All posts by Crystal Cun

About Crystal Cun

Crystal Cun ate and earned her way through a master’s in Food Culture and Communications from the University of Gastronomic Sciences in Pollenzo, Italy. For one year, through March 2011, she was awash in a sea of olive oil, photojournalism and sustainable food production. Prior to this peripatetic European adventure, she worked in research at the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago and studied economics at Cornell University in Ithaca, NY. At the moment, she is a student in the Culinary Techniques program at the International Culinary Center. She lives in Brooklyn, New York and works at W&T Seafood, a family-run seafood distributor specializing in premium oysters. Sometimes this requires abundant amounts of research with wine and oysters. She also works as a consultant for FRESH, an indie documentary about the farmers, activists and entrepreneurs who are reinventing our food system.

Sausage Party, or the Stuff FDA Nightmares Are Made Of

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Still foggy with sleep, we tumbled off the bus to see two wood-fired cauldrons, belching out clouds of smoke and steam in a medieval fashion. The air was filled with the finest perfume any gastronome could wear: the scent of pig lard.

I found myself on yet another of northern Italy’s ubiquitous small-scale farms, surrounded by idle farm machinery, deadened remnants of the fall harvest, and the sharp smell of pig shit. This trip had been touted on the syllabus as a visit to an “artisanal butcher,” but we were about to see that this butcher was one of the more minimalistic variety.

Tools of the sausage-making trade: kidneys, salt and cigarettes

On this plot of farmland in the sleepy village of Guastalla, about 3,000 pigs are housed and nourished. Yesterday though, the pigs counted one fewer among them. “Normally, we wouldn’t work on Sunday,” said Alberto, “but today is the saint’s day for Sant’Antonio, and you would not want to slaughter a pig on that day. So, we went ahead and did the job ahead of time.”

Inside the shed, several grizzled men milled about, dressed in heavy-duty galoshes, beards, and puffy vests to defend against the crisp January cold. A long table was placed in the center of the room, piles of pig bits arranged neatly on top. Meat, skin, and bones; the disassembly had been swift and democratic. Ribs lay stacked inside a plastic crate, buried beneath a thick layer of salt and pepper. Feet lay splayed at the table’s edge, still intact and furry. Pools of fresh crimson blood dotted the room, soaking into the dirt floor. Behind the operating table, anonymous organs dangled from hooks. “What is that?” I asked. Rae came to my rescue. “These are the lungs, and here’s the spleen and the three lobes of the liver.” He pointed them out to me. One, two, three. Apparently, there are some benefits to growing up in a family of butchers.
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Politics in Italy: Electing the Doge

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After football, one of the greatest past-times in Italy is bemoaning the state of Italian politics. After all, there is nothing quite like the mixture of sheepish chagrin and amusement one feels when hearing that class-act Prime Minster Berlusconi has been caught with yet another outrageous quip, like “I am a man who works hard all day long and if I sometimes look at some good-looking girl, it’s better to be fond of pretty girls than to be gay.” (You can see the news conference here…and hear the resulting applause from the audience.)

In my anecdotal experience, it seems like Italian voters are tired of the corrupt and ineffective Berlusconi machine, but there is no other charismatic leader who has stepped up to the plate and mustered the necessary votes to sweep him out of power. And thus, he stays on.

Perhaps we should go back to politics as we used to know them. I randomly stumbled upon the method for electing the Doge, or the leader of the Most Serene Republic of Venice (~700-1797 AD). The procedure was as follows:

Thirty members of the Great Council, chosen by lot, were reduced by lot to nine; the nine chose forty and the forty were reduced by lot to twelve, who chose twenty-five. The twenty-five were reduced by lot to nine and the nine elected forty-five. Then the forty-five were once more reduced by lot to eleven, and the eleven finally chose the forty-one who actually elected the doge.

The goal was to minimize the influence of the city’s most powerful families and aristocrats. It certainly seems to spread power more effectively than say, the Electoral College system.

Travel Note: Emilia-Romagna Stage

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Chiesa di Parma

I’ve been back in Italy for only a week, which means it’s time for another stage! For our last intranational trip, the Food Culture masters students are traveling to Emilia-Romagna, a region in northern Italy that is credited with having the country’s highest quality of life (and cost of living). Here you will find the grand Renaissance city of Bologna, home of the oldest university in the world, and the cities of Modena and Parma. These latter two are the namesakes of the world-renowned products Modena balsamic vinegar and Parma prosciutto. In addition, we will be exploring and tasting our way through culatello (ham aged in a bladder), salami, cotechino (boiled sausage) and pasta. Good thing there are no vegetarians among us.

