Porticos and kilometers of terrazo; two towers at odd angles; Hotel Panorama with high ceilings and huge rooms. We got to Bologna at midday and walked the city. We ate lunch at AF Tamburini, a crazy cafeteria made from the same mold as Ratto's in Oakland. The city feels insular with narrow roads and no idea of right angles all contained within the city walls (which now are ruins, but the boundary of the old city still exists, it has just become a four-lane road, the other side of which presents a time conumdrum [with minimarts and buildings approximating strip malls populating the other side]).
For dinner we had reservations at Drogheria Della Rossa (previously a pharmacy). We arrived at 9pm and closed the joint down with the owner, Emanuele Addone, an odd mix of Yves Saint Laurent and the reverberating voice of Louis Prima. Emanuele made everyone feel like we were eating in his home (and he made every woman feel surprised when he rubbed up against her) . We were greeted with a glass of prosecco (which was refilled as much as needed) and he gave the menu verbally (nothing was printed, including the wine list), stating the three or so primi and three secondi. A salumi plate was provided to every table and it was either vino bianco or vino rosso (Emanuele had some algorithm only known to him where he determined what type of vino bianco or vino rosso you got [i.e., they were bringing bottles to the tables, not carafes]). Amy got the tagliatelle bolognese and I got the cheese tortellini for the pasta course (amazing), and we both got the filet with a balsamic sauce (again, amazing). After the wine bottle was empty, unpromted, one of the severs brought a half a bottle of dessert wine and left it with us. Not soon after, Emanuele sat down next to us and brought a bottle of grappa with him, which he also poured for us and we went on about the differences between people from Bologna and people from San Francisco. At one point, Amy mentioned I was going to be taking a cooking class, and suddenly the chef Francesco was saying hello and he and Emmanuel were telling me to come in to make pasta the next morning at 11:30.
Day 2
11:30 and I swallowed my nerves and walked into the kitchen at the Drogheria and was greeted by Francesco and his two chefs (well the two chefs didn't quite greet me.... they proceeded to crack jokes in Italian about the American who didn't speak Italian, but I expected something like that). They were in the middle of making pasta for the day, and, Francesco, who doesn't speak a lick of English (or didn't to me), proceeded to teach me how to make their fresh pasta (both tortellini and taglitelle; I will share the recipe in my kitchen...). I ate the pasta we made at a table out front with a glass of prosecco. A good day.
That night I ran a bottle of Ron Anniversario Pompero over to Francesco and gave him two bags of his tobacco. He was surprised, we had an odd moment of not speaking the other's language, and I then I got the hell out of there. We ate dinner at a place around the corner from the Drogheria called Bistrot Marco Fadiga. We took the long way around so we wouldn't run into the Francesco and Emanuele after considering going over for dessert but then deciding there was no way we could repeat the previous evening's closing out the Drogheria. Dinner was nice, but they were trying, somehow, not to be Italian (reminded me of some combination of Blue Plate, Range, and insert obligatory San Francisco restaurant here that serves sea bass sauteed on a bed of wilted greens [I know, poor us... but still]).
We left for Parma the next morning (will catch up on Parma and Tuscany, but about to head to a Farm that doesn't have hot water and may not have electricity... so may be a while...
And this picture is for Jane:
Yes - please more ! Sue
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