Ferrara is the home of a savory red wine and pork ragout called salame de sugo. Sturgeon from the Adriatic, and capitone, a large, disquieting eel, are also local products, but we could find no trace of them in any of Ferrara's restaurants.
CESENA
Food-conscious friends told us of an epicurean oasis in this rather dull town astride the Via Emilia. The location of the RISTORANTE CASALI next to the railway station is not inspired, but the food is, and many an Italian epicure makes a detour to dine there. We did the same, and tame away with a high regard for the Adriatic shrimp and fish as served alla Casali, and a particular affection for passatelli, a delectable pasta soup specialty of Romagna.
BOLOGNA
This city of almost 400, 000 scurrying inhabitants is one of the most ancient in Italy, and today is one of the most vibrant, go-getting, sophisticated and—let's face it—perhaps the noisiest. Its university is the most venerable and respected in Italy, and its cooking achieves a high peak in Italian gastronomy. What better phrase applies to it than grasta e dotta (fat and learned), and what better place to indulge in a serious appraisal of Italian cooking at its best?
Bologna is in the middle of the Via Emilia, a vital crossroads in the plain. Built almost entirely of brick, it has preserved in medieval arcades and several of its formidable brick towers daring from the twelfth century. Two of these lean tipsily toward each other in the heart of the city, and stout-hearted mountaineers can still climb the five hundred steps of the Torre degli Asinelli and obtain a superlative view of the city. But this is not advisable after a typical Bolognese meal!
The city scintillates with carefree students, astute faculty members and a buzz of businessmen. To an outsider it appears to be the most articulate, intense, swift-paced city in the peninsula, and ideally suited to the more aggressive, food-loving readers of this magazine. Everyone in Bologna seems to congregate sooner or later in the great triple square facing the Church of San Petronio, where a gay, bursting fountain dedicated to Neptune is the focal point for all tourists, peanut vendors, pigeons and tintype photographers. There are good restaurants in this neighborhood too, but the informed voluptuary will return to the ancient brick arcades for his most memorable meals. We don't think that most of our readers will stay more than two days in Bologna, and so we take the liberty of prescribing one good hotel and two celebrated restaurants, among the dozens that exist.
In place of one of Bologna's venerable hotels under the arcades, we suggest the new ALBERGO CRISTALLO, Via Giuseppe 5, a thoroughly clean, comfortable, compact, well-run establishment built since the last war. It has a pleasant little bar, and serves a palatable breakfast, but there is no dining room. This leaves you conscience-free to search out IL PAPAGALLO and SAMPIERI without lowering your eyes as you pass the hotel doorman. The Cristallo is within walking distance of all of Bologna's effervescent street life, but is in a quiet little square, and well worth seeking out.
And now to the feast! What better choice than Il Pappagallo, on the Piazza Mercanzia, a world famous restaurant in one of the most venerable sites imaginable. Under its dusty brick arcade, II Pappagallo (The Parrot) is externally hoary with age. Inside it is bright and worldly, illuminated by four immense crystal chandeliers. The Italians prefer it this way. and will suffer no Dante-esque gloom with their dining. On the walls arc countless pictures of celebrities who have paid the Parrot a visit and found far more than crackers. They look very contemporary. But a few traces of age remain. The ancient vaulted ceilings are visible, their ribs still showing despite the good cooking. And there is an imposing, non-functioning Gothic fireplace at the far end of the room. What really functions is the kitchen!
The Parrot, by almost universal consent among Italian gourmets, is one of the top restaurants in the country, and the menu contains several glittering dishes to prove its supremacy. Where, after all, we thought, is a better place in the world to try tagliatelle alla bolognese? We tried them, and found them fascinating for their lightness. The thin, wide noodles were toothsome and tender, and the sauce was not loaded down with oil or butter. The true Bolognese ' sauce” is essentially a lean beef ragout with a judicious pointing up of tomato, herbs and seasoning. After this we accosted half a boned chicken and a filet of turkey with paper-thin lavender truffles and a sauce Cardinal—a lovely experience, and a superlative sauce—in the discreet company of a bottle of Bardolino.
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