Here’s a sample itinerary for Wednesday, Jan. 19th:

9:45 – Departure for Tortiano
11:00 – Arrival at Salumificio Ziveri. Lecture on the production process of Prosciutto di Parma, traceability of raw ingredients and certification process.
12:30 – Tasting lunch with prosciutto
14:00 – Departure for Correggio
15:00 – Visit the craft brewery Birrificio Dada
18:00 – Visit wine producer Bellei
19:30 – Dinner in Massa Finalese at Slow Food osteria Entrà
21:30 – Departure for Casalmaggiore, spend the night at Istituto Santa Chiara (a converted former convent)

Time to go pack my most ham-some attire.

A Foodie State of Mind, Or Damn They’re Strange in Flyover Country

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Serious Eats links to the above map of food-by-state produced by the hard working folks at I Can Haz Cheezburger, which is actually a lot more interesting than I had anticipated. Sure, lots of the chosen foods are obvious regional specialties or major crops associated with the state (MA clam chowder, Idaho potatoes, Georgia peaches), and then there are the lesser-known items coming from the (let’s be honest) lesser-known states. Michigan and pasties, is there a large population descended from Yorkshire miners in Michigan? Arkansas and jelly pie, an item invented out of the necessities of poverty, like Indiana’s sugar cream pie? And Colorado’s Denver omelette looks an awful lot like a burger to me, rather than fried eggs folded around diced ham, onions and bell peppers.

But that’s not where the real action is happening. For a few states I had no idea how to pronounce the associated food, much less what it was. (And they say the US is much more homogenous than Europe.) Enter the rad powers of Google:
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Finding Sticky Gold: The Greatest Grocery Store in Bra

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Publication forthcoming in the January 2011 edition of the UNISG newsletter

The discontent arrived in fits and starts. Mere days after arriving in Italy, I stood crestfallen at the market, valiantly searching for a bunch of cilantro. Piles of parsley surrounded me, a taunting, isomorphic reminder that I was far from home. The bulk bins were swollen with cannellini beans and lentils, but there was nary a sign of black beans. In the baking aisle, I combed the shelves for baking powder. Instead, thin packages with florid photos of cakes touted the ammonia-based leavening agent inside. Skeptical, I stifled my frustration and went home to yet another meal with pasta.

In June, I fell in love with an avocado. The supple, emerald skin beckoned from across the supermarket aisle and I could not tear my eyes away. According to the label, the avocado had been imported from Israel. In lecture that morning, we had discussed the concept of food miles and the merits of buying local goods. I ignored a nagging feeling of guilt and bought the avocado anyway.

But wait, I moved abroad to learn about classic Italian cooking, did I not? Why on earth was I longing for corn tortillas? With freshly made focaccia and grissini in every corner bakery, how is it that I could not shake my yearning for one good bagel?

Italy is renowned for the depth and sophistication of its native cuisine, but the strength of this staunchly traditional food culture comes at a price. Despite the persistent forces of globalization, there have been few inroads made in the availability of international food products, particularly in Italy’s smaller towns. This poses a conundrum for UNISG’s international student body, accustomed to cooking and eating in a more cosmopolitan fashion. In a land blessed with over 25 officially recognized types of cured meats and 400 cheeses, what happens when all you can do is fixate on finding a jar of peanut butter?
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Italian for People Who Can’t Legge Bene

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In the months between my acceptance and moving to Italy, I spent a good chunk of time learning Italian through as many venues as possible. I went through three levels of Rosetta Stone. I read Italian blogs and newspapers. I discovered some great Italian films (and some pretty terrible melodramatic, sad-violin ones). Then, I stepped onto my first train in Italy, promptly missed the transfer and ended up in Cuneo. It was about 8 pm on a Mon night, and the trains stop running shortly thereafter. Panicked, I tried to ask the guy across the aisle for help, but all the Italian I’d learned had flown out the window. Luckily, he knew enough English to tell me I had 5 minutes left to catch the last train of the night. Clearly, my Italian still had a ways to go.

For the most part though, I don’t need to know that much Italian for day to day living, other than talking to vendors. All coursework is in English, and Italian classes are not part of the Food Culture & Communications program at the University of Gastronomic Sciences. So, if you are serious about learning Italian, you’d better do it on your own. Alternatively, you can also make your way through a year in Italy by honing your skills at charades, but that is passing up a grand opportunity to learn one of the world’s most beautiful languages.

It is not well-publicized, but the city of Bra actually offers Italian classes for foreigners through the Informagiovani office. The website is not updated to have information on course offerings (of course), but according to this article, there are not only foreign language courses, but also classes on film and computers. You can also sign up for classes in other languages (French). But let’s stay focused. For a mere €12, I signed up for a year-long ISL (Italian as a Second Language) class. Or is that ITL for me?
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