In Ludiano, Grotto Milani serves a local speciality of pumpkin soup at its traditional, Ticinese grotto restaurant. Photograph by Giglio Pasqua, Switzerland Tourism
Formaggio d’alpe ticinese is a semi-hard cheese, produced upon the mountains of Ticino. Photograph by Daniele Maini
Wandering around Gabbani, the aromas of Ticino’s prize produce hits the nostrils: the semi-hard Alpine cheeses that are often produced in remote mountain farmhouses using recipes guarded by jealous custodians and the high ranges that enclose them. Gabbani’s Alpine cheeses are like ancient stones — their exteriors coarse and craggy — until the slice of a knife discloses their young, buttery core. We try a few, including sweet piora and the slightly nuttier alpe manegorio. Anna explains that the pastures the cheeses are named after shape their flavours — cows on south-facing meadows graze on different flora to those on north-facing ones. “Environment is everything,” she explains. “Sometimes you can almost taste the barn.”
Beneath the pastures lies the literal and metaphorical bedrock of Ticinese cuisine. The next day we drive north into the valley of Vallemaggia. Here, Ticino’s topography is steep and high: snowy mountaintops mingle with passing clouds; waterfalls slip through chestnut forests to a valley floor pungent with wild garlic. All around is the detritus of rockfalls dispatched from the summits — and hidden beneath them Ticino’s famed grottoes.
Put simply, a Ticinese grotto is a natural subterranean space dedicated to storing produce — meats, cheeses and wines — a relic of an age before electric refrigerators. You see them across Ticino — from the outside, they can resemble hobbit houses, with their tiny doors and bits of brickwork. They stay warm in winter and cool in summer — and it’s often summer when their padlocks are unlocked and their contents uncorked or unpacked to be shared at granite tables outside in the sunshine.
“The grotto is where people congregate,” explains Anna as we explore a complex of them in the village of Cevio. “It’s where cuisine connects to geology.”
Inside their crypt-like spaces is a deep, damp silence that whispers of cheeses and wines growing venerable. In more recent times, the concept of the grotto has evolved: some serve charcuterie to passersby, others offer hot food. In a wider sense, the word ‘grotto’ has been applied to any restaurant serving hearty mountain dishes and wine in tiny china mugs emblazoned with the flag of Ticino. At a grotto, you find a Mediterranean spirit of epicureanism. But there’s also a pragmatism characteristic of mountain folk, stashing their bounty through the seasons, patiently waiting until the day the little door creaks open again.
Near the Swiss village of Camedo, the Centovalli train crosses the Melezza barrier lake, towards the Italian border. Photograph by Christof Sonderegger
An hour south, in the village of Arogno near Lugano’s south shores, Gabriele Bianchi has a technique for avoiding bee stings. “You have to pretend to be an astronaut,” he says, moving through a swarm with deliberate, zero-gravity movements. “You should go slowly — and don’t be afraid: they can sense fear on you.”
Gabriele is harvesting some of the first honey of the season at his farm in the hillside village. With a nervously outstretched finger I scoop some from his hive: it tastes richly floral with the tang of false acacia (whose nectar the bees have plundered of late). Soon, Gabriele says, the honey will have a flavour of chestnut, as those trees, in turn, begin to flower.
Beehives are characteristic of Ticino and a mainstay of Gabriele’s organic farm, Azienda Agricola Bianchi. Just 25 years old, the farm takes inspiration from a more distant era, when self-sufficient smallholdings rather than corporate monocultures defined the Swiss hills. The principle, Gabriele insists, is that everything works together — his wildflower meadows support the bees, a flock of geese munch bothersome weeds, while herbs thrive in the shade beneath vines. In ages past, such an approach was necessary for farmers inhabiting heights far beyond the reach of tarmac roads. Today the emphasis is on sustainability.
