Never Trust a Thin Cook and Other Lessons from Italy’s Culinary Capital

Reggio's Blockheads and Bologna's Baloney

119 Reggio’s Blockheads and Bologna’s Baloney To greet people in Modena fresh off the train from Bologna , a huge line of graffiti is spray painted on a brick wall, “GRAZIE A DIO NON SONO BOLOGNESE!” (Thank God I’m not from Bologna!). Town pride runs deep in Italy and has a name, campanilismo , or loyalty to your campanile, or church bell tower, which is the highest structure in Italian cities and always shows you which way is home. Mostly, this allegiance means boosting your town at the expense of your neighbors. At least since medieval times, Modena and Bologna have resented each other, as shown by a mock heroic poem written in the fourteenth century by a Modenese writer about the Secchia Rapita, or stolen bucket. During the heat of battle, Modena captured this booty from the Bolognesi, and now the bucket stands proudly in the Modena city hall under a Plexiglas protector . A decoy is even on display in the Ghirlandina tower nearby to fool any wise guys wishing to retake it. Afew years ago, some university students from Bologna played a prank by sneaking into the city hall and stealing back the bucket. In its place, they left an enormous mortadella (baloney), one of the symbols of Bologna. Even though the bucket was eventually returned, people in Modena told me, “It’s just not funny; this is a very serious crime.” Others saw the humor in substituting the secchia rapita bucket with a mortadella. Nevertheless, they never balk at the chance to heckle their neighbors in Bologna, “Obviously they don’t respect their food. We couldn’t imagine leaving a leg of prosciutto for the Bolognesi!” During the Middle Ages, Modena was the home of the Este dukes, while Bologna was controlled (and looted) by the Popes. Rome also controlled the southern part of the whole region, so it’s called “Romagna,” whereas the northern part with Modena is called “Emilia,” after the Roman road Via Emilia. I ask a friend from the southern part of the region where Emilia ends and Romagna begins. “Well, there’s no real border. Once you travel south from Emilia, you’ll know you’re in Romagna because everything is a little stronger,” he tells me. “The wine is stronger, the cheese is stronger, even the pigs are stronger.” Bologna is just north of this border, but the enemy nevertheless. Bologna is much more lively than Modena, with few tourists compared to Florence and Venice and streets full of university students. New graduates wear a noble laurel wreath around their head but often march around drunk in their underwear as a postceremony tradition. Along with receiving their diploma, students are mocked by smutty posters drawn by classmates of their time at school that are plastered around town. After they graduate, they can climb the Asinelli tower. If they dare go to the top before graduation , they risk never getting their degree and spending the rest of their life as a stupid asino, or ass, like the name of the tower insinuates. Via Zamboni is the main street of the university, and as in most of the town, the sidewalks are covered with portici, or arcades, to keep off the rain. The bars along this strip stay open late, and an open bar stool is a rarity. Halfway down the road is a little piazza. My Modenese friend Marina tells 120 Reggio’s Blockheads me, “That’s where they sell drugs and bicycles they steal from Modena.” I look for my stolen bikes but see only some punks eating hot dogs. In the center of town, I follow the crowd crossing the busy street against traffic into the main square, Piazza Maggiore . A bum yells at us, “Is everyone such a Communist in this town that you cross when the light is red?” Today, a protest is under way in the piazza, next to the fountain of a half-naked Neptune surrounded by sirens squirting water from their breasts. The demonstrators are demanding the legalization of marijuana and have made a huge float of a big joint puffing smoke at the crowd. Students hang out on the steps of the strange halffinished church in the center—the Vatican halted construction when the Pope found out it was going to be bigger than St. Peter’s in Rome. Inside, an enormous painting of hell lines the side of the church...