As we drove along the Brenner Pass from Austria into Northern Italy, I was completely overwhelmed by excitement. The Dolomites competed heavily with the Deutsch Alpenstrasse for the most scenic driving route yet and I reveled in the delights of the eating experiences, which I knew were yet to come. Since visiting Florence, Bologna and Pasiano (Pordenonne) with my girlfriends in March, I hadn't stopped thinking about the carafes of vino, never-ending bread baskets, bottomless olive oil dispensers and multi-course meals. Beautiful people everywhere. How was this so? Antipasto, primi piati, secondi, insalata, dolce. Every. Single. Day. I swear - other than when we were scoping out one-of-a-kind leather garments and accessories, all of our time was spent meandering from one eating establishment to the next.
This time, Kane and I were confined to just 3 days in Northern Italy, as we needed to make it to a music festival on the south-west coast of France by September 17th (which, incidently, was later cancelled. Boohoo). Despite our time constraints, I was determined to take a self-guided foodie route through the province of Reggio Emilia. Geographically, Reggio Emilia is comprised of Modena (famed for its balsamic vinegar, as well as motor giants: Ferrari, Lamborghini and Maserati ), Parma (hello, Parmigiano Reggiano and Parma Prociutto!) and Reggio nell'Emilia (Lambrusco wine, Parmigiano Reggiano and interestingly enough, Max Mara fashion line, whose headquarters were established there by Achille Maramotti in 1951). To experience multiple food products with P.D.O status in the actual communes that they orginate? Living the dream. Or so I'd imagined....
What I did not imagine was this:
We arrived in Modena at 6.30pm, mapless and unable to find anywhere to set up camp. Our GPS was of no help whatsoever, because outside of the UK, it only identified toll roads. Epic fail. In desperate need of consolation we parked in the city centre and decided to seek out something delicious. This should't have been hard, as arguably, we were in the food capital of the world. 6.30pm on a Monday. Everything was shut. Perhaps one could expect this in Mareeba. But Modena? Really? We roamed the deserted cobblestone passages. Church bells echoed. Romantic? Nostalia inducing? Lonely? I couldn't decide. Eventually, we found a fast-food pizza joint. A chain. Ugh. I can't recall the details of our order. Nothing out of the ord. But it filled the pit in my stomach. I still find this concept extremely depressing - being in Italy and eating something not worth talking about...something which merely filled the pit in my stomach. Double Ugh. Not to worry though. One does not appreciate the simple things in life when all is smooth sailing. Case and point being that the very next morning, we were nothing short of ecstatic that the University of Modena guards had not 'moved us along' from our chosen camping spot in their campus accommodation car park. Things were lookin' up!
Modena, Day 2. After an espresso and croissant, it was all systems go. We set off to the Office de Tourisme in Piazza Grande to find out which Balsamic Vinegar producers would allow us to tour the premises. None, apparently. Yes, owners conducted factory tours, however, it was a blunt 'no' when the booking agent mentioned that we were an English speaking couple. We had not given enough notice. Pigs trotter! There we were, in Modena - home of Aceto Balsamico di Tradizionale. I could not let this rest. So, whilst at the Laundromat, I attempted to ask an elderly Italian man if he could direct us to a balsamic vinegar producer; "Poui arutarmi atrovare, Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena fabricca, per favore?" I have no idea whether my tensing or syntactical organisation was correct - but who cares about incorrect tencing when a nonno correctly interprets your question!? BINGO, BINGO, BINGO!! I could have jumped on top of the dryer and done a happy dance. Except, I can't dance. The nonno directed us toward a food market, however, at some point we must have confused right with left, or left with right. After 45 minutes, we gave up. Just when I thought it was all over, we spotted a balsamic vinegar specialty store. I ran in to ask whether we could visit their supplier. He seemed ticked off that I didn't buy anything but willingly handed over their address. To our dismay, the producer was located in a tiny commune on the outskirts of Modena, called Magreta, which we (and our not-so-trusty GPS) had never heard of. After another hour of searching and befriending service-station attendees who provided directions, we struck gold! Ahhhhhhh. We were exhausted - BUT - we had made it. As we strolled through the gates, it all seemed worth it. "I knew we could get here. I knew it!!" We knocked on the door and were unpleasantly greeted by a woman who told us to come back in two and a half hours. It was siesta. Ahhhhhh, of course. Siestaaaaa - how could I forget!!??? This was possibly, the most inconvenient siesta ever!! Well, having only a couple of days to get to south-west France, we didn't have two and a half hours. Bastards. I climbed back into our van, fighting back tears.
I felt a tad better after consuming what was possibly the best pizza of my life at Pizzeria D'asporto il Gatto & La Volpe (mozerella, radicchio, pancetta, Grana Pedano, Aceto Balsamico - just 6 euro including drinks). However, my mood plummeted for the umpteenth time that day, when we drove into Reggio nell' Emilia. There it was.... the Parmigiano Reggiano factory which I had dreamt of for months...maybe even years...SHUT DOWN. As in, broken glass windows, 'i-haven't-been-open-since-the-seventies,' shut down. I didn't comment. Just sat, in silence. The wheels of our van went round and round, round and round, round and round. As we drove through Parma, I didn't protest when Kane kept driving. It had been a long day and I doubted I could cope with any more disappointment. If bad things really do come in threes, we were destined to discover that the curing and preparation of Parma Prociutto had recently been banned in the region.
