An Italy for every pasta shape
Traversing the spectrum in Bologna, Venice & Florence
A note from the editors: a few weeks ago I wrote about visiting a friend’s property in the hills of Portugal where he and his father were building a new home for their community. Not long after, their entire property was burned by a wildfire. It was a total loss, and they now are raising money to begin again. If you’re in a position to, please consider a donation to their re-building effort here: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-me-and-my-father-after-losing-everything-in-the-fire.
When we got to Bologna we had a friend waiting for us, the indomitable Jenna Winston! It was a joy to see her again, a great friend and the co-officiant of our wedding. We were honored she’d devoted her entire fall break (and a sizable chunk of cash) to come see us in Italy. Despite the expense, I wouldn’t frame it as much of a sacrifice for our travel-hungry Italophile, aficionado of gastronomical arts and Tony Soprano stan-girl to spend her vacation in the mecca.
During our first week in Bologna we hit the ground running to make the most of our time together, planning meticulously a series of classic Bolognese restaurants along with a checklist of local foods to try. Mostly the list was comprised of pasta shapes - tortellini, tortelloni, tagliatelle, gnocchi, passatelli, lasanga. With the weather cooling we took comfort in hearty local dishes like tortellini in brodo, a simple broth with little cheese-filled pasta curls floating around, tagliatelle with ragu (known as “Bolognese” back home, I hope you can connect the dots…), tortelloni with sage and butter, another delightfully simple dish with large stuffed pasta curls (note the suffix - _ini for little vs _oni for large), and friggione, tomatoes and julienned onions cooked low and slow and slathered over bread.
Bologna is the capital of the Italian state Emilia-Romagna, a region (like seemingly all of Italy) rich in agricultural production, and dotted with smaller cities of celebrated culinary tradition. The sub-region of Parma and it’s neighbor Reggio Emilia lie a short distance to the west, notable for their invention of parmesan cheese, and still the only regions in the world authorized to market their product as “Parmesan” or “Parmigiano Reggiano” according to their status as “protected domain(s) of origin” (PDO). The same goes for the world most sought-after prosciutto, Prosciutto di Parma. Another neighboring region is Modena, famous for it’s balsamic vinegar and also protected by PDO.
I’ve come to view food and agricultural tours as one of the richest forms of tourism and generally one that actually benefits small businesses and culture-bearers. Together with Jenna we embarked on a tour of a Prosciutto plant, Jenna on her own toured a Parmesan factory, and Piper and I later visited a wine-maker. Each of those experiences (although one of them second hand) immediately transformed me into a reverent admirer and somewhat of a snob.
The prosciutto tour will go down as one of our wackiest experiences of the year. It started off normal enough, we donned hair nets and toured their facility, the aging rooms, the spicing rooms, the “sealing” room, et cetera... We were given a crash course on the different designations and all the ways we can discern for ourselves the authenticity of supermarket prosciutto. During the subsequent “tasting”, things went off the rails almost immediately. The whole experience was run by a stout, bald-headed man with a maniacal intensity and no sense for an “inside voice”. Yes, we did taste test a few prosciutto varieties, but that part was an afterthought. They poured drinks liberally and encouraged us to eat and drink and eat and drink and brought out pasta after pasta and shamed you for any bite you didn’t finish. Throughout, the staff would perform little skits full of innuendos and American-friendly Italy references, and the ring-leader would stomp around growing louder and redder and more unhinged, singling out guests for strange improv bits, yelling, abruptly cutting between music and youtube clips on the loud speakers, and never ceasing to pile more food and drink on our table. Somehow, I still felt a fondness for the guy. He had an undeniable charisma, and won me over when he presented Jenna her Coke with the same gusto he’d presented us our wine. It was billed as a two-hour experience, it lasted 5, and we were completely pickled by the end of it.
The three of us chose to get out of the city for a few nights before bidding Jenna adieu. We rented a car and drove to Italy’s famous lake district for a stay on the shores of Lago Garda at the Grand Hotel Fasano. I’d scarcely book a luxury hotel without getting some great value, and luckily our shoulder season booking ensured exactly that. The property was a centuries-old former royal hunting lodge (many luxurious buildings we’ve visited are former hunting lodges: Schonbrunn, Versaille, Museo Capodimonte) and the Fasano fit the bill flawlessly with its sprawling rustic lavishness. The weather didn’t cooperate which turned out to be a good thing since it discouraged us from leaving this incredible property we’d paid for the privilege of enjoying. So we moved slowly, had long breakfasts and lunches, jumped into the lake then took immediate refuge in the hot tubs and saunas, played music together, read, wrote, experienced the most privileged form of quarantine I’ve ever imagined. We socialized more with the staff than the other guests, my disheveled hair and sweatpants giving us away as faux-elites (it seems that wealthy people like to dress up for breakfast). I owe Jenna a big thanks for pushing us toward the lux option, though I hope not to make a habit of it.
