Making balsamico

As I said in my previous post, Reggio Emilia has gotten the short end of the stick when it comes to recognition for their balsamico tradizionale, even though it has been made in the same way for centuries.  Even the current issue of Chow magazine, in an article entitled “Real or Fake” says that if it’s not from Modena, it can’t be real balsamico. 

I had tasted balsamico and read about how it is made, but I was curious to see it for myself.  I thought about calling up the consortium of balsamico producers, but instead I asked my good friend, Matteo, if he knew of anyone who made their own balsamico and could show me the process. 

Matteo Casali, a talented writer, is not as crazy about food as I am.  His passions run more toward Mexican wrestling and conspiracy theories involving ants.  But since he has lived in Reggio Emilia his whole life (actually, Cella, which is just outside the city), I figured he would come through for me.  Sure enough, his dad knew someone who knew someone who knew how to make balsamico.

After many phone calls (thanks, Matteo), we were all set.  On a rainy afternoon in October, a group of eight of us drove out to Fogliano, a small town on the southern outskirts of Reggio.  We turned off the main road directly into a gravel driveway flanked by vineyards on one side.

Two barking dogs announced our arrival.  Signora Maria Roggiani came out to greet us and invited us into her home.  We passed by chickens pecking in the courtyard and through the garage occupying the ground floor of the house, where a cat lay curled in a tractor seat. 

Inside the house, Signora Roggiani introduced us to her husband, Signore Giovanni Borghi.  The couple has lived together in this farmhouse for 49 years and they grow all of the grapes they use to make the balsamico (trebbiano, lambrusco, some ancellotta). As we climbed to the third floor of the house, Signora Roggiani opened the door to the solaio (attic) and the sweet smell of vinegar flooded the stairway.  We turned the corner and entered the acetaia, the room where the balsamico is made. 

A series of barrels, laid on their sides, lined each wall of the attic. Balsamico is generally made and stored in the attic because the extreme variations in temperature allow the necessary evaporation and reduction of the vinegar. 

In the center stood a large barrel on end.  As her husband drew a sample from the barrel for us to taste, Signora Roggiani explained how the balsamico is made. 

First of all, balsamico is not really vinegar.  It is made from boiled grape must. Crushed grapes are boiled down until they form a concentrated juice. One hundred kilograms of grapes yields approximately 30 liters of grape must (il cotto). The cooked must (or saba) we tasted, made from this year’s September harvest, was like a sweet, bubbly grape soda. 

To this juice they add a “mother,” yeasts and bacteria that form on the surface of vinegar.  (You may have seen this filmy substance floating around in an old bottle of vinegar on your shelf.)  The saba is then placed in the large center barrel for one year.

Signora Roggiani showed us the series of barrels where the must is aged. A large opening is cut into the side of the barrel and covered with a porous cloth to allow evaporation.  Every year the vinegar is transferred to a progressively smaller barrel made of different types of wood. Each wood gives the vinegar a different characteristic. Chestnut, which is very tannic, deepens the color; cherry sweeteners the flavor; mulberry adds a vanilla aroma; juniper adds a resinous quality.  Oak is generally used last, in the smallest barrel where the mature vinegar is placed. 

Using a long tube inserted into the smallest barrel, Signora Roggiani drew out a sample of the balsamico which they had begun making 12 years ago and passed it around for us to taste. 

As you can see, the balsamico was so thick it clung to the sides of the cup.  Rich and dark in color, it had a sweet smell with barely a hint of acidity.  On the tongue, it was a little sharp initially, but then came a range of other flavors (caramel, vanilla, oak).  I can see why Italians drink this as an after-dinner drink—I could have drunk a whole cup of this, it was so good!

Signora Roggiani invited us down into her kitchen.  She pulled out a chunk of parmigiano and began slicing it into pieces.  Then she poured balsamico over the cheese.  This is a classic combination in Reggio, a perfect marriage of two of the region’s finest foods. 

She had prepared a generous quantity for us.  At first, we each took one polite taste apiece, but it didn’t take much to convince us to keep eating.  We were very touched and thanked her and her husband for their hospitality. Just as we were saying goodbye, she pressed several bottles of her best balsamico into our hands. 

