Piadina on the Pavement, Bologna

Eating piadina on the pavement in Bologna takes the number one spot because it was our first gastronomic venture in Emilia Romagna. It’s a simple concept – a filled flat bread which is like a cross between a wrap and a sandwich. As well as tasting great, the fillings are an introduction to some of the region’s cured meats (salami, mortadella, prosciutto) and cheeses (squacquerone, Parmigiano). Piadinas from La Piadeina on Via Calzolerie on the fringes of the Quadrilatero district cost around €6.

Mortadella and Tigelle, Bologna

Bologna’s Quadrilatero district is Valhalla for foodies, and just as lively as the mythical Norse Hall. Often, a good way to dive into a new food scene is to ask for whatever everyone else is eating. This approach was how we discovered francesinhas in Porto. Outside the Quadrilatero’s bustling bars, punters were picking at mountains of mortadella accompanied by bowls of creamy cheese (squacqerone) and baskets of warm, round bread cakes (tigelle). So, we copied them and re-discovered just how good mortadella is. A combination of the mortadella, squacquerone and tigelle comes in at under €20.

An aperitif in Parma

The first time we were presented with nibbles with our drinks was in Modena, but it’s the aperitifs in Parma that stick most in my memory. The popular place to go for an early evening drink is on Via Farini, but at the end of a long day pounding Parma’s lovely streets, we found ourselves outside Gran Caffé Cavour at the opposite end of Strada Cavour. Initially, I grumbled at the lack of snacks served with the craft beers we’d ordered. A few minutes later I was eating my words, and a whole lot more as a circular slate with nine substantial nibbles appeared.

Horse meat paninis, Parma

Raw horse meat is a thing in Parma. The perfect opportunity to try some arose when local food expert Sara shared a favourite panini joint of hers, Da Pepén. It’s a non-descript place we’d have otherwise walked past, especially given there was a queue of locals outside and the ordering process looked complicated. Basically, you make your way to the till, place your order, get a ticket, and wait until your pesto di cavallo crudo panini (€7) is freshly made. The done thing is to order a glass of malva (malvasia) to sip in the street outside while waiting. Incidentally, there are loads of other tasty paninis; it doesn’t have to be horse meat.

Eating in a deli, Parma

As well as being foodie treasure troves where locals do much of their food shopping, Parma’s delicatessens, called prosciuterrias and salumerias, are fascinating places to sample the best of Emilia Romagna’s produce. I don’t just mean asking for a taste before buying. Some, like Salumeria Garibaldi, have a handful of tables and chairs where you can sit in and enjoy a selection of goodies. We spent a significant chunk of an afternoon picking at platters of cured meats – prosciutto di Parma, salami feline, coppa di Parma – followed by buttery ravioli, all the while nosying at what the locals were buying. We also picked up a kilo of Parmigiano Reggiano (Parmesan cheese) to take home.

Gnocco Frito in Modena

Little fried golden pillows traditionally made from flour and lard regularly put in appearances on the dining tables of Emilia Romagna, irrespective of where you happen to be. In Parma they’re called torta fritta. Further east, they’re known as gnocco frito. I associate them most with Modena because that’s where I first saw them, on the entertaining and informative Netflix food and travel series Somebody Feed Phil, where host Phil Rosenthal dipped them in his morning coffee. You can just eat them on their own, they’re highly addictive, or cut them open and pop cheese and/or ham inside to make a mini sandwich.

Balsamic vinegar tasting in Albinelli Market

We usually have a bottle of balsamic vinegar in our kitchen cupboard. It is nothing like any of the balsamic vinegars we tried beneath the Art Nouveau arches of Modena’s Albinelli Market, an ideal venue for sampling a selection of Modena’s products, from sour cherry tarts to green lasagne. For a start, the balsamic vinegar we pick up at the supermarket is more than likely a condimento, a less intense version used in pasta dishes and on cheese. The real deal, Aceta Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena is thick, almost syrupy with a sweet and sour flavour, and can only be sold in 100ml bottles with a specific design. We tried various vinegars with a selection of tapas-like snacks (€7) and bought a condimento at €7, plus a bottle of the really good stuff for €45, a bargain when you learn some of the prices.

Cheese and wine in Reggio Emilia

Modena doesn’t attract as many tourists as Bologna or Parma. Its neighbour, Reggio Emilia attracts even fewer. Yet, in gastronomic and cultural terms, it can hold its own. It has its own version of balsamic vinegar, and Parmigiano Reggiano, which some locals claim is the best in the region as it is made using milk from vacche rosso, red cows. We got to try both at Antica Salumeria Giorgio Pancaldi, another one of those superb Italian gastro-shrines which are a fusion of deli and restaurant. Were they better? I couldn’t say, but they were just as good. A bonus was they were accompanied by a glass of spergola, a very drinkable sparkling wine that even the wine experts at my local Majestic had never heard of.

Coffee and tagliatelle with a difference, Reggio Emilia

One of the surprising things about gastronomy throughout Emilia Romagna was the number of times what we thought we knew about certain products/dishes was turned on its head. At atmospheric Pasticceria Boni we ate tagliatelle accompanied by a cup of coffee where neither were quite as they sound. The tagliatelle came in cake form, the tagliatelle bit being the cake’s crispy topping. The coffee wasn’t coffee at all but caffé d’orzo which looks like coffee but is made from barley. It’s drunk by Italians to keep their caffeine intake down and is far superior to the chicory-flavoured substitute that used to be popular in Britain.

