Gelato! Is there a creation more delicious? A food more adaptable? It fuels you, wires you, cools you. It sends you on your way with a transportable treat that is the closest thing to edible happiness. And just the word is so much more fun than, “Ice cream.”

What “Artigianale” Means: Real Fruit, Whole Dairy, No Additives

But what’s even better than gelato? Artisanal gelato. The kind that is made from actual fruit and whole dairy. No artificial flavors, preservatives or colors. The kind that Chanti and Michela make, just around the corner, in the heart of Vicenza’s historic city center. Every. Single. Day.

The place?

Gelateria Artigiano Palladiano Dal 1994.

Meet Chanti & Michela: The Women Behind the Scoops

Every morning, before those glass doors to paradise open, Chanti and Michela are mixing up the fresh flavors of the day. Crates of melon and peach and pineapple and lemon perch atop the countertops. An enormous box of local whole milk (latte) and cream (panne) … and even a giant wheel of Gorgonzola cheese—yes, that’s the stinky kind—chill inside the industrial fridge. All of these, just waiting to be churned into frozen deliciousness within the next hour and a half.

So how does gelato go from a crate of melons to that icy, whipped concoction that is the stuff of dreams? Well, lucky for me, Chanti and Michela allow a visit with them one morning to find out. Here is their story.

The Shop in Vicenza’s Historic Center (Since 1994)

The year is 1994, and Chanti’s brother, Jeffrey, has just finished his military service where he worked as a cook for the Fanteria d’ arresto (Italian Army Fortification Infantry). As part of his culinary training, he’d learned to make gelato, so Jeffrey and Chanti’s father decide to open a Gelateria in town. Genius!

Chanti is just a girl, but between school hours, she helps out at the shop and soon, the magic of gelato-making fills her dreams. Years go by and the Gelateria sees businesses in downtown Vicenza come and go. A snack bar becomes a clothing shop. A tabacheria is now a shoe store. Almost twenty years have passed when Jeffrey marries a lady named Michela. She comes to work at the Gelateria, too.

And then, in 2018, Chanti takes over the shop.

She’s had two decades’ worth of dreams built up for this moment. Ideas for new flavors, like Garganzola mixed with pear and freshly-shelled walnuts (it has become my favorite) or Pane e Nutella. She’s longed for fresh-fruit ghiaccioli (popsicles) that the local cafes used to sell when she was a girl, so she resurrects them, this time making them each day by hand, using the same fruit she chops and mixes for the gelato. Everything must be fresh, natural and as close to its source as is possible. No preservatives, concentrates, artificial flavors or colors … except for one, Chanti admits with a grin. It’s the mint ghiaccioli: “For the children—they don’t like the natural color and we must make the bambini happy!” So she adds a touch of green. But even that is natural: it comes from artichoke.

From Fruit to Freezer: How Gelato Is Made Step by Step

When I step through the door at eight on a Tuesday morning, Chanti is already juicing lemons. She waves as I enter, then adjusts her baseball cap, pointing gleefully at the pigeon embroidered on the front. “Get it?” she laughs. “Vicenza is known for its pigeons, so I thought this hat was perfect!”

I don’t have a chance to ask where she got the hat, because now she is talking about the electric juicer. “This is thirty years old! I bought it from a friend who used it in his bar to make Mojitos. But it still works perfectly.”

She grabs another lemon, explaining as she goes that they normally use only Italian lemons for their gelato and ices, but today, they had to mix in some Greek lemons because the season has ended. She shows me the difference between the two: the Greek lemons are smooth-skinned while the Italian lemons are decidedly lumpier and with less consistent coloring.

“We need two liters of lemon juice for our gelato,” she says, nodding to where Michela stands in the next room, weighing a carafe on a digital scale. “For every flavor, we make eight kilos of gelato—that’s two tubs. But today, I’m also making lemon ghiaccioli (popsicles), so we need extra.”

