I failed tortellini class in Bologna, popping the ingredients into my mouth instead of shaping them properly with my gnarled hands.
A
Taste of Bologna food tour began with a stop at
Aroma where Valentina, our excellent local guide, explained the six different varieties of espresso available.
I tuned out after #3 and ordered something chocolate. Our group included two of three Canadian triplets who were en route to the third's destination wedding in Florence with another young couple from Alberta; a woman from Wellington, New Zealand who had just been to a three-generation family reunion in Venice, with her 80-something parents making their 15th visit; a shy young guy from a Parisian suburb who hadn't heard of
Jordan Bardella (or maybe I pronounced the right-wing politician's name wrong, you know how the French are), a young woman from the
Marshall Islands and an American couple from San Clemente, California, the wife of whom once had chaperoned a prom at the Nixon Presidential Library ("I never would have stepped foot in there otherwise"). You probably can tell I was starved for conversation!
Italian women in rooster-patterned aprons make fresh pasta at
Le Sfogline. My homemade sample, while tasty, was hardly filling.
Markets like this are making a comeback among younger Italians, who have grown weary of shopping in grocery stores.
I used this sign to educate myself after having trouble in Venice asking a fruit vender for figs. Unfortunately, I misremembered the Italian word as "ficca" which provoked some odd looks in subsequent days. Finally, a guy in Florence gently corrected me and explained that "ficca" referred to female genitalia, not on my shopping list. Oops!
Looks like the bees of
Emilia-Romagna are very productive. Bologna is the capital of the region.
Valentina picked up 10 go-bags of artisanal bread at
Il Forno di Calzolari, a bakery too small for our group to enter.
By the time we passed
Il Calice, the wine bar where I had limited myself to a Ceasar salad the night before in anticipation of today's food tour, I was beginning to realize that no midday feast would be coming.
In fact, I had discovered the mouth-watering food district on my own the night before, resisting the impulse to shop for a meal instead of ordering one.
Somewhere along the way, Valentina had picked up two varieties of cold cuts.
She explained that she had reserved a table in a bar where we could enjoy a picnic lunch and several varieties of Italian wine, including
Sangiovese (also known as the "Blood of Jupiter") and a delicious
frizzante Lambrusco.
I've never been a fan of mortadella and my bag of bread contained two stale ends. More to my taste were the condiments: fig and cheese spreads as well as reduced peppers and onions. Valentina explained that the latter was often used a substitute for olive oil in the region.
She had told us to reserve a bit of the cheese and fig spread for a dollop balsamic vinegar. This little bottle cost more than the food tour!
The Taste of Bologna (barely!) ended at
Vero where Valentina imparted the most important lesson of the day even if she couldn't quite parse the difference between gelato and high-fat content ice cream: avoid gelaterias that serve colorful flavors and pile the product higher than the lips of the metal containers it's packed in. Noted!
Day drunk after such a light midday meal, I combined caffe & ficci, two delicious flavors with an almost indistinguishable difference in bland color.
I'm also embarrassed to report that given the tour's $100 price tag (plus a well-deserved tip for Valentina), I dined on ramen soup that night in the food capital of Italy.
