Comment on Bread artisans for the ages in southern Italy

Against the bakery’s gleaming wall of tiles, huge loaves of bread lie on racks like failed pottery experiments. Made here on the Apulian plateau (known as the Murgia) for centuries, the coarse-grained bread’s first mention in writing is in a reference by the Latin poet Horace in 37 B.C.: “Their bread is exceedingly fine, inasmuch that the weary traveler is used to carry it willingly on his shoulders.” The beloved bread is depicted in cathedral portal scenes of the Last Supper, and is shown as accompanying travelers on their journeys. Much more convenient for travel, the loaves etched in stone are wreath-shaped (ciambella), and one church doorway shows Joseph toting a ciambella loaf on a stick as he leads a donkey carrying Mary. The food of the Altamura region — from the famed bread to a local mushroom called the cardoncello — is credited with shutting down a McDonald’s restaurant after less than two years in operation. “We were used to better food,” says Tonio Creanza, who leads culinary and art restoration workshops in the region. amber-colored crust, still warm from the wood-burning oven, I hear music. [...] a little woozy from jet lag, I fit the poet’s description of the weary traveler. Bakers have a little flexibility in loaf shape, but tradition rules. Because the bread is a Denomination of Protected Origin in Europe, it must be made exclusively from the durum wheat found on the Apulian plateau and the hills of nearby Matera. [...] the baker must use local water and natural yeast, and ensure the bread has a thick crust (averaging between 3 to 5 millimeters). No matter the bakery size — tiny ones inside the town’s ancient walls and larger companies near the inviting City of Bread signs — all have to abide by the rules. The next day, my bread and I take a walk in the wide-open spaces of the Murgia plateau, along with a group of Tonio’s workshop students. Just 4 miles north of Altamura, we wander through wild fields of yarrow, alfalfa, fennel, thyme and oregano that are scattered among limestone outcroppings. Standing amid a flock of 100 sheep in the light rain, the shepherd holds a closed umbrella. Despite the damp weather, it quickly becomes easy to follow along with Graziantonio Creanza (no relation to Tonio) as he leads his sheep along the Murgia, identifying grasses good for making the cheese and milk for which the region is known. On a camp stove, they boil a pot of salted water, and then cook a handful of vegetables (potatoes, tomatoes, onions, garlic and celery). Next, eggs are poached in the same water, the hot water is poured over chunks of stale Altamura bread and all is mixed together, garnished with parsley and drizzled with olive oil. Over steaming bowls of soup, Graziantonio explains that he and his wife rent a 17th-century masseria (farmhouse) nearby, with a shed for the sheep. In a spare room, they make cheese from the sheep’s milk — from ricotta to a hard cheese called Canestrato Pugliese. While morning is best for cheese, I’m convinced that late afternoon is best for visiting nearby Matera — a honeycomb of settlements carved into the side of a ravine. Inhabited since the Paleolithic period, the town has become popular with travelers who want to stay in cave hotels and eat in cave restaurants. The Sassi (Italian for “stones”) homes are dug into the limestone that runs throughout this region, and the late afternoon sun glints off the edges of walls, almost making the ocher-colored stone glow. The bright paint figures hide in darkness until illuminated by the flashlight app on my cell phone. Carrying the loaf of Altamura bread around, I’m beginning to feel a little like the school-age kids who are given an egg to teach them about caring for children. Grab a seat in this osteria for crispy pizza, fresh cheese and roasted meat dishes. Rates start at $2,630 and include tours, meals, lodging at the Masseria La Selva and ground transportation to/from Bari airport.