Writing this before I even step foot in the airport on the US side of things. Can I believe I’m heading to Italy? Yes, I guess?! But, I’m also not quite convinced it’s happening yet. Once the travel anxiety and baby butterflies flutter in my gut then I’ll know it’s happening.

It’s funny how life weaves you through its pattern. I was ready to jet set to France and Germany with Dillon for the first time, but the world said nope! Italy is back on the docket. And, so that trip is to come in the next few months. For now my attention is deep in parmigiano, vinegar of modena acetaia, and lot’s of apertivo hours, pasta pasta pasta, and hours with family and friends I look forward to visiting.

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I’ll be writing a more extensive piece for delish about my ultimate parmeggiano reggiano experience, but here we can chat a little too. We were lucky to have a tour with a woman who had the most extensive knowledge about the process. This petit ginger with vibrant lipstick and glassy green eyes spoke the truth about parmesan as her words glided from broken Italian to English.  I asked myself- is she a scientist or agricultural engineer? I was so fascinated by her and all she knew. She grew up in a family that manufactures parmegianno reggiano. She translated this somewhat complex and sustainable process to us at a beautifully designed facility right in Parma. Out of 303 facilities each with 303 cheese masters in all of Emilia Romagna this was one that had been curated by an interiors architect. It felt like I was at a cheese retreat entirely, not a factory per say. 

Benedetto, Alexandra, and Neil are all publicists that work in conjunction with Parmegiano Reginano to give us this cultured experience. Put me on a tour or in a classroom and my mind has wandered after the 5 minute introduction only bouncing back into conversation when I hear things that grab my attention— I’m an active listener (sort of). But, I was totally engaged here. I was taken aback by the pungent smell, the copper vats that needed to air dry overnight, the double miking of cows (one night and one morning), salt baths that looked like mini lap pools, and the parmesan nursery that housed the maturing wheels for at least 12 months. 

Parmesan cheese cannot be called parmesan unless it’s 12 months of age. At this point the DOP police knock on the wheel and crack it open for inspection.