All morning, as we zoomed down south from Naples on a motorcycle, inky clouds threatened rain. So when we arrive at Rivabianca, a mozzarella di bufala cooperative in the village of Paestum, with our clothes still dry, we exhale deeply, not realizing that we had been holding our breath. Inside the dairy’s production center, separated from the small shop by large windows and a big metal door, it looks as if the rain has already come and gone – the tile floor is covered in water. “Wait just a sec, you’ll need these to go inside,” says Rosa Maria Wedig, the owner of Rivabianca, handing us two plastic bags. Before we can make a move, she’s bending down and shoving them on our feet, using duct tape to secure them around our ankles.

When Michelangelo made his Moses statue at the beginning of the 16th century, he found it so lifelike that some say he asked the statue, “Why don’t you speak?” Michelangelo’s Moses, which is now housed in a church in Rome, never said a word. But centuries later, in 2009 to be exact, a customer entered Lello Massa’s deli in Naples and, after biting into a ball of Lello’s mozzarella, exclaimed, “This mozzarella speaks.” “I didn’t think for a moment. I took a large sheet of paper and a red marker and wrote: my mozzarella speaks,” says 46-year-old Lello. And from that day on, this served as the new name of his rosticceria.

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Italians – particularly southern Italians – immigrated to the United States in droves. Seeking their fortune in a distant land, they boarded ships with cardboard suitcases containing only a few clothes. But there was no shortage of good food in those suitcases: bread, cheese and even soppressata, cured pork salami made with the best pieces of the pig (and thus low in fat content), a perennial favorite in southern Italy. Alas, once they arrived on American soil after the long journey, their soppressate were seized because of a law prohibiting the import of cured meat, among other meat products (a ban that still exists today).