Eating our own pasta, Bologna

The ultimate gastro experience in Emilia Romagna was eating pasta dishes we made ourselves. Under the guidance of a local cook, and with two other pasta-making novices from the US, we spent three hours learning how to make pasta dough from scratch and then turn that dough into tagliatelle, ravioli, and tortellini. The time whizzed past as everything we knew about making pastas and Bolognese sauce was dismissed and we learnt the proper way, the Italian way. It was entertaining, hugely informative, especially for people who are into cooking, delicious (thanks to the expert guidance), and very filling. Three pasta dishes are a lot to get through. Thankfully, there was plenty of wine to wash them down. It wasn’t cheap, around €120pp, but it was great value for money as it was one of the most enjoyable travel/food experiences we’ve had.

But then I could say that about many of our gastronomic experiences in Emilia Romagna; there is a very good reason why it’s known as Italy’s Food Valley.

“Everyone calls this Piazza Grande,” says Catia, our guide. “But its proper name is Piazza Camillo Prampolini, named after the Socialist reformer who was born here in Reggio Emilia.”

We follow her across the cobbles and past the Cattedrale di Santa Maria Assunta topped by its gold Madonna and Child, heading towards the ornate façade of the Town Hall where two Tricolour flags flutter in the breeze above the colonnaded entrance. Catia stops short of the steps and turns back to talk to us.

“Prampolini was the man who brought socialist principles back to Reggio from Rochdale.”
“Rochdale?!” We chorus. “Rochdale in the UK?” The incredulity in our voices is near-hysteria pitch.
“Yes, Rochdale. Prampolini greatly admired the work of the Rochdale Pioneers, the men who introduced the first Co-operative Society. It was their work that inspired him to advocate the establishment of cooperatives to sell affordable food to those who needed it, and he persuaded the local government to give free medicine to the poor. He brought Socialism from Rochdale to Reggio and then to the rest of Italy.”

I glance at Jack. No words are necessary.

The Rochdale Pioneers

In 1844, 28 working-class men raised funds and set up a small shop on Toad Lane in Rochdale where they sold good quality flour, oatmeal, sugar, and butter at a fair price to the exploited and poverty-stricken workers of the town. They called themselves The Rochdale Equitable Pioneers Society; they became known simply as The Rochdale Pioneers.

In the nineteenth century, poverty was rife in Northern industrial towns like Rochdale. Working in terrible conditions and poorly paid, the working class were further exploited by shop keepers who watered down the milk and added sawdust to the flour. For most workers the cost of sugar and butter were prohibitively high.

Wanting to free the working class from the shackles of charity handouts and give them the means to stand on their own feet economically, The Rochdale Pioneers reasoned that, by acting as a cooperative body, they could afford to buy good quality produce at wholesale prices and could pass that saving on to consumers. Not only would they be providing affordable food for the poor, but they would also be weakening the power of ruthless shop owners to exploit. Every customer became a member and shared in the profits of the shop through dividends.

Initially only open two nights a week, in less than three months the Toad Lane shop was opening five days a week. Today, there are over a billion members in 1,4 million Cooperative Societies worldwide, including in Emilia Romagna.

Reggio Emilia

Sitting at the crossroads of Italy’s main communications arteries of Via Emilia which runs east to west, and Via Roma which runs north to south, Reggio Emilia remains stubbornly below the tourist radar, despite its proximity to, and easy access from neighbours, Modena and Parma.

The lack of summer crowds means it’s easy to stroll Reggio’s streets and piazzas where architectural treasures sit cheek by jowl with pasticcerias selling the delicious erbazzione (chard and parmesan in buttery pastry) which is characteristic of the town, and salumerias brimming with the superb hams, pastas and cheeses of the region.

As well as its erbazzione, Reggio Emilia is home to what many (me included) consider to be the best Parmigiano Reggiano. Produced from the rich, creamy milk of Reggio’s Vache Rosse, or ‘red’ cows, the cheese retains its soft texture and creamy taste longer than that produced from the Freesian, Modenese and brown cows of the rest of the region. The perfect accompaniment to chunks of Parmagiano drizzled in Reggio’s own balsamic vinegar, is a glass of its sparkling spergola, a light fresh wine that gives prosecco a run for its money.

Monumental splendours

In amongst Reggio’s architectural gems is one which, up until recently, even the residents themselves didn’t know anything about – Chiostri di San Pietro. A 16th century monastery which, following the unification of Italy, was transformed into a military barracks with its arches filled in and its gardens and courtyards destroyed. There it remained effectively hidden and forgotten until 2006 when a project to convert it into public use revealed the architectural splendour that lay beneath the bricks.

Two superb cloisters are now restored to a semblance of their original selves; the small one has red and white Verona marble columns which form a porticoed circumference, and frescoed walls which are currently in restoration. The large one is vast, with gabled windows and niches decorated with 17th century statues of Saints from the Benedictine Order. It’s the sort of place that, if it was in Parma or Bologna, would be rammed but here in Reggio Emilia, we have the place to ourselves.

Birthplace of the Italian Tricolour

In the Town Hall is the Sala de Tricolore, the room in which on 7 January 1797, as Napoleon’s troops marched towards them, 110 men from Reggio Emilia, Modena, Ferrara and Bologna met to design a new flag for the impending independence. Adapting the French flag, they replaced the blue with the green of the Italian Legion and created the flag which is still in use today. The Museo del Tricolore outlines the political events that led up to birth of the Tricolour, along with flags of the various forms it has taken from its initial design to the current day.