Sitting under a pergola in late-afternoon sunshine, we savour some of Gabriele’s wines — made with johanniter and solaris grapes, common varieties in Switzerland. This being Ticino, we toast in French, German and Italian before sipping and savouring the view. Above us, bursts of cultivated edelweiss; beside us, young olive trees imported from Lake Como’s shores. They’re ambassadors from separate ecological worlds — and the farm is poised to make the most of both.
“It’s about picking the fruits of the land,” says Gabriele. “And doing it with knowledge inherited through generations.”
Only a few generations ago, Ticino’s uplands were much busier. Throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, mountain communities emptied out as people sought new lives in France or the US sooner than suffer another hard winter of Swiss snowdrifts.
Not so long ago there were 400 residents in the highland hamlet of Vergeletto. Today, that figure is closer to 40 — one of whom took it upon himself to revive an ancient culinary tradition, and thus revive the fortunes of the village.
Ilario Garbani restored Vergeletto’s watermill in order to produce farina bóna, a sweet-flavoured flour once widely eaten across Ticino. Photograph by Ilario Garbani
Balancing a straw hat on his head, Ilario Garbani shimmies down a timber beam to open a sluice gate. With a creak, his restored watermill chunters slowly into life. Outside, a mountain stream crashes about the paddles, while inside a millstone whirrs, casting off a fine powder. This so-called ‘good flour’, farina bóna — made from roasted corn — was once eaten widely across Ticino but later partly displaced by more versatile maize and all but forgotten in the 1960s after the last miller passed away.
Ilario, a former teacher, interviewed elderly residents about their memories of the mill, and rebuilt its mechanisms from scratch. His sweet-flavoured flour has found its way into everything from craft beer to ice cream and pasta dishes — in its smoky notes you can almost taste ancient winters by the fireside in a mountain hut. It’s coveted by local restaurants, and visitors make their way to Vergeletto to seek it out.
“It’s about food,” Ilario tells me. “But it’s also about the past: experiencing the same flavours as our forebears.”
There’s something hypnotic in watching the flurries of farina bóna floating from the millstone — like parmesan being grated over pasta, or snowfall on a Swiss mountaintop. Soon after, a bag of farina bóna drifts into the Gotthard Tunnel — stashed in my luggage on a northbound train, along with Alpine cheese and a bottle of Ticinese wine.
Where to eat in Ticino:
La Tinèra
Located in Lugano’s old town, La Tinèra serves old-school Ticinese food in a rustic setting. Mains are hearty and wholesome. Try specialities like traditional Luganega sausage on a bed of risotto, or a Milanese classic, osso bucco (braised veal shanks) with polenta. Two courses from 45 CHF (£39) without wine.
La Fontana Ristorante
Luganighetta sausage-filled fagottini is served with büscion cheese, tomatoes and basil at La Fontana, a hillside restaurant overlooking Locarno. Photograph by Liliana Lafranchi, Hotel Belvedere Locarno
You can expect imaginative cooking served at this superlative hilltop spot overlooking Locarno. Seasonal antipasti might include asparagus with toasted almond flakes and ginger sour cream; pastas include raviolini with vallemaggia cheese fondue. Veal mains come wrapped in local prosciutto ham. From 70 CHF (£61).
Ristorante Fiorentina
Situated in Locarno’s backstreets, Ristorante Fiorentina has linen-clad tables set beneath vaulted ceilings, and a creative menu. Go for a starter of crispy polenta bruschetta with vegetable ragout, and perhaps a warming main of casarecce pasta with rabbit and truffle. Finish with farina bóna (a corn flour) mousse with brownies. From 40 CHF (£35).
Grotto San Michele
Set in the ancient Castles of Bellinzona, this grotto comes with a sunny terrace offering views of vineyards and Alpine ranges. Ticinese charcuterie is served with pickles, while primi include farina bóna gnocchi. A secondi of blue cheese polenta is a must if you can manage it. From 70 CHF (£61).
Published in the October 2024 issue of National Geographic Traveller (UK).
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Publish date : 2024-09-27 02:12:00
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