I follow as she scurries with her pitcher to the adjoining room at the back where Michela is working. I blink in surprise at the space. It’s a bit like Doctor Who’s dimensionally transcendental phone booth in here, as this tiny room has a lot going on. Mysterious machines and shelves stuffed with tools, sacks of sugar, peanut butter, chocolate chips and coco powder. This is where the magic happens, and apparently, it happens fast:

Michela grabs the pitcher, weighs it, tells Chanti they need 200 more milliliters, and in a flash, Chanti comes back with more juice. Once Michela determines the amount is sufficient, she pours the juice into a larger container, then weighs and dumps in sugar, hot water and a proprietary blend of thickener that is entirely all natural, plant-based. “A local manufacturer makes this, just for us,” says Chanti with obvious pride. “It is our little secret.”

They allow me to scan the bag’s ingredients, and I am amazed. It is, indeed, all natural. I’m now beginning to regard gelato as a health food, but before I can complete this emotional journey, the tub of lemon mix is placed under an electric mixture where the concoction is churned for ten minutes.

“We got this mixer about five years ago,” Michela says with a grateful nod to the machine. “Before that, we had to mix everything by hand. It was very tiring!”

“Yes,” agrees Chanti, who has jumped back to the main room and is now carrying a pallet of bananas toward us. She lowers them onto the only free space in the tiny room and begins peeling them with bewildering speed. “Considering how many flavors we must make each day, it was a lot of mixing!”

I ask about that.

Daily Production: 60% Fruit, Small Batches, 10+ Flavors

“We do four fruit flavors and anywhere from six to twelve cream-based flavors. Today, we make lemon, melon, banana and strawberry. Tomorrow, we make pineapple, coconut and … I forget! Two more fruit flavors. We make more on Saturdays, and on some holidays, we make up to 20 cream flavors a day.”

“You make at least ten flavors every morning, within an hour and a half of opening?” I repeat in amazement. I attempt math. “That’s … eighty kilos of gelato. Close to 180 pounds!”

“Yes!” Chanti’s fingers flick between banana peels. Michela joins her, and within minutes, an entire pallet of bananas are bereft of skins. These go into another giant tub where Michela weighs the amount.

“We must use sixty-percent fruit in our gelato,” she explains as she works. “The higher percentage, the more artisanal it is considered.”

“And because we are artisanal,” calls Chanti, who has now moved on to chopping melons in the main room, “we can stay open every day. Vicenza has two classes of shops: commercial and artisanal. The commercial shops must close at least one day a week. We stay open every day of the week. But we close for two months in winter, so we do get a bit of a break.”

The Gelato-Making Process: Mix, Rest, Churn, Freeze

Chanti is now pouring the lemon mixture into the main machine within the tiny room. The machine’s receptacle for the mix looks like a tiny sink that drains into a lower section of the stainless steel contraption. She lowers the emptied tub and points to the sink-like receptacle. “For the fruit gelato, we just pour it in and let it churn for about ten minutes. It goes from room temperature to about -10 degrees Celsius (about 14 degrees Fahrenheit). But for the cream gelato,” she points to the top of the machine where a rounded, transparent cap covers another opening, “we must cook the mixture first, then it drains into this bottom section of the machine where it is churned and frozen.”

“So it does everything?” I ask the obvious, but it all seems too magical to be true.

“Yes,” says Michela. Then she points to another opening just below the sink-like receptacle. “Once the mixture is frozen, it comes out here, where we spoon it into the bins. That is it. Done.”

I nod dazedly. It sounds so simple, but watching the blur of activity around me, it is obvious that a lot of work goes on before succumbing to the machine’s sorcery. I ask more questions, and come to understand that, more or less, the rule of thumb for each step in the process is about ten minutes: Ten minutes to mix each flavor’s ingredients together into a smooth consistency; ten minutes of resting; ten minutes to cook and churn (for the cream-based gelato) and ten minutes to freeze and churn.

“How do you know when it is ready?” I ask as the machine rumbles along. “Is there an alarm or something?”

Michela shakes her head. “You just listen to the sound. It slows down and you know it is ready. Just wait. I’ll show you soon.”

Ingredient Sourcing: Italian Lemons, Sicilian Strawberries, Madagascar Vanilla

While the lemon is freezing and banana is resting, the melon is now under the mixer while Chanti has moved on to strawberries.

“We always get strawberries from Sicily. Only Sicily. They are the best.”

Do they get all the other fruit from Italy?

