Grandmother Elide, who was able to live the Second World War in time and who has always lived between Parma, Baganzola and Fraore, told how life was at the time. Every time he prepared the polenta he explained what was going on; to keep in mind that they were stories of rural life, made up of very large families, of farmers who work in the fields in the morning and evening, in short, in part what you see in “Novecento” by Bertolucci.
Once the polenta had been cooked, she would put it on a table and, when it had cooled down and hardened, cut it down with a thread. At this point, he began the stratagems to make sure that it lasted as long as possible: a slice each, maybe at lunch, then a slice for a snack, then again a slice at dinner. Sometimes it was possible to accompany it with conserve, or maybe it was rubbed on a herring hanging from a beam (only once, for God’s sake! otherwise there was a risk of “cracking”).
Very often, however, especially during the war, the polenta was “deaf”, with nothing. If you visit the territory of Parma in winter, whether you move between the fog in the towns or between the rows of poplars and ploughed fields of the countryside, we recommend you taste the polenta. You will see, it will not be “deaf”.