"Take it Slow" 

– Publication in Est Elle Magazine (Vol. 6 June, 2013)

To download article, click here.

The Fifth Quarter

I’m always hunting for new and unknown flavours. Luckily, I’ve never been a picky eater – an asset, for sure. As long as the treat handed to me is edible, my mouth opens. That’s how I’ve been taught and that’s my motto. It’s downright the best way to amuse your taste buds. The way I see it is that each new flavor adds vocabulary and nuances to my taste grammar. The fact that I’m also awfully curious just adds satisfaction.

Ever since I moved to Italy I’ve been extra diligent with my motto. Even the most suspicious foods have to be tried at least once. Surely ignorance is often bliss when it comes to the not-so-common-rather-strange-looking-and-smelly-stuff. Growing up in Hanoi, Vietnam I’ve learned that sometimes you’re better off eating first and thinking later. Savouring a well-made testina al forno (baked lamb brain) is far easier when you concentrate on the one you have the plate and not the one between your ears. Just saying.

In Italy going to the butcher’s is a lot more exciting than back home in Finland. Whole rabbits, whole roosters, brains, testicles, pig legs, ears are all nicely chilling there side by side. And internal organs! Never did I think how refreshing the sight of offal could be. Very soothing indeed. Yep, all there; kidneys; liver; intestines; heart. A bit like counting ten fingers and toes on a newborn. Or something.

Of all places in Italy, Lazio and especially the city of Rome is intriguing for its traditional cuisine. When we arrived to the region with the class last week, my curiosity for odd bits and new flavors escalated instantly. Offal, or quinto quarto as it’s called in Italian (literally the ‘Fifth Quarter’), happen to be both an important pillar of the Roman cuisine and a personal source of curiosity.

First, a quick peak into history: Paradoxically, the ancient Roman diet was predominantly vegetarian and seafood based. Butcher’s meat was only consumed when the animals that no longer served any other purpose were slaughtered. Back then, offal was considered both prohibited and refined food. Only around the 2nd century BCE, along with the early urbanization and birth of luxury foods, did meat consumption progressively start augmenting. The high-class gourmands of those times indulged themselves with extravagant offal dishes such as fattened goose liver with figs, rooster’s testicles and crest, swan and flamingo tongue, just to name a few. A hop and a skip later, a shift took place again towards the end of the 18th century and offal got downgraded as poor man’s food. Also the slaughterhouses and butchers were moved away from the city centre to the periphery for hygienic reasons and growing discomfort of having them too close the living areas. Letting blood run down to the streets of Rome just wasn’t acceptable any longer.

It was then in the late 19th century in the slaughterhouses of a specific “rione” (district) of Rome called Testaccio that quinto quarto made its way to the Roman tables. There the “vaccinari” or “scortichini“ (slaughterhouse workers who skinned animals for living) were paid not with money but with the animal parts most people regarded as waste – a thin comfort for hard labor. On the other hand luckily they did, as this fiercely developed the local food scene that we today know of traditional Roman cuisine.

Of course behind each vaccinari there was woman. It was the housewives and local osterie and trattorie (female) cooks that were forced to make something out of nothing using the not-so-appetizing odd bits. And boy did they do it well. Ears, feet, skin, tail, liver, heart, lungs and brain were all turned into succulent, robust comfort food. For anyone who has even remotely heard of Roman cuisine the word ‘vaccinari’ should ring a bell. The finger-licking full-bodied Roman cuisine classic coda alla vaccinara (slowly cooked oxtail in tomato sauce with onions, carrots, celery, white wine, guaciale, some add pine nuts, dried raisins and bitter cocoa, it works either way) is a fabulous invention created in the pots and pans of these Roman women. This popular dish is by the way probably one of the easiest ways to get acquitted with the delicious-but-sometimes-odd-world of quinto quarto cuisine.

