Rachel Black

Buying a newspaper at the train station in Bra is a political act. The other day I asked for a copy of the Internazionale, a magazine that is a collection of international news articles translated into Italian, but had to settle for La Repubblica, a centre-left national paper. In the end, I had to justify my choice of newspapers to the man who runs the bar/news stand. “Non sei mica una comunista? (You are not a communist by chance)” he asked in an accusatory tone. Wow, I don’t think I have ever been called a communist before; it caught me off guard. Most academics in Europe vote Left and it is the political position of my work environment. I threw something back about freedom of choice. I knew it wasn’t worth getting into a long discussion over and it was great clear to me I was dealing with someone who had strong right-wing political views. At present, it is nearly impossible to have an intelligent political debate in the street: hand in hand ignorance and the Right rule in Italy. This incident got me thinking about everyday politics in my own country.

In Canada, we rarely talk about politics. Maybe because we have little historical baggage; although in Quebec this is perhaps not the case. We also have little political polarization in Canada and most of our parties sit toward the centre. This is in some ways refreshing but also potentially dangerous: do we lack vision, identity and leadership in our country? I personally feel a bit of healthy daily political debate is long overdue in Canada. That said, I don’t feel that buying a newspaper in Canada will ever become much of a political act; at least not until we develop a variety of political positions and encourage a culture of critical, engaged media.

Why do all male runners in Italy wear totally outdated spandex running gear? This is the question I asked myself as I circled the park near my house in Bra, Italy. It’s as if the technology of microfibre and and the calming effect of mellow colours has not reached this crazy country. Surprisingly not at all attractive for a country known for fashion.

It was a crisp morning after an unusual snowfall but I decided to go for a run because the road was clear and I was dying to get a few kilometers in for my mind as much as for my body. New shoes, black running tights, a microfibre shirt layered with a breathable grey windbreaker jacket and a grey running cap to seal the deal, I was off and running. Unexpectedly, there were quite a few runners in ‘my’ park this morning. I usually get out there earlier but I was lacking in motivation something terrible this morning. I guess most Italian men suffer from the same lazy affliction: the park was full of men running. They go around and around the asphalt track that weaves along the outside of the park–how boring! I do one lap as a warm up and then head out on the road. To me the purpose of running is seeing something, going somewhere and getting lost (it makes the run longer and more spontaneous). However, as I did my warm up lap around the park, I couldn’t help but notice the old school running gear. Favoured coulours included sunshine yellow, tomato red, and Mediterranean blue with contrasts of white and black. Wow! It certainly brightened up my run:) Of course, there were no women, because women don’t seem to sweat in Italy.

As I was walking home tonight through the streets of Bra, I saw a man closing the door of a transport truck and I noticed it was filled with Styrofoam boxes like the ones used to transport mozzarella. I stopped and asked him if by chance he was selling cheese. He responded that indeed he was! I asked him what he had and he showed me a great selection of burrata and bocconcini. I selected a bag of bocconcini and, as I hand over my 6 euros, I asked the vendor where he got his cheese. He told me that each Thursday he drove up from Caserta, in the province of Campania (not far from Naples), to sell fresh mozzarella di bufala and other products from the south of Italy. This is a good thing and I love that you can find such amazing things just walking down the street here in Piedmont.

I got home and barely took off my coat before tearing into the bag of bufala. Was this the real thing? Good mozzarella di bufala is almost impossible to find outside of southern Italy and it generally doesn’t travel well. It must be kept at a cool temperature but not too cold because that is when it becomes a rubbery ball you could play tennis with (much like most mozzarella you find in North America). I could not wait: I popped a little bocconicino into my mouth and bit down on the spongy cheese that oozed its lovely milkiness immediately. This is one of the best tactile, taste sensations in the world. Eureka! This was the real thing and damn was it good.

Someone once told me the story of bufala. This is a popular milk producing animal in southern Italy because it is extremely faithful to the person who regularly milks it. Apparently, if a stranger tries to milk a bufala, it gets quite violent. This is considered a real positive in southern Italy, where all types of theft are a major issue.

While I was on Vancouver Island this summer, I heard that there is a farm that is raising water buffalo (see photo above) and producing mozzarella. I haven’t tried their cheese but this is a very interesting development. Please let me know if anyone reading this blog has had the pleasure.

Yes, I survived Cheese 2007, but just barely. Cheese is something that should be respected and I learned this the hard way after the first day of this wonderful celebration in Bra.

Last night there were spontaneous festivities to celebrate the end of Cheese and I attempted to capture them with my camera video.

If you ever have a chance to come to Cheese in Bra, Italy, do not hesitate. This is an amazing event. There are thousands of cheeses and wines to be tasted and so many passionate, interesting people to chat with. Today was the first day of Cheese and it was grand! The streets of Bra are wafting with the lovely perfume of cheese. Everyone has a smile on their face.

I am torn between my love for wine and cheese. Luckily the two go together and their is plenty to go around here. So far, my favourite spot is the enoteca, where you can choose from a selection of 2000 wines and hundreds of very rare cheeses from all over the world. I plan to make this my hang out each night.

There is no better way to learn than doing and in this case tasting.