From Cosa Bolle in Pentola, my newsletter:
One of the programs Slowfood is introducing is something called the Master of Food, which is designed primarily to increase consumer awareness and help people make informed decisions when it comes to buying food. The program breaks food down into a variety of categories, each covered by one or more sets of lessons, and to give people an idea of what to expect there were demonstration classes during the Salone. One of the most interesting was dedicated to honey. Not the stuff sold in cute bear-shaped squeeze bottles in the supermarket, but rather Virgin honey that comes direct from the beekeeper. It's a lot more complex than many realize, and also at considerable risk within the EEU. Why? Because EEU legislators have bowed to the industrial concerns that blend honeys from all over the world to fill their squeeze bottles, and passed a directive that forbids the labeling of beekeeper honey as Virgin; it therefore becomes difficult for beekeepers to distinguish their honeys from the industrial products, and consumers are thus more likely to base their selection simply on price.

Virgin honeys, we were told, are honeys that have been extracted from their combs by centrifugal force and have not been heated or otherwise treated. Since the bees of a hive tend to concentrate on a particular flower until it goes out of season, many virgin honeys are also single-flower honeys that reflect the characteristics of their source flowers; for example honey from orange groves has a delicate orange scent and slight citric acidity that gives definition to the sweetness. If there isn't enough of a particular flower to meet the bees' needs they will, of course, visit other blossoms, and at this point the honey is called millefiori, which means thousand flowers. Despite the name these honeys tend to be quite distinctive because they still reflect the plants growing where the bees live; for example large sections of the Alps produce a millefiore honey that combines the bitterness of chestnuts with the minty overtones from Linden trees. This particular honey will also have resinous and caramel notes whose intensity will depend upon the amount of honeydew the bees used; honeydew is sugar not from flowers, but rather from aphids and other insects that suck sap from the plants (in this case lindens) and excrete the sugars they take up in excess. That bees use the excretions of other insects to make their honey might come as a surprise -- at least it did to me -- but in areas with few flowers they have no other choice. Indeed, much of the honey from northern climes is from honeydew rather than from flowers.

After finding out about the source of the honey we found out about its keeping. All honey is primarily sugar, up to about 80%, with the remaining 20% primarily water and the trace elements that give a given honey its characteristic aromas and flavor. As it comes from the comb it's a liquid, but a supersaturated liquid, and with time most honeys with the exception of those made from acacia, chestnut and honeydew will crystallize; crystallization has no influence on the taste of the honey, though it does change its mouthfeel, because the crystals absorb warmth as they melt on the tongue and thus make the honey feel more refreshing. To reverse the crystallization one need simply heat the honey to a temperature of 40 C (about 100 F) in a water bath, but doing so drives off some of the volatile elements and therefore decreases the honey's bouquet and flavor. The same loss of flavor also occurs naturally with time, and is again temperature dependent: A jar in the refrigerator (below 50 F, or 10 C) will keep for years, the same jar will keep on a kitchen shelf (68 F, or 20 C) for 12-18 months, and in a warm place (85 F, or 30 C) for a couple of months. Note that it will not spoil with time, but rather become just sweet, rather like syrup made from refined sugar. Therefore, though an old honey may no longer be satisfying on a slice of bread, it could be used in making a dessert.

The lesson wound up with a tasting of a number of different honeys; we began with the extraordinary delicacy of acacia, followed by a tangy citrus honey, a creamy, malty honeydew honey, an opulent dandelion honey, the bitterness of chestnut honey, a piece of honey comb to chew, and a rich millefiore honey from an alpine meadow. Seven extraordinarily different honeys, which were followed by a last, rather sweet, predictable honey that seemed insipid by comparison with the others -- a commercial blend, and as I tasted it I understood why the industry is doing its best to keep the beekeepers from using the word Virgin on their labels. When you buy honey, buy honey made by a beekeeper rather than the commercial stuff (the label should at least say who made it); the difference in flavor is well worth the difference in price. And if the beekeeper has several honeys, try them all. The range of Virgin honeys is astonishing.

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