Punk Domestics's blog

When I launched Punk Domestics, it was in large part because of my own curiosity and desire to delve ever deeper into the world of DIY food. Watching the whole Charcutepalooza phenomenon explode was so gratifying, knowing that there were so many others out there who hungered to learn ever more challenging techniques. Now, I've made no small number of jams, pickles, charcuterie, cheeses, infusions and liqueurs and much more. I am always finding myself asking whether it's possible to recreate something in the commercial marketplace in the home. Balsamic was one of those things I wondered about.

After having been to Modena, I am clear that the answer is no. Or, at least, that it is so prohibitively far beyond the scope of the average food enthusiast as to be for all practical purposes impossible. 

Now, to be perfectly clear, we are not talking about the dreck that lines the shelves of grocery stores, bottles full of cheap vinegar tainted with caramel coloring and corn syrup. There's nothing artisanal about that. 

It's understandable to be confused. The problem is, there are several classifications of balsamic vinegar, all with awkwardly similar nomenclatures. And there is a time and place for them all, even the cheap grocery store stuff. Just don't call it aceto balsamico tradizionale unless you mean it. 

At Acetaia Pedroni, we first saw the wood-fired steel cask where trebbiano grape juice is reduced. (Lambrusco grapes are also traditionally used at other acetiaie.) The reduced juice, also knows as mosto cotto or saba, is then conveyed into wooden casks. Read More >

After watching the elegant ballet that was Parmigiano-Reggiano, we headed to the nearby Prosciuttificio San Giacomo to see how prosciutto is made. Like Parmigiano-Reggiano, prosciutto is a case of a truly artisanal product that is made on a very large scale. And likewise, the process is governed by a consortium that maintains strict rules on how the hams are processed. 

Cured hams are made in many places, but those of Parma are considered to be the finest. This is the result of equal parts adherence to traditional processes, as well as natural environmental influences. Down in Cesenatico, for example, where we would be making salumi the next day, it is not possible to make prosciutto, as it is too humid during the warm months for the hams to cure properly; they would spoil. 

The process is really quite a simple one. Hams from the neighboring farms are brought in, salted, refrigerated, and then hung to cure. The art comes in handling the hams, and ensuring they are in the proper environment to cure optimally. 

Entering the prosciuttificio, the air was redolent with a porky smell. As the proprietor greeted us, a worker swung through with a bunch of hams on a rack, headed to be salted. 

Traditionally, hams would be salted by hand; nowadays, to accommodate production methods, they are run on a conveyor belt through a machine that salts them. Beyond that, this is a strictly manual process. 

After the salting, the hams are hung in a refrigerated chamber, no warmer than 4ºC (39ºF) and 80% humidity, for a week for the initial curing. From there, the hams are taken upstairs to another chamber -- really an entire floor of the factory -- where the meaty portions of the hams are spackled with a combination of lard and flour to protect them from overdrying. 

The goal here is to use the minimum amount of salt to achieve the optimum product. Although  these hams are quite substantial, usually about 15 kg upon arrival, too much salt would result in hams that are dry and tough, and too salty to eat. I learned this firsthand by trying to cure two boar legs last year. Finding the balance of how much salt to use requires finesse. Read More >

Emilia-Romagna is politically one province, but culturally and culinarily, it is two. Romagna, where Cesenatico is, is coastal, and therefore most of its popularity comes from the seaside towns where Italians and other Europeans vacation in the hot months. Emilia, occupying a large inland section of the province, is Italy's breadbasket. Home to Bologna, Parma, Reggio Emilia and Modena, it is the source of what most of us think of when we think of Italian food: Parmigiano-Reggiano, prosciutto, and balsamico. 

Early in the morning on our second day, we piled into a coach to head to Parma, some three hours west of Cesenatico. Our first stop was a caseificio where they make the king of cheeses, Parmigiano-Reggiano. 

As with many artisanal foods in Italy, Parmigiano-Reggiano is a protected classification, with a consortium that governs production methods and product quality. Thanks to their measures, Parmigiano-Reggiano is made in very much the same manner as it has been since as far back as the 14th century -- with a few nods to modernity. 

In the afternoon after our day of making preserves with Marzia, we took a field trip to nearby Sogliano al Rubicone, a small hill town on the southern edge of Romagna. As we arrived at our destination, we had a marvelous view of nearby San Marino, the tiny republic contained wholly within the nation of Italy. 