Calling offal quinto quarto actually makes perfect sense: An animal when slaughtered is cut in half from nose to tail. You end up with two halves that are then both divided in fore and hind parts. Result, four quarters. The fifth ‘quarto’ is all that remains of the slaughtered beast: head, tail, legs, and internal organs – odd bits. Coming from Finland, if it weren’t for all my travels, I would’ve probably never encountered most of these bits in an eating context. In fact, many people in the Nordic countries are very sceptical when it comes to offal. (Finding deep-frozen blood used for pancakes next to ice cream in the super market however is totally normal, hmm).

Offal is seriously tasty and besides that an exciting challenge for any cook, amateur or professional. The odd bits are very heterogeneous in both taste and nutritional value, also in regards to cooking times and methods. Even though quinto quarto dishes are precious building blocks of traditional Roman cuisine, it’s not something the modern day gladiators eat every day. Sure, there are different reasons for it such as the organs’ toxin content, high levels of saturated fats and cholesterol etc. It’s a pity we hear less of how offal holds many essential lipids, vitamins and mineral nutrients. Offal is also gentle on your wallet as it's still the cheapest animal protein you can get. When you trust your butcher, go for it.

The quinto quarto dishes are the classic example of how poor man’s food has become an authentic delicacy representing the local culinary distinctiveness of a specific region. The dishes are comfort food at its best – a real Roman cult – historically linked to necessity and restrictions of the daily life once upon a time. When savoring these luscious and substantial delicacies you can say you’ve tasted tradition. Nowadays many of the dishes have, however, been transformed and updated to more delicate versions in order to make them more palatable and accessible for a wider range of people. But that’s the name of the game. Back in the days these dishes were the reflection of their time. It’s only fair that today you can find fresher versions of the old, which nevertheless still respect tradition.

Even though blood no longer runs down the sidewalks of Rome, sinking your teeth into pajata, coratella, testarella or la trippa alla romana still wakes up the barbarian in you. No wonder that in many cultures offal are considered ”good for men”. But one doesn’t need testosterone to feel like the rush. As disgusting as it may sound to some, I simply love eating slightly grilled bloody liver with my fingers, sucking the skull of a roasted lamb and licking the sauce of my plate of veal intestines with enormous pleasure.

When in Rome… these are some good spots for traditional quinto quarto cuisine. In Testaccio: Agustarello, Perilli, Oio a Casa Mia and Lo Scopettaro. In other districts: L’Antica Pesa, il Quinto Quarto, Giggetto al Portico d’Ottavia, La Sagra del Vino and L’Osteria del Cannellino. Outside of Rome: Osteria di San Cesario.

Lady Clementine

“Welcome to Calabria!” she shouts, as she steps out of her car, “Sorry for being late… you know how it is here in the South…” she continues with vivid gestures and a disarming smile. She is Cristiana Smurra, co-owner of the family run organic clementine farm Biosmurra right outside of Rossano in Northern Calabria. 

For Cristiana, clementines are a family affair. Her family has run the five-hectare farm since 1987. Four years ago, when she took over the family business together with her older sister Martina, the two ladies took the decision to go fully organic. “By no mean was it an easy switch” she recalls. And I believe her. As she shares with us the ups and downs they’ve encountered along the way to Bio, I couldn’t help but fix my gaze on her big rough hands. They were the hands of a true farmer. She was no average Italiana – that I could tell immediately. Behind her warm and soft persona lay a tenacious and hard working independent woman. A modern day Superwoman, fierce, beautiful, witty and tough skinned. Our group consisting of women only all stared at her flabbergasted with sincere admiration.

“Let’s have some clementines ladies, follow me”. I liked the sound of that, so did my classmates. As we walked towards the clementine plantations, Cristiana gave us an introduction to the characteristics of the clementine tree. We learned that the rootstock of the clementine trees are at least a hundred years old, the stems might be younger. “Can you see this cut?” Cristiana pointed at the lowest part of the stem. Indeed, one could perceive a sort of cut, like a scar on the very lowest part of the stem only a few inches off the soil surface. That was the old stump out of which new trees grow again and again. 