Arts & parks

Like its neighbours of Parma, Modena and Bologna, Reggio Emilia is home to many priceless works of art, but unlike its neighbours, there are no crowds, queues or large groups led by guides making it difficult to truly appreciate their beauty.

On the façade of the tower of the Cathedral in Piazza Grande (above) is a statue of the Madonna and Child made of gold embossed onto copper plate, a gleaming masterpiece. In the Basilica de San Prospero in the piazza of the same name, is a magnificent Procaccini fresco of The Last Judgement, along with exquisite marquetry on the wooden choir stalls. It was in Reggio Emilia in the mid-1400s that the art of marquetry was born. But the cherry on the art cake is the Basilica della Beata Vergine della Ghiara, the site of a miracle which, during the 17th-century, was decorated by the elite of Emilian artists. The subsequent frescoes, all dedicated to women, represent some of the greatest paintings of the era.

When all that art and architecture has sunk in, head to the green calm of Popolo Park whose monumental fountain was built in 1885 to commemorate the completion of the city’s aqueduct. Here too you’ll find the Monumento dei Concordia – an ornate Roman burial vault discovered in 1929 and placed in a green space so it would be ‘never perishable’ and the surroundings would bring out the best of the monument regardless of season.

It’s the ideal place to sit and enjoy a slice of erbazzione while trying to figure out why Reggio Emilia is as yet, undiscovered.

Getting there:

Trains run frequently between Bologna Central Station and Parma, stopping at Modena and Reggio Emilia along the way. It’s just a 15-minute train journey from Modena to Reggio. If flying into Milan, trains run frequently between Milano Centrale and Parma.
The easiest way to find timetables, book and pay for trains is with the Trenitalia app. Prices vary depending on whether you use the Frecciarossa, high-speed trains, the Intercity, or the RV trains which are slowest and cheapest.

The waiter at Trattoria da Danilo in Modena in Italy’s food valley, Emilia Romagna, was of the assertive variety. We’d already battled him over his insistence we should order tortellini, only narrowly fending him off with excuses of having eaten tortellini for three days running, including cooking it ourselves. But he wasn’t going to budge on the Parmesan.

A friend often makes references to it not being the done thing to drink a cappuccino in Italy after 11:00 (*1). I’ve never really subscribed to rules set in concrete when it comes to culinary matters because, by its very nature, the art of cooking is a constantly evolving beast. It has been ever since the likes of Sir Francis Drake (in reality it was probably the Spanish) introduced the humble spud to Britain and Portugal’s great explorers brought chillies from South America to India. Additionally, even long-established traditional dishes can vary from household to household in most countries.

In most countries, not Italy.

Despite having visited the country on numerous occasions, this was the first time we’d been aware of just how many set-in-concrete rules there were when it came to cooking and dining etiquette. But then, this time we were on a gastronomic odyssey through Emilia Romagna. The objective was to learn about the region’s food, not just to eat it.

The rules of Italian cooking – forget what you think you already know

We fell foul of the rules of Italian cooking in a kitchen tucked away the end of a shadowy courtyard off a nondescript street on the western edge of Bologna’s old centre. We were there to learn how to cook pasta. Virtually the first thing our learned tutor told us about making pasta was that it must be done by hand; pasta machines should be consigned to the bin. This piece of information instantly put paid to any thoughts of trying to impress said teacher by telling her we’d already made fresh pasta at home using the pasta machine we bought less than a year ago. Instead, and wisely I felt, we kept shtum.

As the evening progressed, as well as learning how to make tortellini, ravioli, and tagliatelle, we were taught:

• You should serve Bolognese sauce (ragù alla Bolognese) with tagliatelle, never with spaghetti. We already knew this one thanks to our authentic Italian cookbook.
• That onion and garlic (*2) hate each other and should never be paired in cooking. We recently found this out watching Gordon Ramsay’s Next Level Chef when Italian chef Gino D’Acampo went ballistic after he found one chef frying garlic and onion while making an Italian dish.
• The ‘authentic’ Bolognese sauce in our Italian cookbook at home bore barely a passing resemblance to the real thing. The amount of vegetables used in ragù alla Bolognese can be described as minimalist at best. For four people, the vegetable contribution amounted to half an onion, a small carrot, and a wee bit of celery.

There is no room for manoeuvre, certain dishes are cooked a certain way. That is how it is.

Tagliatelle goes some way to explaining why rules can be so exact, so rigid.

The story about its origins is dodgy. Local chef Zefirano was so captivated by Lucrezia Borgia’s long, golden tresses when he saw them during her visit to Bologna in 1487, he replicated them in fresh pasta form.

While the origins story may be fanciful, the recipe for authentic tagliatelle is not. In fact, a good knowledge of mathematics would come in handy. The official recipe dictates the width of tagliatelle should be 12,270th of the height of the city’s Asinelli Tower when cooked (it works out as 8mm). To achieve this, the uncooked strips must be between 6.5 and 7mm otherwise the pasta is not considered the real deal.

The original recipe which decrees this is kept under lock and key at Bologna’s Chamber of Commerce inside the Palazzo della Mecanzia. And it is not alone. Numerous recipes are registered there, each detailing the one specific way in which the dish or product it refers to can be made if it wants to be considered authentic.