Oh, no, we insisted, we can’t take this. 
Oh, yes, you can, she said. 
Well, then we would like to pay you for it. 
No, we won’t let you pay for it.
Really, this is too much, we insisted.  You invited us into your home, spent the afternoon sharing your time with us, feeding us.  If we had known you were going to give so much, we wouldn’t have asked to come.
If we had known you wanted to pay, they countered, we wouldn’t have let you come.

This discussion went on, Italian-style, for quite some time.  The balsamico that they make, we learned, is purely for their family and friends, not for sale.  They are members of a local non-profit balsamico association, the Confraternita dell’aceto balsamico tradizionale reggiano.  In the end, we relented and accepted their generous gift. 

It takes at least 12 years to make balsamico.  The fact that there are still people that take the time and trouble to do this awes me.  In our modern world of instant gratification, I am amazed that there are still families who will start a batch of balsamico with the birth of a child, and spend each year diligently transferring and topping off the vinegar, simply for the opportunity to serve it on that child’s 21st birthday. 

One of those bottles that Signora Roggiani gave us sits on my desk as I write this, a lovely reminder of that rainy afternoon in Reggio and why I keep going back.  Even though Reggio is not the most beautiful place in Italy and the weather and mosquitoes there are truly awful, it’s incredible how strong a pull that city has on me, how its tastes and smells and memories are so inexorably intertwined. Such a strong sense of place, anchored by its people, their traditions, their food.

It’s a lot harder to feel this in California. As Gertrude Stein said, “There is no there there.”  Things change so fast and I’m still feel new here, even though I have lived here for 15 years now.  The closest I come to feeling that connection is when I go out and visit a farm or farmer’s market and then come home and prepare the food that they have grown for me. 

And I don’t mean to romanticize Italy, although God knows it’s easy enough to do.  It’s just that they have the most incredibly good food there.  Food that works its way into your subconscious and is impossible to forget.

Mille grazie to Signora Maria Roggiani and Signore Giovanni Borghi for their kindness and generosity.

Comments

[Sonia]

What a beautiful post, Angie! Thanks for sharing with us how to make balsamico. At my house, I used only balsamico. Sometimes I buy the italian's balsamico, but not always because it's too expensive.
I will make that recipe: parmigiano poured with balsamico over the cheese.
Have a nice Sunday!

[LisaSD]

Thanks for this...I am still learning about balsamic...it's a new thing to me, with a vinegar-phobic hubby...I can't believe it takes 12 years! And I had heard the thing about "only from Modena" too. Sounds like Reggio Emilia needs a PR campaign!

[Angie]

Sonia:

Let me know how you like the parmigiano with balsamico. You can use it on desserts, too. It's good with strawberries or poured over vanilla ice cream.

Lisa:

Hey, I'd be happy to take that job, as long as they fly me to Italy and feed me--that's all I ask.

[Gia]

Angie,
Great post. My hubby says that barrels of balsamico were used as dowry's in the old days and started when the girl child was born, wow I love the good stuff. It can cost an arm and a leg but since you only use a bit it is worth it. Are you in Italia? Thanks for stopping by my blog and for your comments.

[Kirk]

Hi Angie - Wonderful post as always. I also read that article in Chow, and thought that I'd be afraid to use a $200 bottle of balsamic.

[Angie]

Gia:

No, I'm in San Diego, but I try to get back to Italy as often as I possibly can.

Hope your eye surgery went well.

Kirk:

Yeah, I didn't think it was worth paying that much, especially since I couldn't really tell much difference in taste between a silver and a gold. The one I bought only cost about $75--still pricy, but it lasts a long while when you only use a drop or two at a time.

[Sonia]

Hi Angie, I will try the Signora Roggiani's recipe, "pulled out a chunk of parmigiano and began slicing it into pieces, and poured balsamico over the cheese." Sounds delicious!

[M_eHart]

wow -- so glad you dropped by Jeff's blog so we could discover yours.
I think I'm having a foodgasm.
If we move to Italy, you must take at least partial responsibility!

Maryelizabeth

[Darla]

I am utterly jealous. I'd really like to hear more about your move to Italy, sometime. My husband and I would like to do the same thing in a few years but are scared and don't know where to start. Did you learn the language through immersion or did you take classes there/here?

[Angie]

Darla:

I took classes both before I went and while I was there. If you are intererested in living in Italy, I would encourage you to do it, by all means. Start planning now--learn the language, find out about visa and residency requirements, research (and visit) the cities you think you want to live in. Go for it--it's the experience of a lifetime!