RACALE, ITALY — Every August, when I return to my family’s hometown in the remote southeast of Italy, the first thing I do is dive into the sea. Then, I head to an unmarked shop in the outskirts of town to buy some of Margherita Cavalera’s exquisite ricotta. In Italy, ricotta is typically eaten as a filling for pasta or cannoli.
Here in Racale, Margherita’s ricotta is eaten by the spoonful — without even salt or olive oil. Light and pillowy in texture, it’s like tasting a cloud of sheep’s milk. But the days of this local delicacy are numbered.
Margherita and her husband Enzo, who tends to the couple’s 100 sheep, are the last ricotta makers of Racale. No one in town — including the couple’s three daughters, or their husbands — appears willing to take over when they finally decide to retire. It’s exhausting work, with no days off, and there’s troublesome red tape.
The increasingly parched landscape has made all types of agriculture less profitable and considerably harder. “You can’t leave your animals one day, so you get no vacation, no rest,” Margherita tells me. “Every day, for 365 days, you need to feed, milk, and take care of them, and process the milk.
Doesn’t matter if you are tired, if you are sick, if you need a vacation. The sheep will need you in any case. ” In the summertime, Enzo’s days begin at 4, before the heat sets in.
He lets the sheep out to roam under the shade of the olive and almond trees. There used to be others like him in Racale, but he is the last of the shepherds still working. Enzo’s father taught him how to take care of animals when he was four years old.
In the winter, when Racale has more grass and fewer people, Enzo takes the sheep all the way to the sea. He prefers that. Years ago, Enzo’s herd was much larger.
Now 64, he has had to downsize, and he expects that eventually he will need to sell all his sheep and retire. Neither his three daughters, nor their husbands, want to get involved. The government isn’t much help either, at least when it comes to small operations like this one.
“They just make our life more difficult,” Enzo tells me one morning. “More controls and hygienic and veterinary rules to follow, in exchange of nothing. ” Margherita’s shop is located in the garage of their home.
By 7am, Enzo drops off the milk, which is still warm. Margherita gets to work. By 8, she opens the doors and begins greeting customers.
Ricotta means “recooked,” and it is made from what’s left over from making cheese. When milk is heated and combined with renet (American recipes often substitute lemon juice or vinegar), curds bubble to the top. From this, Margherita makes different variations of pecorino.
What remains is liquid whey, which she recooks and then strains, eventually crafting it into light, creamy ricotta. All day, Margherita’s phone rings with customer orders. She makes around 12 portions at a time, three times a week, and sells them for 10 euros each.
If you must have it, it’s a good idea to call the day or two before. Ricotta goes rancid quickly — and fresh ricotta has an even shorter shelf life than the store-bought varieties — so you need to eat it right away. Margherita, who is now 58, married Enzo when she was only 15.
She came from a family of farmers, but she didn’t know anything about dairy. Her mother-in-law presented her with the Cavalera family recipe. The land where the sheep graze that surrounds their workshop was once majestic and productive, lush with olive trees and vegetable patches.
In recent years, the xylella fastidiosa bacteria has destroyed olive trees across Puglia, which is at the heel of Italy’s boot, threatening centuries’ worth of culture and wreaking havoc on Racale’s economy. Still, Margherita’s ricotta remains beloved among Racale’s residents – and, at least for now, it is still for sale. I only hope that there will not come a day when, fresh from my inaugural swim, I will arrive at Margherita’s shop and find it closed.
Bruno Federico is an award-winning filmmaker, cinematographer, and photographer. He lives in New York. .
From: insider
URL: https://www.insider.com/the-dying-art-of-fresh-ricotta-in-my-italian-hometown-2022-6
