We’re standing in the presence of Italian royalty. The experience is not only humbling, but also…mouthwatering. More than 30,000 uniform wheels of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, in various stages of aging, rest row after row on long wooden planks stacked in the maturation room at 4 Madonne Caseificio dell’Emilia. This leading dairy cooperative produces classic Parmigiano Reggiano in the town of Lesignana in Modena, Italy.
The king of Italian cheese has reigned since 1200. Back then in the Middle Ages, Benedictine monks living in monasteries and farms in the fertile countryside between the Po River and the Apennine mountains crafted the first wheel. Noted agriculturists, they cultivated vegetables and fruits, as well as grasses to feed the many cows they raised for cheese, butter, and milk.
“One day – we don’t know why – the Benedictines produced a hard cheese that could continue for a long time,” explains Federica Rondelli. “That was especially important during winter when the grasses didn’t grow.”
Federica represents the Consorzio del Formaggio Parmigiano Reggiano. The consortium strictly regulates and safeguards this regal treasure. Italy’s provinces of Parma, Reggio Emilia, Modena and parts of Mantua and Bologna are the exclusive producers of what the corsortium emphatically calls “the only parmesan.”
Courtesy of Modenatur, the local tourism office, Federica is conducting a private tour for my husband, Bill, our friend Terry, and me of 4 Madonne Caseificio dell’Emilia. Parmigiano Reggiano has long been my favorite cheese thanks to its singular appearance, taste, texture, aroma, and mouthfeel. Loyal subject that I am, paying homage at the ruler’s birthplace is tantamount to a royal audience.
Holy land
Federica calls the massive, warehouse-like maturation space the dairy’s cathedral.
For a place of worship, the look is spartan and unadorned. The room’s minimalism is the polar opposite of the highly ornate architecture and artifacts of the 11th-century Duomo di Modena, or Modena Cathedral, which Modenatur also scheduled on our day’s itinerary.
Nevertheless, I regard the simple surroundings with reverence and awe. My respect swells when Federica says that a second, identical maturation facility lies elsewhere on the property.
Suddenly, sirens blare. We turn to Federica in alarm, but she allays our concern.
Forklift-like machines regularly patrol these aisles. They pick up each cheese, brush it and the wood beneath, and turn it to resume aging. Sirens sound when their task is complete. Technology to the rescue, for men used to tackle that heavy job by hand.
In a corner of the maturation room sits a hefty, straw-yellow wheel of Parmigiano Reggiano. This lone king’s makeshift throne is a simple, waist-high wooden pedestal. A small brass percussion hammer rests on top of the cheese, which is holding court strictly for demonstration. The vast inventory of aging wheels on the shelves is destined for kitchens around the world…but only if the consortium deems them worthy.
Parmigiano Reggiano must stay here, within controlled temperature and humidity, for at least a year. Then the consortium tests the cheese, one by one, to decide which merit “crowns” – that is, earn the official fire-branded mark of authentication.
“It’s impossible to cut all the cheese to determine the quality inside, so my colleagues use a hammer to knock and listen,” Federica says. “If the cheese sounds the same in each part, there’s no defects because the cheese is compact.”
She picks up the hammer and taps the wheel in several spots, smiling at the just-so thunks.
Unsurprisingly, pure perfection.
Born of the land and traditions
In 2012, a massive earthquake virtually destroyed 4 Madonne Caseificio dell’Emilia. Tremors effected some two dozen other dairies, a host of farms, and 600,000 wheels of precious Parmigiano Reggiano. Federica shows us framed photos of the devastation, and the damage they capture is astonishing. Now rebuilt, this dairy is large, modern, and specially configured for guided tours.
We begin in the lobby next to a table displaying some ancient tools. Metal pails to transport milk. Long-handled paddles to assist during cooking of the milk. Wooden molds to form the Parmigiano Reggiano’s signature flat and convex shape.
Cheesemakers still use these basic implements, although some now have contemporary modifications. In addition, the dairy introduced new technology that aids the cheesemakers’ work, not replaces it. After so many centuries, people and nature, not industrial methods, continue to define this heritage product.