Those are the rules. Gently dictatorial maybe, but the result is arguably the best cuisine in Europe.

Our view is when in Rome, do as the Romans do. However, when not in Rome (or Bologna in this instance) do whatever is easier, especially if the end result is virtually the same. When we returned home from Italy full of Italian culinary knowledge, we set up our pasta machine and made ravioli and tortellini. Was it authentic? Probably not. Was it delicious? We think so.

(*1) – There’s a good reason Italians don’t drink cappuccino after 11:00. They believe consuming milk after a meal plays havoc with the digestive system, so milk is avoided after food is taken. Breakfast doesn’t count as it’s generally only a coffee and a pastry, so cappuccino is okay until lunchtime-ish.

(*2) – If garlic in cooking causes looks of disdain, then how do the Italians explain garlic bread? Because it’s not Italian, is what a food specialist told us. Italian-Americans are responsible for it, and it shouldn’t grace the menu of any authentic Italian restaurant. Their loss on that one if you ask me.

Tapas are a mainland Spanish way of eating when socialising, but it is also easy to find tapas in the Canary Islands, and tapas aimed at the palates of a local population more than a visiting one. I rarely met anyone who wasn’t Canario whenever I followed a ruta de tapa (tapas competitions organised within individual municipalities).

We’ve regularly eaten tapas on all of the islands. On some, finding good tapas is easier than on others. The level of quality, generally speaking, is related to the size of the Canario population. Many traditional bars have a small selection, as do a lot of traditional restaurants. But there are specialist restaurants as well. Occasionally, they’re not referred to as tapas bars or restaurants, throwing non-Spanish speakers off the tapas scent, like La Bodeguita de Enfrente on Tenerife, which called itself a picotea – somewhere to pick at small quantities of food.

But a rose by any other name and all that.

Many of the small dishes featured on menus are familiar to anyone who’s eaten tapas in Spain, but some are uniquely Canarian in origin. These ten tapas include a mix of both.

Papas arrugadas

Even visitors to the Canary Islands who never leave their all-inclusive hotels are familiar with papas arrugadas (wrinkled potatoes boiled in salted water till their skins shrivel and their left with a coating of salt) served with mojo verde and mojo rojo (savoury and spicy sauces). Although found just about everywhere, papas arrugadas con mojos aren’t truly authentic if they’re not made using speciality Canarian potatoes such as the tiny papas bonitas.

Ensaladilla rusa

Despite the name, ensaladilla rusa (Russian salad) is one of the essentials of any Spanish tapas menu, and it’s no different in the Canaries. It’s basically a potato salad ramped up with the inclusion of peas, carrots, boiled eggs, and tuna. There’s nothing sophisticated about it, but it is moreish. The more modern Canarian restaurants serve it with a tad more panache than plonking a messy mound of mush on your plate.

Croquetas caseras

Croquetas are another Spanish tapas staple. Usually, these small, fried croquettes are made with bechamel sauce mixed with either ham, chicken, or fish. Spinach croquetas are also fairly common. On the Canary Islands, you can find some quite imaginative variations. We’ve eaten blue cheese, banana, beetroot, mushroom, leek, and chicken curry croquetas. To be sure you’re not being dished up ones picked out of the freezer in the local supermarket, look for croquetas caseras (homemade).

Pinchos morunos

These savoury skewers are a favourite at fiestas. Despite the Moorish reference in the name, they usually consist of cubes of pork marinated in a blend of spices (cumin, black pepper, ginger, paprika, turmeric, saffron) and garlic and coriander; although, exact ingredients can vary. They taste especially good when barbecued, served with a chunk of aniseed bread, and eaten at a busy, ramshackle fiesta stall. If pinchos morunos are unavailable, carne fiesta is a good substitute.

Gofio amasado

One of the uniquely Canarian tapas offerings is gofio amasado. Gofio (a toasted flour dating back to the Canary Islands’ original inhabitants) features in a couple of tapas dishes (escaldón being another) and both are an acquired taste. In amasado form, the flour is mixed with olive oil, honey, almonds, water, and sometimes cheese until firm and pliable. Then it is sliced into discs and served. It’s not the most flavoursome tapa on the list, but it is an authentic taste of the Canaries.

Chopitos fritos

Some people are turned off by the idea of eating squid. If you’re a fan of squid and cuttlefish and want to convert non-believers to the cause, chopitos are a great introduction. These tasty fried squid are so small it’s not easy to spot they are squid (the batter blurs the tiny tentacles). Picking at a plate of chopitos is just like snacking on savoury crisps. That’s what you can tell doubting friends anyway. When I’ve eaten these on eastern Canary Islands, they’ve turned up on the menu as puntillitas.

Queso asado

Just about every time we went out to eat with one of our neighbours on Tenerife, she would order queso asado. It’s not my favourite tapa, yet it would often end up as one of the dishes on the table whenever we ordered a mix of tapas, with or without neighbour in tow. Queso asado is griddled cheese drizzled with mojos, honey, and/or miel de palma (palm syrup from La Gomera). The cheese used is important. It should be queso palmero, a semi-hard, lightly smoked goat’s milk cheese from La Palma which, when griddled, has a similar texture to halloumi.

Churros de pescado

I think of churros de pescado as the Spanish version of fish and chips, without the chips; although, the absence of papas fritas is easily rectified. Churros de pescado are strips of white fish (usually hake but can be other firm, white fish) coated in herby batter. They are especially addictive when served with alioli (garlic mayonnaise).

