"I took a trip to Italy's gastronomic capital and it was as gloriously gluttonous as you'd imagine"
When I was young, pasta came in tins, had the consistency of warm Play-doh and was drenched in a delicious slick of neon-orange tomato sauce. I was 18 before I had the proper stuff and pasta has now been my staple signature dish for the past thirty years. However, you can keep your truffle-filled ravioli or cacio e pepe: I would choose a meaty spag bol showered in cheese any day of the week.
Packing a well-thumbed Lonely Planet: Eat Italy guide book and a pair of elasticated trousers, I head off on a pilgrimage to its birthplace, Bologna in the Emilia Romagna region of northern Italy.
Often overlooked in favour of Florence, Rome and Venice, Bologna is a remarkably beautiful city and largely free from the hordes of tourists who frequent the former. Known as La Grassa - the fat one – a holiday in Bologna is all about the food. Hearty homemade pastas, meaty ragùs, myrtle-spiced mortadella sausage, it's easy to see why the city is Italy's gastronomic epicentre.
It was here that Italian cook and author of Italy's first multi-regional cookbook, Pellegrino Artusi, nailed down the recipe for the city's famous ragu back in 1891. Traditionally made with onions, celery, carrots, minced beef, wine and tomato paste, a true bolognese is less saucy than its British counterpart, yet it has a deep meaty richness which no doubt comes from being nurtured by nonnas for hours on end. It's then tossed through soft ribbons of egg tagliatelle and heavily dusted with Parmigiano (not the heathen's cheddar that I often favour).
Famous for its leaning medieval towers, UNESCO-listed porticoes and incredible food scene, Bologna should be high on the list for any Italy itinerary, especially if you like good food. Visit Piazza del Nettuno and Fontana del Nettuno, Giambologna's statue of a naked Neptune surrounded by four buxom ladies. Climb the duomo in Basilica di San Petronio for the best views of the city, or just wander through its ornately decorated porticoes, the 24 miles of covered arcades which criss-cross the city.
EXPLORE BOLOGNA'S FOOD SCENE WITH PRIMA
Keen to get stuck into my first taste of Bolognesi cuisine, I find myself at Trattoria Belle Arti, a gloriously ancient osteria with mismatched dark wood furniture, an arched brick ceiling and the traditional spanked-pink leg of Parma ham getting dusty on the counter. A flask of vino rosso and a platter of mixed antipasti quickly arrives – bruschetta topped with smoky aubergine, oily slivers of homemade salamis, huge, garlicky olives and slabs of local squacquerone cheese – and I'm like a pig in the proverbial. I follow up with my first taste of the hallowed tagliatelle alla bolognese. The knot of silky tagliatelle with a rich meat ragu makes me a little ashamed at giving my Dolmio-slash-savoury mince efforts at home the name 'bolognese'.
If I had time, I'd have booked myself on a cookery course at La Cesarine, an association run by Italian housewives from all over Italy who teach small groups of tourists how to cook staple Italian dishes in their homes.
Bologna has plenty of sights to explore between meals. Towering over the terracotta rooftops is Due Torri, two rather precarious leaning towers. Climb the 498 steps of the taller tower and on a clear day, you can see more than a hundred towns scattered across the rolling verdant hills of Emilia Romagna.
A 20-minute train ride west of Bologna is Modena, famously the home of fast cars, talented tenors – it's the birthplace of Luciano Pavarotti – and balsamic vinegar. Naturally, I'm still thinking of my stomach and stop to sample Italy's famous 'black gold' at Acetaia Villa San Donnino, just outside Modena, where traditional balsamic vinegar is still made by local artisans.
Of course, my favourite thing to do is potter around Emilia-Romagna's many fragrant food markets and graze on garlicky olives, slivers of fat-speckled mortadella and crumbling nubbins of Parmigiano Reggiano in the name of research.
As a final farewell to Bologna, I head to Ristoro del Meridione, a tiny trattoria on Via delle Belle Arti, where I feast on pinky folds of mortadella, fat cubes of creamy mozzarella and purple baked onions the size of ping pong balls. And while I may never fit into my favourite jeans again, it's worth it to see exactly why Bologna got its nickname La Grassa.
Inspired to discover Italy’s gastronomic capital like Tracey, with visits to local producers and a hands-on cooking lesson in Modena, too? Join Prima for a six-day gourmet adventure around the region.
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