Giuseppe Alai wanders through the cellar of his dairy in Emilia-Romagna, the air filled with the smell of ageing wheels of parmesan lined up in endless rows.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen 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,\u201d said Alai. \u201cWhen he explained that it was made without additives or preservatives, they couldn\u2019t believe it \u2013 they thought it was impossible.\u201d<\/p>\n
This connection between the zesty, crumbly parmigiano reggiano \u2013 one of Italy\u2019s oldest and most famous cheeses \u2013 and US consumer tastes has only strengthened in the decades since, with a thriving market making the country its biggest export destination outside the EU.<\/p>\n
But Alai\u2019s thoughts now turn to the implications of the premium delicacy, most commonly grated on to pasta or thinly shaved into salads, getting caught up in the chaos of Donald Trump\u2019s sweeping international trade tariffs, and putting faith in its centuries-old manufacturing process.<\/p>\n
The Guardian arrived at his San Girolamo dairy in Brugneto di Reggiolo, a hamlet close to Reggio Emilia, just as 1,000 litres of raw milk, taken from cows raised on local forage, was being poured into bell-shaped 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\u2019s identification number and month and year of production within the first few hours of the wheel\u2019s formation.<\/p>\n
The visit occurred a few weeks after the US president had reached a trade tariff agreement with Brussels<\/a>. The deal imposed a 15% cap on most exports from the EU to the US \u2013 modest compared with the 30% Trump originally threatened<\/a> but still a significant hike for most Italian exporters.<\/p>\n The case for Alai and his fellow parmigiano reggiano producers is somewhat unique as the agreement simply meant they reverted to the same duty paid since the mid-1960s. But only after being forced to temporarily grin and bear 25% while the deal was being thrashed out, leading to a reduction in orders owing to the stockpiles amassed by importers in the US even before Trump announced his \u201cliberation day\u201din April.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s too early to say what the impact of those four months will be due to the surplus [of orders] in the past,\u201d said Alai. \u201cBut there was a lot of concern because producers risked sending orders not knowing if they would arrive or how much the tariff would be by the time they got there.\u201d<\/p>\n While the US-EU agreement brought some relief, worries persist about the long-term impact on trade with the US, Alai said, especially when combined with a 13.5% devaluation of the dollar against the euro, which increases the price paid by US consumers.<\/p>\n \u201cNow we fear the currency exchange rate more than the 15% tariff,\u201d he added.<\/p>\n