While the cheese bore no official name until the consortium designated it Parmigiano Reggiano in 1938, the time-honored recipe has remained virtually the same for nine centuries. That said, each cheese can taste a little different. Variables include the cows and their forage, and the artisan cheesemakers’ experience and personal craftsmanship. To further ensure its natural qualities, the consortium forbids the introduction of preservatives or additives at every point in the production chain.
Cheesemakers hard at work
We enter a rectangular room with a wall of windows that allows us to observe the cooking activity in the adjacent area. Cheesemakers garbed in white oversee an orderly assemblage of 55 deep, conical-shaped kettles which are lined inside with copper for optimal heat conduction.
Each kettle contains 1,100 liters (290 gallons) of partial-fat raw (unpasteurized) milk. The process of creating partial-fat milk actually began the night before with the delivery from the cows’ evening milking. That milk rested overnight. The cream that rose to the top was scraped off to be converted elsewhere into butter. This morning’s milk delivery went into the kettles along with last night’s remaining milk. Rennet and whey are the other ingredients.
Some cheesemakers are stirring the gently heated liquid, which is now coagulating. They employ an oversized balloon whisk, called a spino, to break the curds. Those minuscule cheesy granules sink to the bottom, compacting into a single mass. The men deftly use their hands to help control the size of the grains. With a knife, they cut the mass in half to form future king twins, each weighing about 45 kilograms (100 pounds). Paddles carefully help lift the cheese into protective cloths. At this point, the cheese’s texture is somewhat soft, like a big mozzarella, and needs cradling.
A conveyor raises the bottom-heavy cloths overhead for a brief airborne journey to tables topped with plastic molds.
I start chuckling. Their presence high above suddenly prompts an image of a flock of storks toting squirming bundles of newborn babies in their beaks.
Each nascent Parmigiano Reggiano cheese lowers carefully into a mold.
Hours from now, cheesemakers will surround the circumference of the cheese with a special marking brand that makes the distinctive, dotted Parmigiano Reggiano inscriptions. Akin to a birth certificate, the impression includes the date, dairy code, and European code to permit commercialization.
Also, it imprints DOP, which is short for Denominazione di Origine Protetta (Protected Designation of Origin). Eat Parmigiano Reggiano with the DOP and you know that local farmers and artisans made this food using traditional methods.
Cheesemakers immerse the cheese molds in a pool of water and salt. Salt creates a protective ring around the cheese and, at the same time, penetrates the cheese to control fermentation. Once dry, the wheels head to the maturation room.
Tasting Parmigiano Reggiano
Tantalizing aromas penetrate the air just outside the dairy’s store. Before us lies a platter with samples of Parmigiano Reggiano, aged for the minimum 12 months, 18 months, 24 months, and 30 months.
By nature, Parmigiano Reggiano breaks into irregular chunks and crumbs. Every savory shard possesses that characteristic assertive bite, sharp and vaguely nutty.
I start with the 12-month cheese. My first bite is an extra special treat, given the unavailability of 12-month cheese in the U.S. Color and taste of this youngster are mild. The touch is tender, elastic, and even feels a little wet. Essentially, there’s no granulation, and it has a fresh, almost sweet taste, rather like an orange.
I work my way up in age.
The 18-month cheese offers stronger hints of what lies ahead. As expected, bouquet and sensation are even more complex in the 24-month and 30-month versions. Small, white bubbles might look like a defect, but they’re protein crystals formed during maturation and completely edible.
Pairing with crackers or bread would be delicious, but certainly not necessary, because Parmigiano Reggiano stands mightily on its own. A scant drizzling of aged balsamic vinegar, another rarefied jewel from Modena, would make a happy marriage.
Maturation also simplifies the cheese’s protein, vitamins and fats. In addition, their cheese is without lactose, making it easily digestible and well suited for many types of diets. Even astronauts in space, who experience bone loss, eat Parmigiano Reggiano to reintroduce missing elements, Federica notes.
As the rich aftertaste of my sampling ebbs, I feel adrift. The remedy is yet another piece. I rededicate my fealty to Parmigiano Reggiano.
Long live the King.
Many thanks to Modenatur, the local tourism organization, for hosting us as media guests. The experiences and story are my own.
