History of Salame di Felino

Of all the most traditional products made to delight our senses, few are so inextricably linked with the name of their village of origin as Salame di Felino; even the extremely famous Parmesan cheese is associated with the one from Reggio. Not only in Italy, but in the main cities and towns abroad and overseas, all connoisseurs are familiar with Salame di Felino or Fellino, Filino or San Felino, or even “Castel Felino”. Since when? According to the more recent and updated works, such as Gastronomia Parmense by Mastro Prosciutto or La cucina Parmigiana by Baldassarre Molossi, the origin of the art of preparing salami goes back centuries, and perhaps even millennia. In Felino, households were discovered (Rognoni) in the Neo-Eneolithic Terremare, together with bone fragments of pigs or boars, no doubt ancestors of today’s civilized pig.

We will avoid an unnecessary display of learning with references to Strabo, Martial or Polybius: suffice it to say that pig slaughtering was already widely practiced by the Roman colonists who settled in the Po Plain in 183 BC. Pig products were used to provision the legions marching to conquer the world. It is not at all unlikely that they had learnt this practice from their intelligent and civilized predecessors, the Etruscans.

We can half close our eyes and picture in our imagination how our foothills looked in those days: groups of succeeding, sloping hills, covered with oak trees and young trees, or with woods of chestnut trees that flanked and contained the rivers flowing freely in the lowlands. A road would snake its way through the picturesque foothills, where one met only a few isolated farmhouses, or dwellings grouped together into humble villages. Abbot Stoppani described this area as “The Switzerland of the Parma region because of the beauty of this varied, lush, enchanting place.” But in this kind of earthly paradise there was something more and our ancient progenitors appreciated it fully: an ideal and wholesome climate. I will let the words of Lorenzo Molossi tell us about this: “One breathes pure air here in these beautiful hills adorned with the pretty filpendula, the elecampane and many irises ...”; and again: “The temperate climate, rarely polluted by fog, and ventilated by the air currents channelled into the valleys, away from the lowland swamps and marshes, must have long been a factor in selecting this area for the slaughter and curing of preserved meats, a practice born no doubt through experience gained over time immemorial.” In addition to weather there was, especially in the past, an abundance of acorns, a food particularly loved by both wild and domestic pigs, and later replaced with a mix of bran, corn and other slop, including dishwater. It is certain that Felino was one of the first areas, if not indeed the very first one, to distinguish itself for the quality of its pigs, so much so that the pigs brought to its market fetched a higher price. As the local area developed industrially, gradually neighbouring villages joined Felino as cured meat producers; first of all Sala Baganza, whose industry may be as old as Felino’s (F. Botti), which is why there has always been a certain competitive, stubborn animosity between the two towns as far their markets and industries are concerned. The denomination of “salame di Felino” has always been and remains to this day a synonym of the best quality, so much so as to be borrowed by other villages as symbol of origin, even when such products have only visited Felino as they were driven through it in a truck, already packaged and boxed: tempora mutantur (times change).

A cruel but picturesque spectacle, which now only the very elderly can remember, was the traditional «mazzèda» (blow), today replaced by the cowardly blow to the back of the head we use for pigs, but elsewhere also for animals of greater intelligence. It was a festive domestic event, derived from the rite with which the ancient pagans used to sacrifice the castrated pig to Maja, Mercury’s mother. Through the centuries, there have been different kinds of domestic pigs in the area: first the “black pig“, closest to its wild ancestor; the “wrapped pig“, that is, a mix of different Italian breeds with white and black stripes; the “English pig” with straight ears and short legs, easily distinguishable for its short stature; and finally, the “local pig” or white breed, with large floppy ears and large in size.

During the cold season, if someone from Felino was asked what was new in his village, he would answer haughtily: “brothers kill brothers, I give you this horrendous piece news!” Or: “Felino has become the kingdom of the pig killers and slaughterers!” And again: “We’ve sharpened the knife!” The corridas were starting. The quiet village would echo with agonizing cries. The pig, weighed down by the fat accumulated as a result of abundant mash rations and sedentary life, would be treacherously hooked under his chin with a meat hook and dragged from its urine-soaked bedding area to the place of torture, where the executioner would deliver the fatal stab to the heart with a lightning gesture. Boiling water was then poured over the dead pig in order to scrape off the bristles and the horny layer of the skin. Sometimes it happened that the victim had only been stunned and after being doused with boiling water would get back up and try to escape. All the onlookers would run away, including the housewives with the containers filled with the pig’s blood they had collected to make blood sausage. But it was just a brief pause, followed by the definitive butchering of the animal and the meticulous, selective preparation of all the pieces to be separated or to be put stuffed into casings; the latter operation could be compared to the composition of a mosaic, particularly the preparation of salame di Felino.

This gastronomic rite used to take place in all the farmhouses and in all the courtyards or farms of local entrepreneurs. The maturing rooms presented an unparalleled sight, similar to the vault of a cave dense with stalactites and suffused with a greenish mould. The pork butchers who had been passing on their art for generations from father to son, had a prodigious sense of smell; in a warehouse full of salamis they would sniff the four cardinal points and were able to trace with amazing accuracy, better than truffle dogs, a salami gone bad. Salame di Felino made a conquest, one could say, of everyone, rich and poor, without distinction and every palate appreciated both “fresh” and “old” – that is to say, matured – salame. The Farnese Dukes, particularly the last ones – obese and naturally great eaters – fell in love with it; so did their successors, the Bourbons, who made their distinguished minister Guillaume Du Tillot “Marquis of Felino.” Legend has it that the latter, who had to accept this title whether he liked it or not, exclaimed: “There, I am the Marquis of a village of sausages”, without specifying whether the noun referred to the typical product of the village or to… its inhabitants. However, it is well known that at home he did consume great quantities of the salame from his fief, together with his charming friend, the very beautiful Marquise Annetta Malaspina… It is also said that he sang its praises in his native France.

Looking through the chronicles and cries of the time, one learns that under Napoleon’s rule pigs were still being raised and slaughtered in the city and that the first edicts forbidding this custom date to the early nineteenth century (Moreau de St. Mery). Parma was left only with the distant memory of the denominations “Borgo Salame” and “Borgo Bondiola”, attributed to the fact the workshops of salted and stuffed pork meat were located in these streets (G. Sitti); but their memory died out over time and the two streets are now dedicated to the poet Angelo Mazza and the architect G. Francesco Zaccagni. “Borgo Felino” (nobody knows why) is still left; its etymology is as remote as it is uncertain.

Meanwhile the Felino oasis has profoundly, if not always happily, changed and the original factories of pig products have been replaced by about thirty modern plants, equipped for industrial use, so that “the village of sausages” has kept pace with the needs of our times…

Finally, we like to remember that salame has even inspired various poets, especially after happy convivial occasions in which it was served, and it would be wrong not to end with a few rhymes praising the peerless Felino product.

The poet Filandro Cretens (aka, the facetious Count Antonio Cerati) wrote a poem (published in Opuscoli Diversi, 1809), about taking the wrong stairs during a visit in Count Bedulli’s house, and instead of entering the dressing room found himself in the pantry, among a delightful collection of salami. And the poet sang:

“Dear Salame, my Muse is not worthy

Of celebrating your quality; they should be the subject

of eminent poets. Royals

Should create an Order of the “Knights”

In thine honor, and Its “Order”

Be of the Salame;

Around their neck all shall wear your likeness

Painted simply as a watercolour,

For beautiful is always beautiful:

I think however that I can praise you

Most sincerely… by eating you.”