“We get everything that can grow in Italy from Italy,” answers Chanti. “The obvious ingredients we cannot get from here, we get from the best sources possible. Everything is whole—bananas, pineapple, even vanilla beans. We get those from Madagascar.” She pauses to think for a moment. “Well, except mango pulp and coconut. We get the coconut pulp from Thailand—not whole coconuts—and the mango pulp from Australia. We even order nuts like walnuts still within the shells. We crack them here, in the shop. You can taste the difference.” She actually grabs a walnut from a sack on the shelf, cracks is open and hands a piece to me. “Everything is made fresh, from scratch.”

I chew the walnut, and confirm her statement. She’s right. You can taste the difference. I point to the marmalade that decorates the Arancia & Cannella gelato (Orange and cinnamon) already under the shop’s display.

“What about the preserves?” I ask.

“I do those over the winter, when the shop is closed,” answers Chanti. “I make strawberry, fig and orange marmalades—all for the toppings. I like to use as much of the fruit as possible, so I use the lemon and orange peels for the marmalades. I make about twenty-five kilograms every winter.”

“Twenty-five kilos of preserves?” I repeat. “That’s a lot of work.”

“Twenty-five kilos of each flavor!” Chanti corrects with a laugh. As if to prove her next point, she reaches for a bin of popsicle containers and is now rapidly pouring a pitcher of banana mixture into each one. “I like to stay busy.”

“Ready!” calls Michela, and I turn from Chanti’s flying fingers to the Machine of Wonders on my other side, where Michela is now spooning perfectly-frozen gelato into a stainless steel bin. The process is swift. The gelato pushes out steadily as Michela deftly flicks with a spatula, creating those photogenic peaks of Instagram fame.

Serving Temperatures vs. Home Freezers

Before I can say pronto, two four-kilo bins are now filled with lemon gelato. Chanti takes a break from her banana popsicles to whisk the bins into the giant freezer. “We keep everything at around -12 degrees Celsius (10.4 degrees Fahrenheit),” she explains. “For home freezers, this is not possible as they are usually set at around -20 degrees (4 degrees Fahrenheit).”

She’s back at the popsicles as Michela pours the melon mixture into the gelato-making machine. The ghiaccioli take about twenty-four hours to freeze, Chanti explains, so they won’t be ready until tomorrow. “But people love them. All the ghiaccioli flavors are very popular. People will come and buy twenty at a time and keep them in their freezers.”

Then, mid-popsicle-stick, Chanti does something completely out of character:

She pauses.

“I have an idea!” She points to a container of chocolate sauce on the shelf. “Tomorrow, when I put these banana ghiaccioli out, I will first dip them in that chocolate sauce!” She beams. “I have ten ideas a day. At night, I only dream of gelato.”

Michela nods and says, “It is very dangerous.”

I ask about the chocolate sauce, and they explain that because it is made from melted chocolate chips, it will harden once the cold popsicle is dipped in it. It takes about 2 minutes.

The popsicles are done and they’ve moved on to making the first cream-based gelato: Fiore de Latte. This one is a staple in every gelato shop. Translating basically to Flower of Milk, the genius of this flavor is in its simplicity: milk, sugar and the proprietary blend of all-natural thickeners. That’s it. And to solve a mystery that has haunted me for some time now, I ask what the difference is between Fiore de Latte and another commonly-found gelato flavor: Panne (translating to cream).

They’re basically the same thing, Chanti answers.

As Michela portions out the milk from the largest milk container I’ve ever seen in my life, I ask more questions.

Freshness & Storage: How Long Gelato Should Last

How long does each batch of gelato last? Usually two days, but a maximum of three for some flavors. If they still have gelato after that time frame, they throw it out.

Customer Favorites & Seasonal Hits

What are the most popular flavors? Probably Ricotta & Ficchi (richotta and fig) and Arancia & Canella (orange and cinnamon). For the children, it’s probably Cremino.

During the entire Q&A, melon, banana and strawberry gelati are churned, frozen and dispensed into the stainless steel bins. Everything happens so fast.

The Fiore de Latte mixture is now being poured into the top of the Machine of Wonders. Here, it will cook for ten minutes, starting at 16 degrees Celsius (61 degrees Fahrenheit) and ending at around 85 degrees Celsius (185 degrees Fahrenheit). Then it will drain directly into the churning compartment.

