The cure for a parmigiano addiction...

...is to eat it at four separate places in one day. For every meal.
We started at 7 am, getting a bus to Parma, which is a beautiful but unpleasantly long three hour ride. We arrived at a parmigiano reggiano producer, and it was as wonderful and, as my roommate would stress, "artesinal", as anyone could hope for. All made by hand, stirred in shining copper pots in tradition handed down for centuries. The men making it never spoke to each other, simply lifting, stirring - moving in a rhythm that they have been doing with years of steady practice. The aging room was like a Fort Knox cheese vault. Literally, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, DOCP cheese. The smell was mouth watering. A sampling after with some local wine was an interesting way to start the day, and if I had any inkling of what cheese trauma would come, I would have stopped at two pieces.
Back on the bus, we drove through Parma, which is a breathtaking town full of vivid orange roofs and muted gray facades will forest green mountains rolling in the background. We arrived at another production facility, this one specializing in something very close to my heart - proscuitto di parma. Another tasting, more parmigiano with aged balsamico, and slices of buttery soft, silken proscuitto that melt in your mouth in an artery clogging, addictive way. The tour was another sensory explosion, and the legs of prosciutto aging were so tempting. Like the parmigiano, it was a wall of beautiful pork.
Then, on to the Barilla factory, the biggest mill in Europe and the biggest producer of Italian pasta in the world. It was impressive, but somewhat disheartening to go from such small producers who took such intense pride in their work, to go to such a large, bright, labeled and bland factory with workers staring, unblinking, unsmiling.
Lunch there was actually one of the worst meals I have ever had. The cheese and prosciutto were, alas the high point. All I wanted, again, was any sight of a vegetable. Lunch line boiled steak masked in an unidentifiable sauce, and tagliatelle with a heartless bolognese was what we were delivered.
After, it was on to "Academia Barilla", their teaching institute, library and conference center. The kitchens were state of the art, and I looked at the Kitchen Aid showcase with envy. The final nail in my coffin was yet another cheese tasting, added to an olive oil and balsamic tasting. My tastebuds were revolting. It was good, but enough was enough.
Stuffed, we came home, another three hours on the bus, and a collective whine about obesity.
A beautiful day, but sometimes you know when you have had too much of a good thing.
Thank God tomorrow is an organic honey farm and biodynamic vineyard.