A Will and a Whey: Cheese Producers Put Faith in Craft as Trump Tariffs Bite

Giuseppe Alai wanders through the cellar of his dairy in Emilia-Romagna, the air filled with the smell of aging wheels of parmesan lined up in endless rows.

- Angela Giuffrida

Giuseppe Alai wanders through the cellar of his dairy in Emilia-Romagna, the air filled with the smell of aging wheels of parmesan lined up in endless rows. Pointing towards the thick rinds wrapped around them, each bearing the distinct dotted engraving of their parmigiano reggiano mark of origin, he recalls an anecdote from his grandfather at the end of the Second World War.

“When the American soldiers arrived in 1945 [to liberate the area from the Nazis], they gave the children lots of chocolate and in return, my grandfather gave them pieces of cheese,” said Alai. “When he explained that it was made without additives or preservatives, they couldn’t believe it – they thought it was impossible.”

This connection between the zesty, crumbly parmigiano reggiano – one of Italy’s oldest and best-known cheeses – and American consumer tastes has only strengthened in the decades since, with a thriving market making the US its biggest export destination outside the EU.

But Alai’s thoughts now turn to the implications of the premium delicacy – most commonly grated onto pasta or thinly shaved into salads – getting caught up in the chaos of Donald Trump’s sweeping international trade tariffs.

The Guardian arrived at his San Girolamo dairy in Brugneto di Reggiolo, a hamlet close to Reggio Emilia, just as 1,000 liters of raw milk, taken from cows raised on local forage, was being poured into copper vats. The load will produce two 40kg wheels of parmigiano reggiano that will age for a minimum of 12 months, one of the rules for a cheese made exclusively in this designated area of northern Italy. Using a stencilling band, the rind is engraved with the brand, the dairy’s identification number and the month and year of production.