Pimientos de Padrón

Another perennial favourite across Spain, many people know these are small green peppers fried in olive oil and generously sprinkled with salt. They’re simple and tasty, but what gives them an added edge is that every so often one is blow-the-top-of-your-head-off hot. You can eat plates and plates of them and never get a spicy one. I’ve known of people in Spain who have never ever had a hot pimiento de Padrón. Subsequently, there’s always a Russian roulette element to eating them. I was told that, in the Canaries, only La Palma produces hot pimientos.

Lapas

By sticking to only ten tapas, I’ve shackled my choices. It means the likes of boquerones, patatas bravas, ropa vieja, gambas al ajillo, berenjenas con miel, emapandas, jamón Serrano, tortilla, and many more are left out, making my pick for the tenth spot a difficult one. I’ve opted for lapas because a) they’re found more on the Canary Islands than elsewhere (Madeira and the Azores also have them), and b) they’re delicious (when prepared properly). Lapas are grilled limpets drizzled with mojo verde. It is the addition of the mojo which makes them superior to their Portuguese cousins.

I compared travel websites from three countries – France, Spain, and Italy – to see what others considered were the main British foods to try. Among all three, the suggestions for British dishes to try were virtually identical – fish & chips, roast dinner, full English breakfast, black pudding, Scotch eggs, pies, shepherd’s pie, Cornish pasties, Yorkshire pudding, toad in the hole, chicken tikka masala, and jacket potatoes. There were a few other honourable mentions, things that turned up occasionally, like haggis (described as a popular Christmas dish by a Spanish website) and bubble and squeak.

The first thing that was interesting was how many confused English and British. There was a tendency to write about English food when they clearly meant British. One writer talked about haggis coming from the region of Scotland, then went on to say that made it a typically English dish. Plus, it was disappointing to note that too many travel writers/bloggers never venture further than London. When it came to British cuisine itself, generally there were low expectations. An Italian writer claimed, ‘most Italians are convinced English food is bad.’ Others described it as being ‘simple,’ ‘bland,’ and ‘mundane.’ One article was even called How to Survive English Cuisine. Despite this, most writers ended up thoroughly enjoying most of the dishes they tried.

The reactions to some individual dishes give an insight into gastronomic differences between countries, as well as throwing up a few comedic classics.

What foreigners think about British food

Fish & chips

Most liked fish & chips, which isn’t surprising as many countries have their own take on it. We’ve eaten versions in Portugal (peixe frito), and Spain (churros de pescado). Some claim British fish and chips came from Italy in the first place. One Spanish writer was under the impression it was a summer staple, while an Italian blogger described the fish used as being cod, hake, plaice, or shark (presumably they’d seen reports from a few years ago about some chippies using spiny dogfish as the white fish in their fish & chips.

Full English Breakfast

An object of wonder for many because eating something so heavy at breakfast time is just not done. ‘You may feel nauseous just reading the ingredients’ wrote one Italian blogger. ‘Eating something salty in the morning is strange,’ commented another, while a Spanish writer was shocked at the very idea of eating eggs for breakfast. Quite a few southern European countries prefer light sweet things such as pastries to get them started in the morning. Nearly all admitted loving a good fry up though, which is why whenever you’re in a multinational hotel in Europe that serves eggs, bacon, sausages for breakfast, first in line are often guests from the countries who don’t put a lot of effort into their breakfasts.

Toad in the hole

Unsurprisingly when you think about it, the idea of toad in the hole caused concern for some nationalities. ‘Don’t worry, there is no toad in it,’ reassured one French blogger.

Yorkshire pudding

Yorkshire pudding also bemused French travel writers. One was surprised to find it wasn’t a dessert, describing it as a bread roll made with sage, rosemary, and beef fat. Another was amazed by something they’d seen in York. ‘They sell it like it’s a wrap – this is not a hoax!’ they told their readers.

Welsh rarebit

Things can sometimes get a bit lost in translation. One French travel blogger was shocked to find Welsh rarebit didn’t actually contain any rabbit. ‘It doesn’t contain any meat at all,’ they complained.

Scotch eggs

Despite being our closest neighbours, the French seemed to be most perplexed by British food. ‘A little too weird for me,’ was the conclusion of one writer from the country whose residents nibble at frogs’ legs.

Chicken tikka masala

Of all the curries that could have made it onto culinary lists of British food, the one which crossed borders to appear on French, Spanish, and Italian websites was chicken tikka masala. At first this baffled me, and then I remembered that in Britain, we tend to like food a lot spicier than some of our European neighbours. Spain is particularly notorious for having a national allergy to spicy food. The last curry I had in Spain was in an Asian fusion restaurant in Santiago de Compostela. It was described as being very hot and was about as spicy as a slice of white bread. Tikka masala is simply a safe and mild option.

The dish which had all three nationalities cooing their approval came as a complete surprise.

The jacket potato

The humble baked spud seems to have all nationalities in raptures.

‘The most British of side dishes, with a crisp outside and a soft inside it is very, very tasty.’ – Spain.

I don’t even think of the jacket potato as being a British dish, I’ve seen jacket potato carts at carnival on Tenerife.

‘So good, I dream of it at night.’ – France.

Best of all was the Italian contribution whose ‘beautiful to look at and eat,’ was followed by the advice ‘don’t send it back when it arrives because it is still covered with skin.’