While the Fiore de Latte is cooking, Chanti makes an espresso in the main room. “We only use Italian brand and whole beans—no pods,” she clarifies as she takes a sip. Then, she’s off to the fridge for a tub of panne. Even the whipped cream is made from scratch every day. She pours the tub of panne into a mixer on the shop’s counter, spoons in sugar and about a tablespoon of the  Fiore de Latte mixture.

“Five minutes,” she says as the machine churns away. “Any longer than that and the fat and liquids start to separate. It happens sometimes.” She grins. “But then, I just make butter. That takes ten minutes. I add a dash of salt and sometimes a touch of turmeric. But we don’t sell that; I just give it to friends and family.”

“Ready!” Michela calls from the tiny room, and I dash over as she rapidly dispenses Fiore de Latte from the Machine of Wonders. Chanti appears, grabs the chocolate sauce from the shelf above, then begins pouring it over the gelato. Somehow, Michela manages to mix sauce into the gelato with her spatula while the gelato is still coming out of the machine.

“Straccietella!” she exclaims between her flurry of movements. I watch as the chocolate mixes and hardens, becoming little chocolate chips that are folded into the gelato. As Michela completes two bins of straccietella, the shop door’s bell tinkles. Chanti is already at the front to greet the customer even though, technically, the shop is not yet open. They exchange a few sentences before the woman leaves again. I turn from the straccietella to a beaming Chanti.

 “She just came in to say that she was here with her daughter yesterday and they had the gorgonzola gelato. She said that it was the best gelato they’d ever had. She said her daughter was dreaming of gorgonzola last night!”

Do people come in often to comment about her gelato?

“Every day. I love it! We work very hard, so when people show that they love our gelato, it is beautiful.”

They do work hard. There is no AC in the little kitchen area where Michela works because they tried it once and the AC impacted the gelato machine’s temperatures. They do have a fan, but it gets quite warm.

Panna vs. Crema: Clearing Up the Classic Gelato Confusion

Over the next hour, another batch of Fiore de Latte (aka Panne), Vanilla, Tiramisu and dark chocolate gelati are made. The process, they explain, is light to dark, so Panne goes first. Now that I’ve got a handle on the Panne–Fiore de Latte situation, I ask about my next gelato conundrum: What’s the difference between Panne and Crema?

Panne (or Fiore de Latte) is typically just dairy, sugar and thickener. Crema, on the other hand, requires egg, so it has more of a custard undertone.

“Today, we make the Panne, but once it is done, we will stir in a chocolate and hazelnut mix that is a lot like Nutella,” says Chanti. “It is my own invention called Pane e Nutella[1] (“Nutella Bread”). I dreamed of it one night, and the next day, I told Michela about it, so she made it. It is very popular with the bambini.”

I ask them what their favorite flavors are. All of them! But them Michela decides upon Stracciatella (Fiore de Latte with chocolate pieces) while Chanti says peanut butter (“Bagigio salato”) for her. I ask what “Bagigio” means, and she says it is the local Venetian dialect for peanuts.

“Semo Aperti” and the Sign Everyone Photographs

“I like to use the Vicentino dialect as much as possible.” She points to a sign on the door that says in the Venetian dialect not to touch the glass. “People love that sign and often take pictures of it. I had to put it up because otherwise, people come by and press against the glass to look at all the gelato flavors!”

This same sign says “Semo Aperti,” which is the Vicentino dialect for “We are open.”

Chanti is now onto making Vanilla (Vaniglia). I watch as she scrapes the meat out of the vanilla beans. She uses one whole bean per liter of mixture, then places the empty skins into a perforated stainless steel basket that submerges into the mixture as it is cooked. “It does not really add extra flavor,” Chanti explains, “but it perfumes the mix. Once the Vaniglia is frozen, we then use the skins to decorate on the top. We use everything!”

As the vanilla cooks, Chanti moves on to Tiramisu. “We make it from scratch,” she states as she dips lady-fingers into espresso. She points to a large pitcher where Michela has already prepped the base. “We use fresh mascarpone and egg yolk. No premixes. Everything must be fresh!”

