Friuli Venezia Giulia or translated Friuli-Julian Region is the first region along the Slovenian border with the capital Trieste. It is also the closest Italian region to us, which many people from Croatia also visit. Famous for its wine and cured meat products, the world-famous Prosciutto di San Daniele stands out, which can also be found in our stores. It is among the ten most famous Italian prosciutto and is placed in second place, right behind the most famous – Prosciutto di Parma. As I toured the region in more detail, I visited the town of San Daniele del Friuli, after which prosciutto got its name.
(Google translate article from Croatian)
PROSCIUTO DI SAN DANIELE OFFICIAL
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OFFICIAL PAGE SAN DANIELE DEL FRIULI
Prosciutto has been mentioned since the time of the Celts, who experienced that low humidity, good ventilation and the special microclimate of San Daniele del Friuli enable better preservation of meat and improvement of its quality. During the Council of Trent, in 1563, the prelates ate Prosciutto di San Daniele, which was brought to Trento on mules from San Daniele del Friuli, and Napoleon also highly valued prosciutto. That’s how the popularity grew. A long history, one would say.
I am a born Slavonian, of Lika origin who grew up on Slavonian pigs. We mentioned fish once a year, and ate it even less. Vegetables…I heard something about them when I was a teenager. I only knew about stews in which boiled vegetables were swimming. Maybe that’s why my blood pressure, sugar and fats are raging even today. Even though I’ve been eating healthy for decades, eating some raw “roots”, “grass”, fish, fruits with less fructose, only trace amounts of meat and I don’t know what else, what the hell! I loaded so many piggies into me in my youth that it takes me two lifetimes to clean it out of me.
Once upon a time, when I was still a boy who, on that day in Slavonia, did not choke on crackers and bacon but on a good, thick feta ham, I could call it a healthy meal. If you didn’t cut a piece of ham at least a finger thick, it’s better not to cut it or offer it. To me it was poor food, even worthless because it leaked into my ears. We ate it every day and I didn’t know the value of that specialty. Kolinje, which in Slavonia we call slaughter, was passed down from generation to generation. That’s how every year during puberty and winter days, several pigs weighing at least 120 kilograms from our piggery ended up under the knife. Inexperienced at first, I knew how to miss the pig’s throat with the knife. That poor thing would jump to her feet as blood spurted from her neck all over us and run around the yard half-dead until someone shook her in the head with a rifle or pistol from afar, nonchalantly drinking a shot of brandy to warm herself. Although he wanted to escape from the massacre, there was no help for me. I slaughtered until I learned. Being a man in the countryside and not knowing how to hug a pig is almost shameful. I also had the task of cleaning the casings, where the sausage meat was later stuffed. Admittedly, it was a woman’s job, but I had to go through all the stages of the knee. It smelled like crazy, but the job had to be done. Later I ended up cutting meat, roasting cracklings and stuffing sausages and became a full-blooded butcher.
My grandfather was known as a good butcher and butcher, so he was gladly invited to be the main butcher at the slaughter. Since he was proud of his grandson, I went through the course quickly and under a magnifying glass.
So in the end I ended up as one who has the will to slaughter.
It was only in my older years that I got to know prosciutto and that it can be cut into small pieces, tasted or eaten as an appetizer, and from my youth I boasted that I was an experienced cook.
I experienced the biggest debacle of a self-proclaimed chef on one occasion in the Upper Town of my beloved Zagreb, when I found myself in a restaurant surrounded by connoisseurs of good food and wine who knew that I was not afraid of a cooker, a pan and a padel. I was given the honor to pick prosciutto, carried by the thought that I would do it superbly. I started well with the cleaning, but started to cut thick pieces, like the old Slavonian ham. Moaning, crying and gnashing of teeth at the table.
“What did unfortunate Srele do?!” – everyone shouted at once.
Fortunately, the prosciutto was safe for ten kilograms, the damage could be corrected. I almost cried in agony as my knowledge dissipated like the wind. I solved my sadness by melting it in wine and learning how to cut and serve prosciutto. In the end, everything turned out to be a good joke because I am a man who knows how to take criticism and make a joke about himself. And later we hung out and cut prosciutto with a joke at my expense: “And now our Srećko will cut us a thin slice of prosciutto!” and everyone laughed to tears, remembering the pieces of one hundred grams each.