Overall, it was just another example that, underneath it all, we’re all the same. Other nationalities’ knowledge of British cuisine is just as limited as our knowledge of theirs.

If you can, you’re doing better than most people who commented on an Adrian Chiles’ Guardian article. To be fair, the title of the piece didn’t help Adrian’s cause. It was called After three weeks travelling in Europe, I’m calling it – British food is the best.

The article itself didn’t reflect a title chosen for its clickbait potential, no doubt by a savvy editor who knew people on social media often comment on headlines rather than content. Adrian didn’t claim British food was the best in Europe. His article concerned the range of different foods available in Britain. He claimed, ‘where we win hands down is on variety.’

Comment after comment gushed about the merits of Italian, French, Spanish gastronomy etc. accompanied by outrage that he could suggest British food was better … even though he didn’t. Many people used their gastronomic experiences as evidence of just how good food in other countries was. The thing is, nobody was questioning how good the food was around Europe.

I’ve lived in Spain and in Portugal and have spent a lot of time in off the beaten track areas of various European countries. I love to try regional specialities wherever I go, so reckon I’ve got some experience in this area. And I agree with what Adria Chiles was trying to get across.

Living in Portugal

In my book Camel Spit & Cork Trees I devote a chapter to gastronomy in rural Alentejano, starting off enthusiastically about regional dishes such as sarapatel, sopa de tomate alentajana, migas, porco preto. A few paragraphs later, I write this, ‘by the time we notch up our third Portagem eatery we are starting to become a tad jaded with menu choices’ and this, ‘over the course of a week or two there might be sufficient culinary interest to be explored in menus which vary little from restaurant to restaurant. However, over the long haul it’s a different kettle of fish, especially when there’s a noticeable lack of said fish.’

And that’s what the outraged brigade failed to grasp. Trying ‘local food’ for a brief period can be a treat for the tastebuds, but when you spend any time in an area where the choice of what’s on offer is limited, it can become gastronomically tedious.

Living on Tenerife

Tenerife has more interesting gastronomy than many people give it credit for. Even so, in traditional parts, where there’s a healthy culture of eating out, many menus feature the same dishes. However, the gastronomic scene is lifted by young chefs updating old favourites and fusing them with the cuisine of other countries, which gives it a boost and adds more variety.

But folk have blinkered ideas about how you should eat when in other countries. Years ago, I mentioned yearning for pizza every now and again and was chastised by someone for not eating the local food. It was just as well we had cyberspace separating us. Instead of going all Incredible Hulk, I patiently pointed out that most of what I ate was local food, which was why I fancied something different for a change. Their take was akin to saying anyone who lives in Britain should only eat British food. It’s complete nonsense. There’s a difference between brief visits and staying somewhere for a longer period.

Gastronomic preferences

Generally speaking, people prefer their own food irrespective of what country they hail from. I recently read a survey about Chinese dining habits which concluded Chinese people liked to eat Chinese food whenever they travelled outside of China. About a decade ago, a Canarian guide on La Palma bemoaned the culinary limitations of his fellow islanders, saying they wanted the same food over and over again, making it difficult for any innovation in the restaurant scene. That’s improved now, but it’s taken some time. People are creatures of habit. As Adrian points out in his article, ‘in France you eat French, Italy Italian, Greece Greek, Spain Spanish, and so on.’

Italy gets away with it though because the food there is so good and incredibly diverse.

Gastronomy in European cities

If people base their experiences on eating in European cities, then it’s going to be skewed. There’s always a greater choice in cities. Take Lisbon. The food is influenced by former colonies. Head to more traditional northern parts of Portugal and that same choice doesn’t exist. The gastro scene in Ljubljana in Slovenia is exciting, yet in a more rural area of the country I watched a couple of locals double up at the mention of Slovenia being awarded the title of European Region of Gastronomy 2021.

Restaurant comparisons around Europe

For reasons of casual illustration, here’s a list of the gastronomy served in the top ten restaurants on TripAdvisor for each of seven sizeable European towns I’ve visited.

Arles, France: French, French, French, French, French, Asian, French, French, French, French.

Setúbal, Portugal: Portuguese, Italian, Portuguese, Portuguese, Portuguese, Portuguese, Portuguese, Portuguese, Portuguese, Italian.

Freiburg, Germany: German, German, Mexican, Spanish, Middle Eastern, Indian, German, German, German, German.

Pontevedra, Spain: Spanish, Moroccan, Spanish, Spanish, Italian, Spanish, Spanish, Spanish, Spanish, Spanish.

Bergamo, Italy: Mexican, Chinese, Italian, Italian, Italian, Italian, Italian, Italian, Ethiopian, Italian.

Chania, Greece: Greek, Greek, Greek, Greek, Greek, Greek, Greek, Greek, Greek, Greek.

Exeter, Britain: Mexican, Mediterranean, British, Jamaican, Asian, British seafood, British, British, Portuguese, Moroccan.

The culinary diversity in Britain is also reflected in the home. As Italian chef Giorgio Locatelli commented when judging the UK’s Big Family Cooking Showdown programme – you won’t find the variety of cooking found in British kitchens in any other European country.

And that’s what Adrian Chiles was talking about, not which country’s food was best.

There have been times people have made references to us getting free meals at restaurants in exchange for reviews. Whenever that happens, my hackles spring up. Something we would never ever do is ask a restaurant for a meal in exchange for a review.

It isn’t the way things work … not for us.

