Again I slacked between posts, but I want to share some of the culinary highlights from Italy.
For the first couple of weekends here in Padova, we didn’t want to plan any big trips because we were still getting settled in our homestays and getting used to Italy as a whole. A big group of us decided to go to Mantova (or Mantua for our crude American tongues), a small city in the nearby region of Lomardia. Our lovely program administrator Elizabetta recommended a visit to Mantova when we asked about nice spots for nearby daytrips. I was skeptical at first, and then I read that Mantova has excellent regional cuisine, particularly delicious pumpkin-stuffed ravioli with parmigiano reggiano cheese and sage. Sold.
So we had our day in Mantova, and it was enjoyable. We toured some beautiful palaces including Palazzo Ducale, an old estate of the Gonzaga family with 500+ rooms and tons of gardens. I spent the day enjoying the sights but secretly yearning for pockets of heavenly pumpkin pasta balls of deliciousness. 7:30 could not come quick enough. Finally, the hour was upon us, and six of us filed into an authentically adorned restaurant.
Service had just started (no one in Italy eats before 8 ) so we were actually the only ones in the restaurant when we arrived. The décor of the place matched everything that numerous upscale Italian-American restaurants strive for yet somehow fail to attain. We decided to order one pumpkin ravioli for the table so we could all try the specialty without ordering six of them (thus avoiding the Italian version of Pad Thai Syndrome) and house wine (unlike in the US, usually a good idea in Italy).
Elena and I decided to split the veal ossobucco (also a regional specialty) and the pizza margherita. The ravioli came first, delectable balls of pumpkin wrapped in strips of fresh pasta and topped with sage, olive oil, and parmaggiano. Undoubtedly delicious, if not ridiculously rich, they were a perfect dish to split. The pizza followed- In the US, we call this type of pizza “plain,” but that term would not do justice to the thin-crusted, cheese-smothered, basil-sprinkled creation that was produced in a brick oven in plain sight by a man in a funny white hat (I guess some clichés are true). At this point, I was starting to fall in love with this meal. The company, the wine, and the excessive quantities of Italian food made me slip into an odd state of reverie.
I would have been satisfied at this point (Dayenu, to my fellow Jews out there). Then, the waiter brought out the most beautiful slab of meat I’ve ever seen- a giant slice of veal slathered in a brown gravy sauce. The grilled polenta, potatoes, and side salad that accompanied the veal were meaningless- I was having a moment with my meat. The meat practically fell off the bone due to its tenderness. I could wax poetic about this dish for hours, but I think its explanatory enough to say that my friends told me that I had a dopey grin on my face from the moment it was set down on the table until about fifteen minutes after I finished.
During the following week, we realized that we had to go to a food destination to match our experience in Mantova. We selected Bologna in Emiglia Romagna, which is known as the pasta capital of Northern Italy. The city specializes in Pasta Bolognese- long, fresh pasta with meat sauce. Every recipe varies, but the meat can include beef, pork, and even wild boar.
In our restaurant in Bologna, we ordered the polenta topped with cream for an appetizer. Unlike in Southern Italy, where pasta is king, the throne for Northern Italy’s monarch of the carbohydrates is shared between pasta, risotto, and polenta. Before coming to Italy, I thought I disliked polenta. All versions of the cornmeal concoction that I’ve tried in the US have tasted like what I imagine farmers feed to their particularly misbehaved livestock. However, the crispy yet smooth cubes served by our Bolognese restaurant completely reversed my ideas about polenta. In Italy, people cook their polenta for a much longer time, thus breaking down the cornmeal and creating a richer, more delicious product. The reason for this difference also explains the different between Italian and American cuisine in general- Italians have a more concerted, less rushed approach to food.
I decided to be predictable and order tagliatelle with Bolognese meat sauce. Like in most of Northern Italy, the pasta came out with a minimal amount of sauce. On this point, Italian gastronomy and Italian American cuisine vary immensely. Italian-American restaurants slather on the sauce, which makes the toping the focal point. In Italy, chefs add sauce as an adornment to the pasta, which is the star of the dish. At times, I’ve found myself wanting to request more sauce (but I’ve held back for fear of being the stupid American). Despite my sauce yearnings, the dish was superb- perfectly cooked pasta and delicious if sparse sauce topped with fresh parmigiano.
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- Inside our restaurant in Mantova
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- Pizza Maker with a funny white hat
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- Pumpkin ravioli with parmigiano, butter and sage
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- Veal Osso Buco with grilled polenta
I’m going to stop here because I don’t want to include too much in one post, but come back soon and I promise tales of French baguettes, food from a mountain man named Aurelio, and adventures in Tuscany.
