Stuffed mushrooms have been ruined by American appetizer culture. Cream cheese. Crab meat. Bacon bits. The mushroom becomes a vehicle for everything except itself. This is not that.

In Emilia-Romagna, where Parmigiano-Reggiano has been made for eight centuries, the approach is opposite. The mushroom is the star. You remove the stems, chop them fine, and return them to the caps with breadcrumbs from good bread and enough aged cheese to bind it together. A whisper of garlic, not a shout. Parsley for brightness. That is all.

What you keep out is as significant as what you put in. There is no cream. No mozzarella stretching in strings. No spices competing for attention. When your Parmigiano is properly aged, when your mushrooms smell of earth and forest, you do not need to add anything else. You need to get out of their way.