Assumptions being made about the media are commonplace, and travel writing is no different. I regularly moan to Andy, ‘why don’t people just ask how it works?’

But mostly, they don’t.

So, I’m going to lay out clearly how it works. Transparency is especially important in an age when social media is awash with false news and uninformed opinions presented as facts.

The Truth about Travel writing and restaurant reviews

Do travel writers get free meals in restaurants?

The short answer to that is yes, of course they do otherwise nobody but the very well-off could ever afford to be travel writers. But the way it works is nothing like as crass as selling reviews for free meals. It’s more of an exchange of goods and services. Here are some examples from our experience.

Press & blog trips: Tourist boards want to promote their destinations. Travel writers want fresh material to write about, so it’s a win-win situation. Press trips come in various formats; some involve hosting a group of writers/bloggers, others are more individualistic. These trips invariably include complimentary visits to restaurants the destination wants to promote. Participating restaurants know they’re going to get a mention in travel articles, so it’s worth it to them to be involved. Sometimes all meals are included on these trips, on others it’s only a selection. There’s no obligation to write positive reviews but the truth is, it is difficult to write something negative about an experience that you haven’t paid for. For that reason, among others, we don’t tend to do press trips these days.

Specific commissions: Businesses want to be mentioned in travel articles which are going to be seen by lots of people, so it simply makes good business sense for them to not charge travel writers who are working on a commission. When Andy was reviewing hotels in the Canary Islands on behalf of The Telegraph, complimentary stays were mostly arranged by individual island’s tourist boards, and these included meals in hotel restaurants. Tourist boards, or PR companies acting on their behalf, usually pave the way for visiting travel writers. These are basically straightforward business arrangements like any other.

Do travel writers approach restaurants and ask for a meal in exchange for writing about them?

I don’t know. I have read and heard plenty of reports of some bloggers and amateur reviewers for UGC (user generated content) sites like TripAdvisor doing this, but I’ve never been aware of professional writers doing it. I know for a fact it’s something we have never done. On occasion, restaurant owners have contacted us and asked if we’d like to dine at their restaurants. If it’s a place we would have wanted to eat at anyway, we’ve accepted.

Sometimes we’ve ended up not paying for a meal when we expected to, but it hasn’t been by design. At a Michelin star restaurant on Tenerife, where we know and get on well with the chef, we booked a table without informing him because we specifically wanted to pay. Ironically, it felt deceitful. Our plan didn’t work as he spotted us anyway and refused to take any payment.

We recently returned from a trip to Jersey. We never mentioned anywhere that we were travel writers. Although it was a holiday, we’ll write about our experiences whenever the opportunity arises; in less than two weeks, an article has already been posted on this site, and a couple of restaurant recommendations added to a Slow Travel guide for Jersey.

Paying but not paying

The bottom line is we prefer to dine in restaurants like any other paying customer. In my view, it is the only way to have a truly authentic experience. And it is a completely different vibe. I can’t speak for other travel writers, but I tend to feel slightly beholden to anyone who’s feeding me for no payment (even though there is payment in the form of promotional words). That unease is probably down to my working-class upbringing and an inbuilt desire to ‘pay my own way.’ But it’s not an ideal quality to have in a profession that doesn’t pay a lot yet involves dining in top restaurants and staying in luxurious hotels. Luckily, part of our job means we can have the best of both worlds.

As Slow Travel consultants working with Inntravel, we regularly help put together holidays for them. When we’re ‘in the field’ we have to eat and also find restaurants to recommend in destination guides for their customers. These are work expenses, so we’re reimbursed. Mostly restaurants have no idea why we’re there, so we get treated the same as everyone else, which suits us right down to the ground.

It’s the perfect arrangement.

The rest of the time, which involves eating out a lot because, well, it’s become a way of life, we pay like everyone else.

For a start, restaurants aren’t cheap. We didn’t pay less than £80 for a meal for two. Admittedly, a bottle of wine with the meal accounted for around a third of the bill (wine in the British Isles is often over-priced compared with some other parts of Europe) but still, prices on Jersey are higher than we’re used to paying in comparable restaurants in Devon/Somerset.

But there is a good choice of them, and a variety of menus which kept our taste buds interested and happy for seven nights … most of the time.

Restaurants in St Aubin

The Old Courthouse

Located on the seafront, The Old Courthouse is in a building dating from the 15th century. The main restaurant has the look and feel of the inside of a galleon. It’s cosily attractive, and attentive staff made it feel welcoming on a Monday night when the streets outside had that typical boring Monday night ambience. As part of the Liberation Group, the menu has a ‘pub group’ style to it and features enough tasty sounding dishes to suit varying preferences. We chose half a dozen Jersey rock oysters (Vietnamese style – £11.50) followed by beer-battered cod with hand cut chips (£15) and seafood linguine with chilli, ginger, and garlic oil (£19.95).

The oysters were a disappointment, maybe not if we’d ordered scampi because that was what they tasted like, with the Vietnamese element missing. Andy’s beer-battered cod was generous, but the batter greasy. My seafood linguine was good, involving a tasty sauce and plenty of seafood. Overall verdict was it was decent fair in amenable surroundings.
Le Boulevard; open Mon-Fri midday to 14:30 & 18:00 to 21:00, Sat midday to 21:30, Sun midday to 19:00; website The Old Courthouse

The Salty Dog

The Salty Dog describes itself as one of Jersey’s favourite eateries, and it was bouncing on a Tuesday night. We like to eat in restaurants where it feels diners are enjoying themselves and the Salty Dog ticked that box. Sufficient staff, attractive modern décor, and an efficient service helped set the scene for an enjoyable dining experience.