And finally, it is time for the dark chocolate. Michela calls me into the little room to show how the Machine of Wonders is thoroughly washed and rinsed with boiling water. As the Machine steams off its bath, an enormous vat of cocao power, chocolate chips, water and sugar are mixed. No milk or cream for this one, they explain.

I ask where the cocoa powder comes from. “Madagascar,” Chanti says. “It’s the best.”

It is now inching toward ten in the morning. Even on a workday, customers trickle into the shop. I try to stay out of the way by turning my attention to the eclectic artwork on the wall. One is a painting, entitled “I Dream of Malaga.” Another displays handprints above crayon-drawn ice cream cones to create the impression of gelato scoops.

Walls of Art: From “I Dream of Malaga” to Kids’ Handprints

I ask about artwork on wall. “I Dream of Malaga” was made by a customer from Alaska. The hand-print gelatos where done by a brother and sister who have since returned to the US as their parents were in the military. Chanti says they still message her from time to time on Facebook.

What is Malaga? I ask. Turns out, it’s an old Italian word for Rum Raisin. “It used to be very popular,” Chanti says, “but nowadays, it is mostly Americans and older Italians who request it. It is a difficult flavor to make because to perfectly mix the egg and liquor requires a tricky balance.”

When 10:30 strikes, Chanti announces, “Time for a snack!” She leads me out the door while Michela keeps an eye out for customers from the little room where another gelato is churning.

A Day in the Life: Craft, Speed, and a 10:30 Snack at Al Cancelletto

“Every day at this time, I always go to the best bar in town.” She walks briskly down the narrow, cobblestone street, then hangs left by a fountain. We stop at a funky little place called Al Cancelletto where Chanti orders a quick snack of cheese on bread. The man behind the counter offers a friendly grin.

“Meet my good friend Fabbio,” says Chanti between mouthfuls as she stands at the counter. “We’ve known each other for thirty years! He used to have his bar right across from my Gelateria.”

I look around at the patrons scattered inside, some sipping a glass of wine, some an espresso. Chanti sips on a tiny beaker of sparkling water. Just then, the local baker pops in for a moment.

“Everyone comes here. Italians take a little snack at 10:30 and then lunch after twelve.”

“That’s right!” I say, proud to display some knowledge of local customs. “It’s because you take such small breakfasts, right? Just coffee and maybe a brioche or something?”

Chanti grins. “Me? I eat bacon and eggs. Every morning. I love food. My favorite place is in the mountains, but after that, it’s Sicily. Because of the food! The fresh fish! Yes, they do it better.”

She finishes her bread and grabs a snack for Michela. She flings a few coins on the counter, and then with a Ciao, Fabbio! she’s out the door.

“When I travel,” she is saying, “before I even plan where to stay, I research the restaurants. I won’t go somewhere if there isn’t good food.”

I laugh and say, “How do you love food so much yet remain so thin?”

She shrugs. “Because I am always moving!”

This seems to be true. In the two-plus hours I’ve been at the Gelateria, I am astonished at how much work has been done. Four fruit gelatos and five milk-based gelatos … so far, plus the ghiaccioli and fresh melon and lemon juices for the Granite (basically, an Italian slushy). All of this, in addition to tolerating my questions and waiting on customers. Quite frankly, I am exhausted.

The Take-Home Test: Why This May Be the Best Gelato You’ll Ever Eat

Before I leave, I order a half-kilo of gelato to take home. And yes: ordering gelato by the bulk is pretty standard in Italia. Just let them know if you want a half, whole or even two kilos-worth!

I chose four flavors: melon, coconut and my two absolute favorites: Gorgonzola with pear and walnuts, and Ricotta & Fig. I can’t wait to get home. Normally, I would keep this frozen delight until dessert after dinner, but today, I tuck in for a sample as soon as I’m in my kitchen. I can honestly say this is the best gelato I’ve ever had in my entire life. The flavors explode; the texture is perfectly cold and creamy. I am not even a big melon fan, but good Lord, I am now a convert. And the best part?

Knowing that every single bite is the product of simple, fresh ingredients.

Eating local has never tasted so good.

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[1] Notice the difference in the “n.” Panne=cream. Pane=bread.