Bologna gave us a glimpse of un-sanitized Italy. The city is not a tourism capital but instead dominated by its massive and historic university (in continuous usage since 1088) and the throng of 80,000 students that attend it each year. The neighborhoods around the university are scrawled in graffiti, plastered with posters, and bustling with students zipping to and fro or loitering in the streets with cigarettes and Peronis. It has earned a reputation for leftist politics in a relatively conservative country and exhibits the visual grit some might call “decline” but to me looks living and breathing in comparison to the spaces reserved for tourists. We love the opportunity to blend into environments we might not actually belong such as temporarily stepping into character as collegiate Italians. I can’t imagine we were very successful, but it was a welcome change of pace not to feel intrusive and in-organically catered to. Walking through our neighborhood was not as pleasing as the tidier corners and I found the shopkeepers to be somewhat terse and distrustful, but I prefer that to being pandered to. Certain neighborhoods, those that welcome tourism unconditionally, are usually flimsy in character and instead contort themselves to your perceived needs. The over-tourism dilutes culture, making language and dialect obsolete, culling a cuisine down to it’s most marketable dishes, the globalization of taste eventually transforming everything but a few token attractions into a stationary cruise ship. What makes money makes sense, and apparently selling mass-produced trinkets and silly T-shirts makes money, so that’s what takes over the storefronts until eventually, seeing one “historic center” is as good as seeing them all. I don’t mean to sound completely jaded. This metastatitism seems to have it’s limits, and Bologna remains a refreshingly un-polished city whose blemishes don’t seem at much risk of being papered over.
I love riding bikes, did you know that? I rented a touring bike for the entirety of our time in Bologna and rode it every day. One day Piper came with me, and we biked out of the city and into the hills to a winery. Now, getting to the winery was not easy. We immediately had to scrap my carefully crafted route due to construction (apparently this city is always under construction), and the backup route was harrowing - bumpy, full of speeding cars, sidewalks and shoulders disappearing without warning, and when the traffic finally eased the road became torturously steep. Oh, and rain, it was on and off raining. Earlier I’d called the winery to make sure they’d be open but our detours had cost us hours, so we’d put off stopping for lunch out of fear of missing the wine experience all-together. When we arrived, the vibe was…fragile. Piper had a smile on her face and murder in her eyes (luckily, finally digging into our sandwiches cured the murder-eyes right away). The wine-makers were shocked to see us and incredulous that we’d biked from Bologna. It was a father-son team who were themselves depleted from a day of harvest, but they welcomed us like family. There’d been no visitors all day, so after a quick tasting they dragged a table and chairs out of the shed for us to relax while we enjoyed a glass and the rest of our lunch. The local variety is called Pignoletto and it makes both red and white, the most typical being a fizzy white. Carbonation apparently stimulates digestion, a grand pairing with the hearty Emilian cuisine. That’s the story we were spun by the wine-maker, and I’m inclined to take his word for it. Soon it was just us two and the father, who spoke no English. Somehow, you can still get across the important stuff - our gratitude, how beautiful we found the property, how much we loved the wine. He managed to express how ludicrous he found our plans for the day. He’s right, It was a little crazy. But we pushed through, resisting the temptations to cut our losses and turn around, and the feeling of sitting in the sun eating mortadella sandwiches at our private wine tasting was sweeter than it ever could’ve been if this outcome was guaranteed. Around 3:30 he shooed us back onto our bikes so we’d get home before the sun went down.
We had one more visitor in Bologna, Piper’s mom Catherine! She’s just the kind of guest you like to have - excited by any and every possibility, not picky about much at all, perpetually happy to be anywhere in Italy. Lucky for her, we weren’t just anywhere, and after a few days of sending her to our favorite museums and historical sites in Bologna (while Piper and I worked), the three of us climbed onto a train to arguably the most spectacular city in the world - Venice. Venice did not disappoint. On our first ride on the grand canal with the sun was shimmering off the water and the unbelievable architecture, all the hype around the city started to make sense. I won’t re-hash on my earlier rant about the tourist-fueled homogenization of world heritage, but Venice certainly has earned it’s infamy for over-tourism. The crowds were downright animalistic at times, with norms of politeness and decency eclipsed by a hive-minded survival instinct. That being said, even in a tiny archipelago you can escape the crowds with very little effort. We spent much of our two days in peaceful delight without ever being more than 10 minutes from the grand canal. We ate well and drank sunny espressos and spritzes, we soaked up galleries of Renaissance artwork and embarked on a golden hour gondola ride. Throughout it all the crowds were hardly an issue.
Another “not just anywhere” destination we saw with Catherine was Florence. Also joining us was our great friend Alie, who’d be our travel buddy for the next few weeks. We were similarly warned about the chaotic overcrowding of Florence, and similarly adjusted our plans and expectations to neutralize the drag. We followed Jenna’s suggestions to two exceptional dinners, enjoyed a gorgeous stretch of weather, braved the crowds at the Academia to see Michaelangelo’s David, and found perches high above the city to watch the valley change hues as the sun went down. I wish there was more time to discover Florence beyond it’s most famous landmarks, that will have to be next trip.
That’s all for now, and if you got this far I’m really impressed, have a cookie. A special shoutout to my cousins Daniel and Stefano who served as informal guides in Bologna and Stefano’s hometown Modena. Also to Jenna and Catherine for being such great guests! Alie, you were great too but you’ll get your flowers in our next post :)
Love, Leo & Piper
Actually not quite able to leave it at that - thank you!!!! - for so vividly sharing these experiences. A true pleasure to read.
I have so much to say about this post but I’ll just leave it at TAKE ME BACK😍