The clementine tree is a fascinating plant. The ones Cristiana grows are seedless hybrids of arancio amaro (bitter orange) and mandarino Avana (Avana mandarin). The more she told us about her clementines, the more I admired her. But neither for her knowledge in organic farming nor the savoir-faire running a two-women business, but for the love and caring she conveyed and expressed for her farm as she led our group through the various clementine species. Her rough hands gently caressed the leaves of each tree as she passed them by. She smiled at each orange blossom as if she thanked them for giving her fruit. Mesmerized, I followed her through the field. The air smelled citrusy and sweet – whether it was her or the fruit, I couldn’t tell. It didn’t really matter; I had already understood that they were one, Lady Clementine and her fruits. 

“There’s only a few trees that still bare fruit, the season is almost over. But I wanted you girls to pick some to take home so I didn’t harvest them all”. It suddenly hit me that we had stopped by a tree with its braches hanging heavy of glossy and radiant orange clementines. It all seemed surreal, almost heavenly.  Where was I, at the Biosmurra farm or the Garden of Eden? Was Cristiana Eve who tempted me with the almost perversely perfect clementines?  Would I regain consciousness and realize I’m standing in the middle of a clementine farm butt naked if I peeled one? I wanted to find out.

I spotted a clementine that had my name on it. Hello lover! What an exquisite clementine is was. I reached for it and gave it a tug. The fruits were so ripe that my move made ten other clementines fall all around me. Clementine rain! 

With the chosen one in my hand I heard Cristiana in the background “Mangia Edith, mangia!” Her wish was my command. The peel came off without any effort and I could instantly feel the lukewarm sticky juice running down my wrist and along my forearm. The smell of the clementine tickled my nostrils. It was Mother Nature’s own perfume. Wait. Are those angels singing in the background or is it just my mind playing tricks on me? Cristiana had selected this specific tree exactly for its distinctively aromatic fruits. Sweet and acidic, juicy and fleshy all in wrapped in a radiant orange coat. And it tasted like no clementine I had ever eaten before. The flavors were exceptionally intense and sharp, but very balanced and delicate at the same time. To say that it tasted like a clementine would have been a serious understatement.  The clementines I knew from before tasted nothing more than blandly sweet and vaguely acidic compared to these ones. I was able to taste the sun, the hills, the soil and the sea. Most of all, however, I could taste the love and devotion. 

Standing there surrounded by clementine tree with the warm spring breeze kissing my skin, with my fingers sticky and my lips slightly stinging, I felt like I could stay there forever and live happily ever after.  Eating the forbidden fruit certainly didn’t bring me back to reality, quite the opposite. In my mind I was still happily unaware of my nudity in that Calabrian La-la Land. My facial expression must have revealed my intoxication since I noticed Cristiana staring at me with content. No words were spoken but she knew that I knew. She was pleased, so was I. “Wait until you try our marmalades… ” she whispered and smiled.

Living Bra: Liberation Day BBQ

Better later than never!

I finally managed to make the very first Living Bra -clip. Hurray!
My intention with these clips is to show you little glimpses of my daily life and experiences here at the University of Gastronomic Sciences in Bra.

Now some of you might remember my friend Vincenzo Graglia a.k.a the wild boar hunter. To celebrate the Italian Liberation Day on April 25th, I was invited for a big family barbecue at casa Graglia. Family, friends, neighbors and a Finnish girl gathered together around the table for good food, good wine and good vibes.

Fun, tasty and simple - the recipe for living 'bra' in Bra.

Spooning you

Playing (havoc) With Food

As a student in gastronomy at the dawn of 2013, I’d like to argue that there’s very little we do not in terms of food these days. In one way or another food is continuously played with. Whether it’s about the choice of snack on your way to work or about the pan-European debates around the Common Agricultural Policy due to be reformed this year, we are taking a part in the highly complex and multi-layered game called the Global Food System.

