Mum Comes to Italy: Bologna

Bologna.

Our next stop was to Bologna. I love Bologna and wanted Mum to see it too because I knew she'd like it just as much. Sundays in Italy though meant that most places were closed so the city wasn't quite as alive as I had remembered the last time I visited. It was still wonderful to stroll aimlessly throughout the streets, staring in disbelief at the intricate details in the architecture and creak our necks as we looked up at the massive, yet incredibly old buildings. Mum mentioned that she felt small in the city and pondered over the possibility of men erecting such grand buildings so many years ago. We ate in Eataly and lost the calories by climbing a never-ending staircase up a tower to overlook the city (impressive views, but I think Bologna is much prettier from the street). Despite the antique interior feeling of the tower, the stairs had no backing, which gave glimpses of the potential fall below. I don't consider myself to be scared of heights, but I walked up the steep stairs looking only up, feeling blind and helpless. If it wasn't for our motivation not to give up having already walked up so many flights, I would have been completely unable to go any further if I looked down.

wondering if we should keep going...

Bologna from up up above

We climbed it.

We wandered under the shade-providing porticles which block out the summer soaked sun and the humid winter rain. I wondered why Irish architects didn't think of such a thing with all their annual rain....We looked everywhere for silver bridesmaid shoes and we stopped outside the church in the main piazza to watch a parade go by, celebrating Italy's 150 years of unification.

confetti everywhere!

Later, amongst the empty, quiet streets, we came upon a gelateria (per Catherine's suggestion) with an incredible line outside where we each had a cone of two flavours. delicious! 

For dinner, we got a reservation at Diana - which the NYTimes, Mario Batalli, Food & Wine, etc all talked about, so I was looking forward to some typical Bolognese food. The restaurant was busily packed, brightly lit from large chandeliers, and it seemed like a scene out of the 1950's. The servers were formally dressed and carved meat off carts served table-side. Mum and I figured we should order the mortadella appetizers - so she ordered some sort of mortadella with parmigiano reggiano and I ordered spuma di mortadella. Her plate arrived - an obnoxiously large amount of cubed pink meat with three slivers of cheese. 

Mum just laughed.

Mine was a pot of mortadella pate with a large romaine lettuce leaf sticking out, served with three thin slices of toasted bread. 

Maybe the cubes of mortadella were unappealing to look at, bright pink with white spots of fat, maybe it is the disconnect between the amount of meat and the amount of cheese, maybe it was the association of mortadella with the gross bologni in America, maybe it is the chewy texture - but it was just too much meat and not even presented well with any effort. The spuma was nice as a pate, with a mild flavour and soft texture, but it was also too much for one person. Oh well, we thought, with our "when in Rome" mentality, we tried. We wondered if mortadella is still popular with the Bolognese locals, or if it's on the menu as such for the tourists. Not to be compared with anything found in America, I like the flavour of mortadella, I have a better appreciation for it, but mostly when it is sliced thinly. Next, our pasta courses came. Mum ordered rigatoni with melanzane, pomodori and mozarella. 

I ordered tagliatelle with tartufo. 

Mum took one of the shaved truffles off the top to taste it, as did I.....we tasted nothing. Maybe it tastes better with the pasta. Twirled the pasta with the black truffles and tasted nothing. The truffle tasted like soggy paper and all I could think of when I ate it with the pasta was "armpit." I took another bite and refused to eat anymore. The waiter came over and asked if anything was wrong and I said this isn't good. The headwaiter came over and assured me that the truffles were fresh, that it was the right season for them, and that he had just shaved them. I said, I know, but this is not good. The taste of the pasta wasn't even rich with creamy butter. He looked at me utterly confused as I refused to be tempted into eating it. Somewhere inside, I too was confused as I hardly ever send anything back. But this was not edible and not worth it. He asked me if I wanted anything else and I said no thank you, just a check. Maybe if the appetizers had been better I would have given something else another shot, but even Mum's rigatoni was ok, but not amazing. What a disappointment. Maybe we ordered the wrong things (is that even possible to consider? Shouldn't everything be good?). Trying to give them the benefit of the doubt, I started to doubt my own culinary taste - maybe I don't know what truffles should taste like - but these thoughts about this dish couldn't be justified. I think that I do know**, and these freshly-shaved but not-fresh truffles tasted like absolutely nothing. Armpit. I'd like to think I know more what truffles taste like than armpits....

