Pecorino cheese is Sardinian. Even when it doesn’t seems so. Indeed, the various Pecorino cheeses from Rome or Pienza are the fruit of shepherds who migrated to the mainland from Sardinia with their flocks in tow. They would go to the station, load their sheep first on the train and then on the ferry to Civitavecchia. But the Sardinians deserve credit for not only continuing their trade on the mainland, but for also doing it at the right time.
Sardinian emigration to the mainland
Sheep’s milk cheese has been produced since prehistoric times throughout Italy, and not just by the ancient Sardinians. This fact is certain, as testified by sources such as Varro, Galen, Virgil, and Pliny the Elder. But we are indebted to the Sardinians and their migration to the mainland for taking over farms right at the time, just when everyone was leaving them. From the 1960s on, people began to abandon farm work, enticed by the prospect of a factory job, a stable fixed income, and the modernity of the city. The Sardinians, on the other hand, reclaimed farming when faced with the spread of urban development and industrialization. And they did so before anyone else. This occurred especially in areas such as Tuscany, Tuscia, and Montefeltro, where they mainly settled because the land was similar to that of Sardinia, suitable for sheep farming with its rough terrain and biodiversity. The Sardinians were great entrepreneurs, because they took what others were abandoning. And today it’s regaining value.
Sarda vs. Lacaune
What makes Pecorino cheese Sardinian is the Sarda sheep: a local breed (descended from the wild mouflon), which is still present in the area of Gennargentu. And yet, over the last few years, to increase efficiency, other more productive breeds such as the Lacaune sheep have been imported and introduced.
The Lacaune is a breed originating in the Lacaune mountains, in the Roquefort area of France, where it is the most commonly raised sheep due to its abundant milk production and meat. Over the last decade, it has also replaced other breeds such as the Gentile di Puglia, the Sopravissana, the Delle Langhe, and the Île- de-France. But the Sarda sheep is the consummate Sardinian breed. A lover of open spaces, it is inherently untamable, so much so that even if it’s kept still and in an enclosed space, it will never produce the same amount of milk as a Lacaune sheep or other breeds.
I CherChi and Salsamenteria
Brothers Michele and Fabrizio Cherchi grew up in a family that taught them the importance of quality, with what they define as an unconscious passion running through their veins. So when it came to becoming business owners with no prior experience, they were extremely successful. In 1997, they started off with a small shop in Monserrato, their hometown, right when a supermarket was opening up next door – already a symbol of the countertrends that would go on to distinguish them. In fact, I CherChi has become the temple of authenticity with products from a careful selection of small producers: “We don’t sell Pecorino Sardo in general,” the brothers said, “but rather from a single shepherd, with its own history, its own face, its own story, because that’s what provides added value, so the customers are also fully aware of what they’re buying and perhaps even understand why they’re rightfully paying a bit more.” After 21 years, they opened more small shops, including in Cagliari, in addition to Salsamenteria (in collaboration with the Stazu brothers): 1,700 sq ft square feet with a modest French-style cheese dairy, a small kitchen and butcher’s shop.
Pecorini, plural
We should all do as I CherChi does: highlight uniqueness without it getting lost in the anonymity of large-scale distribution chains. That’s why we can’t speak of Pecorino Sardo in the singular. It must always be referred to as “pecorini,” plural: because there are those who craft it with plant-based rennet, those who refine it with Grenache, truffles, or myrtle; those who coat it with mastic oil or clay, who make a Cru out of it or who produce it with Nera di Arbus sheep’s milk; and those who still, following the tradition of Romagna, bury it in a pit for 100 days, resulting in a rich mix of flavors that explode on the palate. The variety, like the ingenuity, seems to have no end.