We have reached a level in the game where the playing field has become a serious labyrinth with dangerous twists and turns made even trickier by abrupt and complicated challenges extremely hard to overcome. Safe to say that food, as the basic nutritional substance that keeps both you and I standing, is something of an ancient understanding. I wonder what my late grandmother – a farmer’s wife and a mother of eight, who always advises me not to play with food – would think of it all if only she were still with us.

I am not entirely sure how it all makes me feel though. On one hand, it is fascinating and extremely interesting to be a player in this game since food is not only my field of study, but its importance and impact in my life stretches from it being my greatest hobby and passion to it being my future occupation and source of livelihood. On the other hand however, I have come across dimensions of this very game that make me physically ill. As most of us have learnt the hard way as children, even the most seemly harmless and innocent games can easily wreak havoc. Now a cruel and potentially lethal game might serve as an entertaining manuscript for a commercial teen blockbuster, but having it happen in real life – taking part of it either consciously or unconsciously, aware or not – is a whole different story.

It’s all very ironic and highly controversial to say the least. Food seems to be the coolest thing to play with. Food labs perform chemical experiments with it; food photographers enhance it to capture its beauty; food bloggers write love letters to it on Valentine’s Day. People dealing with food for a living have almost over night been turned into celebrated rock star-like idols. Unfortunately however, there is – as always – a far less sexy side to it all too. Never before have we had a global food system as rotten and infected as today. In Europe and North America the average plate of food travels around 2400 km before reaching our stomachs (Clapp 2012, I). One third of food produced for human consumption is wasted yet 1/8 of the world population goes to bed hungry every day (FAO 2013).

The facts speak for themselves: we are in the midst of a highly complex food crisis and the game is far from being innocent child’s play. These are heavy issues with a whole range of side effects such as the “unnatural coupling of food and global finance” (Ghosh 2010) and commodification of food causing detrimental effects such as asymmetry, volatility and ecological fragility are more and more present on the game field. At the same time the game is being animated and catalyzed by a wide spectrum of different food-related undertakings such as food styling, food TV, food festivals, food movements and what-have-you.

Here is when it all gets confusing: I thought the common rule was that playing with food was forbidden and wrong.

Come to think of it, I wonder where this staple rule comes from since people have been “playing with food” for as long as food has been a subject of trade and a product of global industry. The 19th century colonialism made Europeans and North Americans hungry for tropical luxury foods and the trading of temperate agricultural products, e.g. wheat formed the early trading companies (Clapp 2012, 24). By the end of the Second World War food was already seriously played with and used for all kinds of unorthodox purposes. The food game had become a powerful political and economical tool slowly developing and creating a serious global ecological crisis that no nation soon would have any control of. But was the game stopped? By no means. New rules, one more contradictory than the other, were added on injury to cover up the cruelty of the game. With the rise of the ‘foodie-ism’ and food porn in mid 2000s, people were blinded and distracted by the fun of it once again. What many foodies are happily unaware of is that they in fact are feeding the same cruel game. For them the game just has a different face.

As I teleport myself back to the mid 1990s and my childhood, I vividly remember getting yelled at in school because I had proudly created a piece of art out of the dry hard rye bread given to us at each meal. I remember observing my teacher’s raging facial expression and thinking that she just doesn’t get it, as she would go on and on about how children like me are dying of hunger in Africa and that I shouldn’t play with the food in that way. I wonder what kind of food games the children born in the 2010s will play and witness; which are the ground rules they will be taught in schools in terms of food. One thing is certain though, it seems that playing with food is precisely what they are encouraged to do.

