruin the cheese.

Andrea’s main operation is producing fodder for farmers who are part of the local Parmigiano cooperative. There are 1,300 cows in the cooperative and their milk makes 70 wheels of Parmigiano every day. The good thing about the cooperative is that farmers with tiny farms can participate. In the mountains, we drove through villages with tiny stables right on the road with less than 10 cows in them. Whether these businesses are profitable, is another question.

In Andrea’s region, the Bianca (white) Modenese is the local breed of cattle. It’s a dual-purpose breed (meat and milk), but in the past was also used for farm work. Andrea keeps these, and a few cross-breds, just for beef production. The cattle are killed when they are at least two years old. The Bianca Modenese is considered a rare breed, but I had trouble communicating with Andrea about this. He didn’t seem too worried about its future.

I was a bit surprised at Andrea’s cross-breds. He had a number of Belgium Blue crossed with Friesian – producing a very lean beef. He told me that Italians want lean meat, but the locals want more fat. Andrea suggested that people in the cities don’t have a great understanding about the different kinds and qualities of beef.

Andrea sells all his beef through his farm shop. The animals are killed off-site, but his butchery is large and clean and he showed me the carcasses hanging in the coolroom. People can come to buy cuts of meat, parmigiano and preserves, but they can also order large mixed boxes. The economic crisis, that everyone we meet talks about, has had an impact on sales. Andrea says people are preferring to eat cheese, or are opting for cheaper, imported beef. The beef comes from France, Germany, Holland, Ireland, Argentina and Brazil, and sells for about half the price.

It’s clear that eating Italian beef is a luxury for people who live in the cities, and that there is a huge industry growing the fodder to feed the animals. We are so lucky in Tasmania that we can grow grass easily, and that we have enough land to graze our animals outside. And fortunately, our tastes are moving away from grain-fed to grass-fed beef.

Pig farmer visits a shepherd

Pecora Cornigliese, a set on Flickr.

While we were staying at Agriturismo Casanuova, in the Province of Parma, we heard about a rare breed of sheep that was making a comeback in the area.

The Pecora Cornigliese is an old breed native to the mountains near Parma. It's useful for milk, meat, and wool.

The breed has become rare because of a shortage of shepherds. In the village I visited, Rigoso, there used to be about 20 shepherds. Now there are less than a handful - including the one I met, Onorato.

The shepherds receive support from the EU (15 Euros per animal, per year), but there doesn't seem to be support to help them get their products to the markets.

Italians don't actually eat much lamb, so the future of this breed may be determined by how well it is marketed.

One single ingredient

How do you put a price on a piece of history?

Real balsamic vinegar - the Traditional Balsamic Vinegar of Modena - is the work of generations. Some of the maturing barrels date back to the mid-1800s, and you can buy vinegar made from grapes grown more than 50 seasons ago.

This vinegar is top quality, and is made from only one ingredient - Lambrusco grapes. There are no additives.

Can you imagine waiting decades to taste the fruits of your labour? And what about the return on investment?

These questions are actually irrelevant, because real balsamic vinegar is about sacrifice and romance, as we learnt from Marica Benatti.

Marica is from Acetaia del Cristo - a family business at San Prospero, near Modena in Italy.

Produced by Bronwyn Purvis.

Pig farmer drives a car

When we picked up our hire car in Bologna, the man in charge of the carpark stopped the traffic so we could turn safely onto the busy street.

At least, that’s what I thought had happened. Bronwyn told me later the traffic had halted behind a car waiting to come into the alley I was leaving. The car, and the bus and cars behind it, had waited while I made two failed hill-starts in front of a boom gate that went up and down and up and finally down behind us.

Before we had left the carpark I tried to write ‘this side’ onto my right hand – but I was so sweaty the pen wouldn’t work. As I drove down the street, I tried to imagine I was just driving the gravel road at Mt Gnomon in the ute, sticking to the right to avoid the potholes. I gripped the wheel at 10 and 2 and leaned forward like a pained turtle. It took about 15 minutes for me to realise where the rear-view mirror was.

Bronwyn skillfully navigated the outskirts of the city with the help of google maps and a dodgy tourist map from Europcar. It took quite a while to get into the rhythm of pausing for zebra crossings every 50 metres. Bronwyn was like the driving instructor I had when I was 17: patiently and quietly giving directions and reminding me who to give way to, and to watch the pedestrian, cyclist, scooter, truck, and deer…

As we reached the highway, the paper map came to an end, and the phone battery ran out. We were on our own for a couple of minutes as Bronwyn extracted my computer from a bag in the back seat whilst not taking her eyes off the road.

It wasn’t long before the speed went from 50 to something much faster, and I found myself on a four-lane highway among trucks, caravans, and whizzing little Fiats, Alpha Romeos, and Peugeots. Bronwyn’s face paled a little when I excitedly told her I’d never driven among four lanes of traffic before – let alone the wrong (or right) side of the road.

After about 30 minutes the pulsing blue arrow took us off the highway – we had a couple of false alarms that gave me a chance to practice merging back onto the highway – and we entered the roundabout zone. This was the first time Bronwyn raised her voice. She didn’t yell, but she was firm and pointed with great precision as I got utterly confused.

In the countryside, I had to control myself to keep my eyes on the road, and not look at the crops and the freshly rolled bales of hay. The roads become narrower and narrower, and I hoped my hand-eye coordination had improved since I put the tractor forks through two of our sheds.

By now all our navigational batteries had fizzled, and we were following written instructions to a family farm producing balsamic vinegar.

When we finally found the address, and pulled into the drive, I hugged Bronwyn and thanked her for navigating us there. I was trembling as I got out of the car to meet our host.

P.S. I have now learnt how to say I am a pig farmer: “Io sono una allevatrice di maiali”.

Next… Why did I just pay 90 Euros for 100ml of balsamic vinegar?