**confidence regained the following night


The next day, Bologna was bustling. The food markets were sprawled onto the little streets. We wandered around the shops until we headed to Modena.

love the food in Bologna

so many types of mortadella!

(oh, and Mum did like Bologna as much as I knew she would).

Eataly in Italy.

Arina and I took a road trip to Piemonte one weekend in November. The main reason for going was that I wanted to speak with a winery I visited in September about a possible work experience after graduation in March. I also didn't get a chance to go to Eataly while attending Terra Madre in October. I don't know what I expected from Eataly. It certainly carries some beautiful products but it feels more like a gallery than a grocery store. The vegetables are displayed as though they are being sold from a cart on a cobblestone street. There aren't crates on top of crates like most supermarkets, but a limited selection of carefully placed vegetables as though they are being set up for a still life painting. They burst with life as a woman sprays each with a water spritzer as though they are a rich couple lying on chaise lounge chairs on a beach in St Tropez and being cooled down by a tanned strappingly-good-looking butler. The same woman scurries over to us with plastic gloves before we even dare to touch a vegetable ourselves.

The seafood section carries curious varieites of fish, both fresh and packaged, as a young boy sits at a table looking completely bored as he offers passer-byers some samples.

origin: "medit" 

 The cheese counter is glorious and we pass by a couple times to taste the samples being offered.

The meat counter brightly showcases red cuts of meat from head to trotters to rolls of skin. All of it is from Italy, mostly Piemontese, none of it is Chianina. 

testa = head

feet smell better with rosemary.

i'm not sure what you do with pig skin.

We were overwhelmed by oodles of olive oils and a slew of pasta shapes and sizes. 

Over a margharita pizza (I really like the in-store dining option - who isn't hungry when surrounding by beautiful food?), we raised some questions which lead into a discussion and brought us to a shared confusion. We had thought that Eataly and Slow Food were connected, however, it appeared too fancy and seemed like the people that are able to afford to shop there would not be the same people that Slow Food is trying to protect. Maybe it just felt expensive because it looked expensive. My poor student's empty wallet refused me the ability of looking at prices or even considering a small purchase. The Slow Food Presidia products, which are part of Slow Food's face towards the world, were  kept downstairs with hardly any information about them (or at least from what I saw...) We were confused too about the qualifications to have products be sold in Eataly - how does Eataly choose which brands and what farmers to include and do they have to pay for shelf space - in which case many farmers would not be able to afford an inclusion in Eataly. While slowly devouring the last bite of thin crust pizza - saving the best bite with the most mozzarella and little sprig of basil - I couldn't help but think that it seemed like a big contradiction that only reinforced the idea people have about Slow Food being elitist. We learned in class that consumers can change the market, but if so, what does Eataly in Torino and opening up recently in NYC say about the current market? I couldn't tell if the shoppers were locals, regulars, or tourists, but they certainly were not the people we saw selling their products in Terra Madre. Maybe the prices are fair, and it is worthwhile to pay for high-quality products, maybe it was unusual to have such a shopping experience that was a combination of Whole Foods and Dean & Deluca that's so different from walking to the corner A&O, but regardless of what it is or what it represents, it's certainly good to be curious and discuss these questions. But then again, that's what we do all the time - talk about food, the future, the university, life in Italy and eat good pizza.

 With our heads filled with dizzying questions about our association with Slow Food and everything we have learned this year, we didn't leave empty handed - especially after we drove 3 hours! A 5L glass jug could be filled with 2 euro per litre of red Piemontese wine. This was within our budget, priorities, and was justified by deciding to share it with the neighbours ;) Anyways, the glass jug was beautiful - how could it not be filled with cheap yet drinkable wine?

  I wonder how the NYC Eataly will compare and if the words "food miles," "carbon footprints" or "local" will briefly escape my thoughts....