It would be naïve to think that the nature of food would forever remain the same or that it would stay untouched by the forces that seem to rule the world as we know it. It is also rather ignorant to believe that old rules are always the best and most suitable. Playing with food, literally and figuratively, is de facto a lucrative business and is highly intertwined with global economy, politics and world finance. However, I do think that the Russian roulette driven by a handful of transnational corporations, the few private firms that hold the dominant role in the three main segments of the food game (input provision, trade and processing, distribution and retail) and control our global food system, is a dirty game gone way too far.

I am aware that I have presented two very different interpretations of what can be meant by the title of my essay. Some might even argue that the current food obsession in the creative sector has no direct link to the seriousness of the financialization of food. If there is something I have learned from the classes I have taken so far; it is that everything in the sector of agrifood and gastronomy is in fact about money and business. Why wouldn’t it be? I myself take part in it all by choosing to enroll to a Master’s program on food culture and communication. The University of Gastronomic Sciences in the picturesque town of Pollenzo is, after all, simply riding the same wave of the intensified and extended food game. When food is used, either banally for nutrition or creatively as art, there is a business and a market behind it. Whether it is about seeking the cheapest food in highest possible quantities or about exhibiting a dissolvable spoon made out of sugar, the food-related endeavors have global effects and there is a thin line between creative unconventional application of food and straightforward exploiting adulteration of food.

In class we were asked how we would feel if we were to give up imported foods. Some didn’t feel the least bit threatened by the idea. What if we would all be asked to actually follow the good old rule of not playing with food? If only more people would understand the danger of the food game we are all playing as we speak, consciously or unconsciously, maybe more people would rather obey to the good old rule than keep on playing. As a young and upcoming gastronome, I wish I’d have the recipe for a remedy. The situation can seem, and I regret saying this, rather hopeless. It seems like the forces feeding these two extreme scenarios where food is played with have gone way too far and are way out of control and out of reach for the average John Doe. I guess it is impossible to quit playing at this point. Playing havoc with food can be brought to a halt. That I do believe in. Whether it is yet another set of complex new rules, guidelines and regulations that will make it all better, I cannot say. My guess is probably as good as anyone else’s.


References:

-CLAPP Jennifer, Food (Polity Press, Malden, USA, 2012).
-FAO 2013, http://www.fao.org/nr/sustainability/food-loss-and-waste/en/, accessed February 24th, 2013.
-GHOSH Jayati, “The Unnatural Coupling of Food and Global Finance” Journal of Agrarian Change, Volume 10, Issue 1, (2010): 72–86.
-SAGE Colin, Environment and Food (Routledge, London & New York, 2012). 

Once upon a time in the hills of Piedmont…

Three months into the one-year master program at the University of Gastronomic Sciences (UNISG) in Bra, Italy and I’m sensing powerful forces, far more powerful than I ever could have imagined taking a hold of me. Sitting here in the kitchen of my little apartment in the heart of Bra seems so ordinary. Yet, I’m in the midst of a dynamic process colored by bittersweet growing pains and fervid enthusiasm, profound confusion and exhilarating enlightenment.

On the other hand, nothing in the aforementioned surprises me really. In fact somehow, I was expecting it. Still, it’s rather baffling to feel not only psychologically, but also physically the change – to touch it, to see it and to sense it daily in each little, seemly unimportant detail of my life. Some changes are more concrete than others: my waistline has taken a life of its own and the act of operating a corkscrew on a bottle of Piedmontese red wine has turned into somewhat of a spontaneous reflex. But these are mere side effects. There’s a whole lot more to it.

The laboratory – UNISG – that is molding overly exuberant and irrational foodies from all around the globe, turning them into aware and rooted new gastronomes is, as we speak, producing its effect also on this Finnish girl. It started rather automatically, triggering an overwhelming curiosity for what’s going on “behind the scenes” of the food industry. After only a few weeks of classes, I started seriously expanding my knowledge. The food I ate started talking to me and I was all ears. Then, naturally, the critical thinking took over. Questions, questions and more questions. So many questions that there wasn’t enough time to answer them all – there still isn’t. And then, something more substantial got activated. The more I learnt, the more some choices that had seemed harmlessly necessary suddenly turned into unethical and immoral behavior. Nothing about something as simple as food was simple any longer! And now, nothing is the way it was before. It might sound exaggerated but I truly realized that delicious food means so much more than the usual juxtaposed superlatives people use to define it.