As we drove over the border, exiting The Little Province That Was Not, my tears fell. I felt like a small girl, who had run away from home to see the fair - but when she arrives, the fair is over...the carnies are packing away sideshow alley and sewer rats are feasting on stale popcorn. The more I thought of the small girl, the more I sobbed. I was so disappointed. And worse yet, was disappointed in myself for feeling so let down by...well...food. How ungrateful of me! A wretch! Poor Kane. What was he to say about all of this? Tears and all? Rather comical upon reflection.
I apologise. Today, I have presented you with the Oh-So-Sad-Tales of an Aspiring Gastronome. You're probably wondering why I haven't at least included some photographs of Reggio Emilia for a bit of a reader pick-me-up... but the truth is, I have no photographic evidence of my heart break. What I will share, though, is a picture of the sun set, which followed this day. A magical view from the Cinque Terre coast line. The kind of sun set, which makes you feel grateful that you are alive and kicking, remorseful for crying about food (ahem!), and above all, excited about the wondrous prospects that lie ahead.
Modena, Day 2. After an espresso and croissant, it was all systems go. We set off to the Office de Tourisme in Piazza Grande to find out which Balsamic Vinegar producers would allow us to tour the premises. None, apparently. Yes, owners conducted factory tours, however, it was a blunt 'no' when the booking agent mentioned that we were an English speaking couple. We had not given enough notice. Pigs trotter! There we were, in Modena - home of Aceto Balsamico di Tradizionale. I could not let this rest. So, whilst at the Laundromat, I attempted to ask an elderly Italian man if he could direct us to a balsamic vinegar producer; "Poui arutarmi atrovare, Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena fabricca, per favore?" I have no idea whether my tensing or syntactical organisation was correct - but who cares about incorrect tencing when a nonno correctly interprets your question!? BINGO, BINGO, BINGO!! I could have jumped on top of the dryer and done a happy dance. Except, I can't dance. The nonno directed us toward a food market, however, at some point we must have confused right with left, or left with right. After 45 minutes, we gave up. Just when I thought it was all over, we spotted a balsamic vinegar specialty store. I ran in to ask whether we could visit their supplier. He seemed ticked off that I didn't buy anything but willingly handed over their address. To our dismay, the producer was located in a tiny commune on the outskirts of Modena, called Magreta, which we (and our not-so-trusty GPS) had never heard of. After another hour of searching and befriending service-station attendees who provided directions, we struck gold! Ahhhhhhh. We were exhausted - BUT - we had made it. As we strolled through the gates, it all seemed worth it. "I knew we could get here. I knew it!!" We knocked on the door and were unpleasantly greeted by a woman who told us to come back in two and a half hours. It was siesta. Ahhhhhh, of course. Siestaaaaa - how could I forget!!??? This was possibly, the most inconvenient siesta ever!! Well, having only a couple of days to get to south-west France, we didn't have two and a half hours. Bastards. I climbed back into our van, fighting back tears.
I felt a tad better after consuming what was possibly the best pizza of my life at Pizzeria D'asporto il Gatto & La Volpe (mozerella, radicchio, pancetta, Grana Pedano, Aceto Balsamico - just 6 euro including drinks). However, my mood plummeted for the umpteenth time that day, when we drove into Reggio nell' Emilia. There it was.... the Parmigiano Reggiano factory which I had dreamt of for months...maybe even years...SHUT DOWN. As in, broken glass windows, 'i-haven't-been-open-since-the-seventies,' shut down. I didn't comment. Just sat, in silence. The wheels of our van went round and round, round and round, round and round. As we drove through Parma, I didn't protest when Kane kept driving. It had been a long day and I doubted I could cope with any more disappointment. If bad things really do come in threes, we were destined to discover that the curing and preparation of Parma Prociutto had recently been banned in the region.
As we drove over the border, exiting The Little Province That Was Not, my tears fell. I felt like a small girl, who had run away from home to see the fair - but when she arrives, the fair is over...the carnies are packing away sideshow alley and sewer rats are feasting on stale popcorn. The more I thought of the small girl, the more I sobbed. I was so disappointed. And worse yet, was disappointed in myself for feeling so let down by...well...food. How ungrateful of me! A wretch! Poor Kane. What was he to say about all of this? Tears and all? Rather comical upon reflection.
I apologise. Today, I have presented you with the Oh-So-Sad-Tales of an Aspiring Gastronome. You're probably wondering why I haven't at least included some photographs of Reggio Emilia for a bit of a reader pick-me-up... but the truth is, I have no photographic evidence of my heart break. What I will share, though, is a picture of the sun set, which followed this day. A magical view from the Cinque Terre coast line. The kind of sun set, which makes you feel grateful that you are alive and kicking, remorseful for crying about food (ahem!), and above all, excited about the wondrous prospects that lie ahead.
Oh Ruks, that is such a sad story, this must have occurred during our no Skype time. I can just imagine your intense grief when you were thwarted at every turn.
ReplyDeleteYesterday I went to IGA in Atherton and purchased some delicious pecorino!
Yours in cooking!
mummykins
Naw Rukmani, such an unsatisfying experience. Yet, I don't feel that you should be the slightest bit ashamed of sobbing at the continued disappointment. It is in allowing yourself to dream and hope and desire that you show your passions to the world, that you reveal your excited and fervent nature. However, it is in doing this that you also open your soul to the possibility of disappointment and sadness. Not many are brave enough to broadcast their aspirations, no matter how trivial, and leave themselves vulnerable.
ReplyDelete<3 Rach