Vanessa told us that, due to being a papal state for centuries, there was, and remains, strong anti-clerical sentiment in the region. In Sogliano, residents made a cheese from sheep's milk, but in an effort to conceal anything they didn't want stolen or taxed, they began to carve pits in the rock under their homes. 

Sogliano is perched on a promontory of porous tufa, or limestone. As locals packed their fresh pecorino into these pits, a few things happened. First, the pressure of the weight of all the cheese would malform the wheels, resulting in nobby, irregular hunks. But after aging in the pits for a few months, they also noticed that the flavor of the cheese had changed. And so this sharp pecorino became a local delicacy, formaggio di fossa -- pit cheese. 

At Fosse Brandinelli, owner Marino took us, three at a time, up a James Bond-esque oval elevator carved into the cliff face. Some years ago, the Brandinellis purchased the home the next level up. When they went to clear out the basement, they discovered that they were the proud owners of several of these traditional pits, that had been filled up with earth. 

Not every home in Sogliano has these pits, so they knew they had something special. After clearing the pits out, they were faced with a new destiny: To become artisan cheese makers. 

After showing us around the cellar and the pits (you can see some photos on their site), and explaining the process of lining the pits with hay and packing the cheeses in, we settled in for a tasting. 

Formaggio di fossa is firm, almost chalky, with a sharpness typical of sheep's milk cheeses. The seasoning from the tufa pits gives it even more piquancy, making it almost spicy. It's delicious, especially when paired with sweet and acidic things, like the savor we had made earlier in the day. 

Luckily, you can bring any cheese aged more than 60 days into the US; formaggio di fossa is aged up to 180 days. So I happily brought home a 2.2 kg wheel. 

Brandinelli also makes a grana-style cow's milk cheese, similar to Parmigiano-Reggiano. It, too, was delicious, but we were headed to Parma the next day to see Parmigiano production, and I knew I'd end up taking home a chunk of that. 

See the other posts from the trip to Italy, January 2012.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of joining Hank Shaw in lovely Bodega Bay, California, to learn about the bounty of wild edibles that thrive along the Northern California coast. 

Hank knows a thing or two about wild food. Longtime author of the James Beard-nominated blog Hunter, Angler, Gardener, Cook, he released a book on foraging, hunting and fishing last year titled "Hunt, Gather, Cook: Finding the Forgotten Feast." It's a book I thoroughly enjoy poring through. 

Related: Read our review of "Hunt, Gather, Cook"

Hank took us through three distinct zones along  the shore: The intertidal zone, where shellfish thrive; the area just where the beach meets the cliffs, and atop the cliffs. In between, in the barren sandy stretch of the actual beach, quipped Hank, "nothing lives there but sunbathers." 

We covered a lot of ground, literally and figuratively. In the area at the base of the cliffs, Hank pointed out ice plant, one of the most prolific plants along the coast, noting that while it is technically edible, he has not been able to make it palatable, finding the fleshy leaves too salty and bitter. The gelatinous fruits, however, have a mild sweetness and are more useful. 

In with the ice plant he pointed out evening primrose, whose taproots he is very fond of, with a potato-like texture but with a more interesting flavor. You can identify it by its long, blade-shaped leaves with a white rib. These were getting ready to bolt, so they were past their useful stage, and would have been bitter. 

Some plants are still useful when flowering. Wild radish, which is almost indistinguishable from wild mustard and wild arugula, will go bitter when flowering, but the unopened buds can be used just like broccoli rabe. 

And  then there's miner's lettuce, which Hank calls "California's gift to the salad plate." It is one of the only plants he can think of whose taste does not change noticeably whilst in flower. 

One of Hank's favorite wild edibles is sea rocket. Related to the common arugula we've all come to know and love, sea rocket has fleshy, succulent leaves and a strong peppery taste with a bitter finish. 

Another of what he considers to be the four world-class edibles that abound here was New Zealand spinach. Again a relative of its more common counterpart, it can be blanched and used much as you would regular spinach. 

The last of the four world-class ingredients is sea beans. Yet again a succulent plant, these were crisp and lightly salty with a flavor much like actual beans. Unfortunately, though this is a spot Hank had frequented for many years, the previous day a ranger informed him that we could not harvest from that location. 