Walking the 5,2 km to school every morning, I have the most delightful epiphanies (as I’m on the verge of a heart attack due to the semi-mad dogs barking and as I apply my new Italian skills screaming at the middle-aged man who almost hits me as he speeds passed me in his 1980’s Fiat Punto). I see farmers performing their daily routines; I see how the landscape changes with the seasons; I smell manure and start enjoying its pungent odor. Most of all, I feel connected to the land beneath my feet. Never have I felt as connected as I do now. Never have I felt so much gratitude to Mother Earth for letting me savor its exquisite deliciousness. Being able to walk on that coarse countryside road between the two Piedmontese towns of Bra and Pollenzo to fulfill my dreams of becoming a full-fledged gastronome is a gift and I’m a lucky girl. Yes, I’m aware of how this sounds, and no, I haven’t been touched by God. However, what is happening to me is in fact rather moving and phenomenal.

Most of the students at UNISG held food dear even before their enrollment. Some already have a solid background in gastronomy; some simply come from a family that cherishes good and honest home food. Then there are the few who mostly seem to be on an extended (rather expensive) food-related holiday in Italy. Each to his own.  The bottom line is that this opportunity really has the potential of a real opportunity. How and if one chooses to take or not, is another matter. As for me, I belong to the ones who cry of happiness when welcomed to the table at local hunter’s home to share a meal with his family. I also belong to the ones who from the beginning had no intention of letting anything pass me by. Everything needs to be absorbed. Nevertheless, to think that I might in the end actually be able to call myself by the g-word seems still hypothetical.

To me, gastronomy always sounded so awfully elitist and somehow unattainable. But since I’ve been a student at UNISG, I’ve realized that many people around the world calling themselves gastronomes are in fact as far from being one as Berlusconi was from being a credible PM. Jean-Anthelme Brilliat-Savarin aka the father of the discipline defines gastronomy as “the intelligence of knowledge of whatever concern man’s nourishment”. Now, if that translates into drinking Barolos and eating white truffles on weekly basis at Michelin star restaurants, and if the former ends up in nasty drunkenness and the latter in over indulgence, I’m afraid you might have misunderstood the early 19th century French epicure. I believe that being able to stick your fingers in soil, smell manure, meet farmers and recognize the scent of fresh grass in the high quality milk that they use to produce artisanal delights, is way closer to being a gastronome than staging any pretentious culinary extravagance. This is just my humble opinion.

It’s certainly possible that in nine months, when I’ll be done with the program, my friends and family might regard me as a picky food snob ruining perfectly decent restaurant experiences by asking the waitress for (too much) information about the life and origin of the cow neatly turned into an entrecôte on the menu. I might read this article again and think I was a deranged gourmand blinded by it all. I don’t think so though. Neither do I think I’ll ever go back to old habits. As much fun as blind tastings can be, I still prefer keeping my eyes open when it comes to the food I choose to eat and buy. I don’t think I’ll stop asking questions, however annoyed my companions might get. Reading labels carefully and thoroughly, asking even more questions when grocery shopping and trying to trace the origin of each food item has become a hobby, something fun, not something I feel pressured into doing. For this, I have the University to thank, at least to a certain extent.

Where I am now, sitting by my kitchen table in Bra, I might still be a bit raw and stringy.  But like a real robust Boeuf Bourguignon, I also need long simmering to get tender and juicy. My insatiable hunger for more will guide me and further deepen my knowledge. Who knows, maybe my Finnish inborn modesty will eventually allow me to call myself a gastronome. If it sounds like a fairytale, maybe I should just start believing in them again.