Culinary Journey Through Emilia-Romagna, Italy
Not only is the Italian region of Emilia-Romagna home to a wealth of culinary specialties—it also has a number of quirky museums dedicated to celebrating these prized foods. Tony Perrottet sets out on a road trip to learn about (and sample) the local delicacies.
Only in Italy can you go looking for a museum and end up in a ham dungeon. I had driven through a raging storm in search of the Museum of Culatello, an institution devoted to the history of the country’s rarest prosciutto, situated inside Antica Corte Pallavicina, a 14th-century castle near the Po River. But when I arrived at the looming edifice in pounding rain and shouldered open a wooden door, not a soul was about. The castle’s shadowy interior had the air of an abandoned opera set, all ravishingly frescoed salons with antique chandeliers.
Over rolling thunder, I heard a sound from below, so I descended a stone staircase into sepulchral darkness. When my eyes adjusted, I found myself in an underground warren, surrounded by thousands of hams strung from the rafters like alien pods. The smell was as musty and inescapably organic as a medieval butcher’s shop— a vegetarian’s idea of hell, no doubt, but magical for me.
Exploring Culinary Delights
My unlikely road to the ham dungeon had begun several days earlier, when I had set off on a self-designed gastronomic Grand Tour of Emilia-Romagna, the region midway between Venice and Florence that Italian gourmands consider sacred ground. Many travelers know its two main cities, Bologna and Parma, home to Bolognese and Parmigiano-Reggiano, staples of “that’s amore” red-sauce eateries from New York to Sydney. More recently, the region has become famous for the lauded Osteria Francescana, the Modena restaurant from native son Massimo Bottura.
However, Emilia-Romagna’s true culinary wonders are obsessively artisanal and embedded in their locations—which is perhaps why the region is home to the world’s densest cluster of highly specific food museums. They often serve the specialties whose stories they recount, combining two great pleasures of travel: the intellectual stimulus of the museum and the sensory delight of dining out. Therefore, I undertook a heroic mission, driving across the land learning—and eating—as much as I could.
Bologna: The Culinary Capital
My journey began in the regional capital of Bologna, fondly nicknamed La Grassa, or “the fat one,” for its devotion to food. From my home base in a 13th-century inn, the Art Hotel Commercianti, whose balconies jutted so close to the Gothic spires of the Basilica di San Petronio that I could almost touch them, I wandered long arcades that cast dreamlike shadows. I paid my respects to Europe’s oldest institute of higher education, the University of Bologna, founded in 1088 and still humming with students.
Bologna has the world’s largest branch of the Italian food market Eataly, but it is the last place that needs one. The city’s crooked alleyways are lined with hole-in-the-wall salumerias, their tables spilling out onto the sidewalks and piled high with mountains of cheese and ham. The city’s oldest restaurant, Osteria del Cappello, has been going strong since at least 1379, and even its placemats ooze tradition. They are reproductions of a culinary dice game created in 1712, featuring thumbnail reviews of the city’s many osterias.
Tour of Balsamic Vinegar
The process of edging my silver Fiat out of Bologna’s ancient street maze and onto the autostrada had the air of a professional driving challenge. However, that made it only more rewarding when I turned off for my first stop, the village of Spilamberto, where a majestic palazzo is home to the Museum of Traditional Balsamic Vinegar. A sculpture of a black vinegar droplet and a store selling balsamic gelato confirmed that I was in the right place—as did the fragrance, which wafted into the street in waves of sweet and sour.
At last we ascended into the “vinegar loft.” The most historic barrels had been confiscated from the Duke of Modena by Napoleon in 1796 but saved by a local bank; another set belonged to an even greater celebrity, Chef Bottura. The attic had the air of a shrine, which only intensified when I tasted the aged balsamic. The sweetness and depth overwhelmed my palate, giving me a newfound appreciation for this culinary treasure.
Discovering Food Museums
In the province of Parma, Italy’s agricultural heartland, a wealth of food museums are located in a landscape where every inch of soil has been tilled since antiquity. I nosed my Fiat into the ever-narrower laneways of the city, past perplexed cappuccino drinkers at outdoor cafes, to my hotel, the Palazzo Dalla Rosa Prati. The provincial capital, also called Parma, is more stately and calm than student-filled Bologna, but just as quirky.
For instance, just north of the city of Parma, at the end of a quiet, tree-lined road near the village of Collecchio, an 11th-century Benedictine monastery houses both the Museum of Pasta and the Museum of the Tomato. The most fetching exhibits at the latter concerned the history of can labels, and a collection of can openers that resembled torture implements brought forth both humor and intrigue.
Final Culinary Delights
While visiting the Museum of Parmigiano Reggiano, I encountered a circular 1848 farmhouse beneath the spectacular walled village of Soragna. It had a special section on the patron saint of cheesemakers, highlighting its cultural importance. After an engaging tour, I happily nibbled on a 36-month aged chunk, indulging in the rich flavors that define this iconic cheese.
By now, I felt I was at risk of becoming glutted on culinary lore. The truth is, Emilia-Romagna is ham country, and I had yet to try culatello, Italy’s rarest and most revered porcine product. Consequently, I found myself lost in the cobwebbed darkness beneath thousands of hanging haunches.
Eventually, I arrived at the Antica Corte Pallavicina, a splendid 14th-century castle, where I settled into a room overlooking the castle gardens. I headed down to the restaurant, where I indulged in the beloved culatello, each slice bursting with flavor. The one-to-three-year maturation process has not changed since the 13th century, and the hams have become a culinary symbol of the region.
The next day, as I wandered through the exhibits, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being drawn outside to relish the full Emilia-Romagna experience. Devouring culatello and Parmigiano drizzled in aged balsamic while basking in the sun felt like a fitting conclusion to this culinary adventure.