We found California bay -- as in the bay leaves you buy at the store. Normally California bay leaves are much stronger than the Turkish ones more commonly sold, but Hank noted that the ones by the coast are milder and sweeter. We each grabbed a leaf (being careful not to accidentally grab the poison oak that was nestled within the bush -- be careful where and how you forage!) and crushed it up. The scent was intoxicating, and actually made me a little light-headed for a moment. 

Last year, my friend Vanessa came to me with a proposition. A provider of premium culinary tours, she hails from the town of Cesenatico, Emilia-Romagna, on the Adriatic coast. Each year, her family purchases a hog from a local farm and contracts with a norcino, or specialized pig butcher, to process the hog into various salumi. She asked whether I thought the Punk Domestics community would be interested in being a part of this process. 

I thought for approximately two seconds. The answer was, obviously, yes. 

Over the next few months she worked on building an itinerary, and we were able to unveil one at the end of June. By October, we had sold the requisite number of seats to make the trip a reality. 

The trip was set for January 7-13, 2012. The reason for this timing had to do with the salumi making process. The norcino traditionally only slaughters pigs specifically for  the purpose of making salumi in the two-week periods after the new moons before and after the winter solstice. (Got all that?) As the new moon fell on Christmas Day, we had only until January 10 for the slaughter.

Cesenatico is a seaside resort town. Its heyday is in the summer, when it is a major vacation destination for Italians and Germans; Americans hardly ever make it to this area. In the off season, the town is positively sleepy. 

Cesenatico's port was designed by Leonardo da Vinci, commissioned by Cesare Borgia. A narrow finger of water extends into the town. At the end, in the heart of town, the Museo della Marineria (Maritime Museum) has stationed several traditional late 19th- and early 20th-century fishing boats. For the Christmas season, until January 6, the boats are staged with scenes of the Nativity and traditional fishing village life. 

1 kg (2.2 lbs) quince
300 gr (10.5 oz) sugar

Peel the quince and cut them into little bits. Combine in a pot with the sugar, and bring to a boil. Strain the jam through a food mill, return to the pot, and bring back to the boil. Cook until thickened. When the jam reaches 220ºF, ladle into sterilized jars and process 10 minutes in a water bath canner. 

To make quince paste, spread the jam about a 1/2" thick layer in a baking dish or lined sheet pan and place into a 220ºF oven until set. Allow to cool, then cut into squares and roll them in cane sugar. Turn-of-the-century bicyclists used to use these as energy bars. 

2 kg (4.4 lbs) Bartlett pears
300-400 gr (10-14 oz) sugar
1 small stick of cinnamon
2 flowers star anise 
20 cloves
1 vanilla bean, or a few drops of vanilla extract
juice of 1 lemon plus its rind
1 bag dry pectin

Combine spices in a cheesecloth sachet. Peel the pears and cut them into little bits. Add sugar and sachet of spices, and allow to macerate for a few hours, or overnight, in the fridge. Prior to cooking, mill half the fruit, or all if you prefer a smooth jam. Put in a pot, add the pectin, and put over medium heat. Cook until reduced and thickened; use whichever set test you prefer. Ladle into sterilized jars and process 10 minutes in a water bath canner. 

Technically a conserve, savor is a melange of quince, apple and pear, with almonds and walnuts, plus any other nuts that you like; we used hazelnuts. We also used tiny, wild apples. You want an apple with an astringency and a lot of pectin -- crabapples would work here. This is not a job for golden delicious. Hard pears like seckels are also more appropriate for this. 

The base of the conserve is saba, the reduced juice of wine grapes. Saba is also the base for balsamico. Consequently, it lends a deep, winey flavor to the conserve that makes it more savory. The tannins from the skins and seeds also lend a kind of spiciness. It's amazing with sharp cheeses. 

To make saba, crush your grapes (sangiovese is the preferred grape for saba in Romagna. Any wine grape will do. Avoid sweet table grapes like concords.) in a large pot, making sure to crush all the berries. Bring to a boil. Skim away any stems and some of the skins. Reduce by about half. Strain, and use immediately or refrigerate for future use. 

If you reduce it further to a syrup, saba can be used as sort of a poor man's balsamico. 

Marzia didn't use a precise recipe for this conserve. Simply combine your saba, chopped fruit and nuts into a large pot and bring to a boil. Reduce until thickened. If you like, you can use any of the standard set tests; Marzia did not. Ladle into sterilized jars and process by normal water-bath canning method. 

• Back to Preserving with Marzia
• Pear jam with aromatic spices
• Quince jam and quince paste