Indian aloo tiki crab cakes (£10) were tasty enough but, consisting of only three small balls, felt more of an amuse-bouche than a starter. Andy’s monkfish & prawn Kerala curry (£19) overflowed its bowl but the monkfish seemed sparse, while my half lobster & king prawns with chilli, garlic, and coriander (£25) lay smothered in too much sautéed veg, and the lobster came a wee bit overcooked for me. Another case of nice ambience, good service, and decent but not outstanding food.
Le Boulevard; open for dinner Tue-Sat 18:00 to 21:00; website The Salty Dog

The Muddy Duck

We loved The Muddy Duck so much we booked to eat there again as soon as we finished our meal. As a restaurant experience goes, it hit all the right notes. It feels family run, staff exuding that sense of pride and ownership you get in good FR establishments, the tables are laid out so they feel intimate, and the atmosphere is lively.

Plus, the food is excellent and as good value as we found anywhere in St Aubin. Half a dozen oysters (£6), moules et frites (£16.95) done in both cream and Thai style, and a sticky toffee black butter pudding (£6.25) had us Mmm-ing our way through the evening. Simply a highly enjoyable dining experience … twice.
Le Boulevard; open for dinner Wed-Sat 18:00 to late, Sun 18:00 to 21:00; website The Muddy Duck

Tides

As Tides restaurant was basically the dining room of our hotel, the Somerville, and the place where we ate breakfast every day, it didn’t really feel like eating in a restaurant to us. However, it does attract many non-hotel-guest diners. I like the Somerville as a hotel, but it can ooze outdated pretensions at times, like the waiter eyeing Andy’s outfit up and down (we both clocked it) as he directed us to a table in the farthest reaches of the dining room. It turned out to be the best room as it happened, populated by lively diners who didn’t quite fit the profile of the quietly spoken, genteel clientele of the main dining area.

As for the food, it was mostly faultless and beautifully presented. Pollock ceviche (£9) looked great and tasted fresh but lacked the zing and fragrant flavours I like in ceviche. Andy’s pan-fried brill with Lyonnaise potatoes, tenderstem & samphire (£28) elicited pleasurable noises, and my seabass with crab & potato cake, ginger-pickled rhubarb, and brown crab sauce (£28) exploded with delicate and surprising flavours. Most unexpected dish of the night, and the week, was caramelia fondant baulois with burnt sorrel cultured cream (£9). Yowzah – what a combo.

Excellent food in borderline staid surroundings; they just need to chill out a little and it could be perfect.
Mont du Boulevard, open daily 18:30 to 20:30; website Tides Restaurant

Mark Jordan at the Beach

Tides could learn from Mark Jordan on the Beach. It’s what a restaurant of a high standard looks like in 2022 – modern, arty décor with relaxed yet knowledgeable staff in open-necked shirts and, shock horror, jeans. On a Saturday night, Mark Jordan’s was packed to capacity. It is Michelin Bib Gourmand rated and not far off being Michelin star standard, but there are flaws – such as the dining service feeling slightly rushed; starters arrived before we barely had time to take a couple of sips from our Prosecco aperitifs.

Seared Jersey scallops, pulled pork, celeriac espuma, truffle and apple salad (£17.50) showed why the restaurant sails close to Michelin star level, it’s a triumphant combination of flavours. Seared tuna niçoise, soy gel, and wasabi mayonnaise (£14.50) came a close second but could have done with the wasabi being more assertive. Mains consisting of honey and five spice roasted duck breast with duck leg cannelloni, caramelised figs and nuts and vanilla jus (£28.50) and breadcrumbed fillet of Jersey brill with sauté potatoes, sauce gribiche, and chive beurre blanc (£29.50) were also tastebud pleasers, although not quite as exciting as the starters.

The desserts – lemon meringue tart (£10.50) and white chocolate and pistachio cheesecake (£10.50), inventive though they looked, didn’t quite live up to their promise. Overall, the best-tasting food of the week.
La Plage, La Route de la Haule; open for dinner Tues-Sun 18:00 to 21:30; website Mark Jordan at the Beach

Sorrento

I can’t quite figure this restaurant out. It has mostly glowing reviews on TripAdvisor, it was recommended locally, and an adjacent table told the owner how wonderful their meal was. But from the moment we stepped into the restaurant, alarm bells started ringing. The décor lacks character for a start. The various staff who dealt with us were friendly, but the service was rushed – more like eating in a fast-food joint.

However, it was the food which really disappointed. Andy’s starter of Parma ham with fresh home-made Cacciotti cheese and focaccia (£13.95) lacked personality. My handpicked crab and avocado (£14.95) was equally dull, the avocado flesh blemished. These starters didn’t justify their hefty price. Main courses were worse; egg tagliolini with black truffle pesto (£17.50) was slop on a plate, the pasta had the consistency of spaghetti hoops. Andy’s beef cannelloni (£15.95) didn’t look like cannelloni, didn’t taste freshly made and, although tasty enough, the texture was rather unpleasant.

I could see dishes coming out of the kitchen and none looked refined or particularly appetising, including those served to the group who declared it ‘wonderful.’ It was a disappointing end to a week of mostly good and sometimes exceptional cuisine.
Le Boulevard; open for dinner daily 17:00 to 21:00