July 2015: finally, a week’s vacation by the clear, sparkling sea of ​​Cilento, in Marina di Camerota. For seven days, I expected no legal case files or food-related offenses—but that proved to be a naive hope. After just two days, the respite vanished, all because of “furosine.”

An analysis by the IZSM laboratory in Portici revealed excessive levels of furosine in the Mozzarella di Bufala Campana (Buffalo Mozzarella from Campania) with PDO status, produced by a dairy in the Salerno area. That Tuesday morning, a team of inspectors from the ICQRF (Central Inspectorate for Quality Protection and Fraud Repression of Agri-Food Products) descended upon the facility. Before the astonished owner, they seized everything they could—from already-packaged goods to labeling and wrapping materials—brandishing and serving a formidable seizure order issued by the Public Prosecutor. The order alleged the presence of an additive (furosine) that was not declared on the label and, furthermore, was present in quantities exceeding the limits set by current regulations (the Ministerial Decree of December 15, 2000).

In short: production was halted, and deliveries of the most sought-after—and most prized—dairy product were blocked, right at the height of the summer season!

The dairy’s urgent plea for help reached my law firm—and, consequently, me—abruptly pulling me away from the blissful relaxation of the Cilento coast.

But since when, I wondered, had poor furosine—a simple “thermal indicator” of milk quality—been classified as an additive, requiring it to be listed among the ingredients on a dairy product’s label? I raised the objection immediately by phone with one of the inspectors on the scene, and his response was astonishing: “We are well aware, Counselor, that it is not an ingredient; however, we are executing a seizure order issued by the Public Prosecutor, which classifies furosine as an additive”.

“Couldn’t you have pointed that out to the Public Prosecutor?” I retorted instantly. Faced with his silence, I couldn’t help but add: “If he had ordered you to seize ‘flying pacifiers,’ would you have commandeered a helicopter to carry out the order, or would you have pointed out that pacifiers haven’t flown for many years?”

There was further silence from the other end of the line, followed by a polite exchange of farewells.

This was also followed by the abrupt end of my vacation and a hurried return to Salerno, so that I could speak as soon as possible with the Public Prosecutor at the heart of this affair.

Two days later, he received me courteously. I presented and explained a defense brief clarifying the scientific and regulatory context of the matter: “furosine” is not an additive, but rather a simple “natural thermal indicator” found in milk—and therefore, it does not need to be declared on the list of ingredients.

Moreover, in this specific case, the values ​​verified by the IZSM laboratory fell well within the limits established for Mozzarella di Bufala Campana (DOP/PDO status); the head of the laboratory, however, had mistakenly compared them against the much stricter limits set by the same ministerial decree for non-DOP mozzarella!

The Public Prosecutor was visibly mortified, and his justification was disarmingly simple: “I’ve only been in this specialized division for a few months.” The problem was that, in reality, this section represented the very antithesis of specialization; it did not deal solely with food-related offenses, but also with environmental crimes, urban planning violations, and issues concerning workplace safety—four distinct areas, each requiring its own specific expertise!

Furthermore, there had been no “specialized” professional training provided for the magistrates assigned to that section.

From the 2015 incident to the 2025 case

Ten years later—in 2025—it took no fewer than three trial hearings for a single-judge magistrate to finally acknowledge the reality of the situation: the charge of a “food-related offense” no longer existed under criminal law. The provision that the owner of a dairy—the defendant in the case—was accused of violating (Article 9 of Law 125/1954) had first been decriminalized in December 1999 (Legislative Decree 507/1999) and subsequently explicitly repealed in 2004 (Legislative Decree 297/2004).

In short, this was an entirely wasted judicial effort concerning a “phantom” crime—time diverted from other, far more substantive legal matters.

In this instance, too, neither the single-judge presiding nor the public prosecutor belonged to a specialized division.

Judicial Specialization and the Reconfiguration of the Judicial Map

In light of these facts, there is an urgent need for a comprehensive reorganization of judicial offices, grounded in the principle of “specialization”. This should apply to the agri-food sector as well as other areas of socio-economic life—ranging from environmental crimes and workplace safety violations to financial offenses and so-called “gender-based” crimes (those committed against women or minors). These fields require specialized knowledge, ensuring that magistrates—whether judges or public prosecutors—can perform their duties efficiently and without committing gross errors.

Such a reorganization necessitates a revision of the current “judicial map.” This would entail replacing smaller, local courts with judicial offices of a sufficient minimum size to accommodate “specialized divisions”—structures that are currently unfeasible in courts with only a very small number of magistrates. Consider, for example, the courts in Lagonegro (with 24 career magistrates), Vallo della Lucania (with 18), or Teramo (with a mere eight). The list could go on.

At this point, the urgent need to reorganize the judicial offices—a process that should accompany, or rather be preceded by, a revision of the so-called “judicial geography”—is patently clear; otherwise, new laws, such as Law no. 75 of 2026 concerning the revision of “food-related offenses,” risk falling on deaf ears, much like the ineffectual edicts—the grida—depicted in Alessandro Manzoni’s I Promessi Sposi.