Our guide, Casimo, visibly sighed when I asked the question. How many times had he been asked about James Bond when he was attempting to share serious insights into life in what was a fascinating and unique city? A lot as it happened.

He might have sighed, but once he started down the Bond road, he was off and running with juicy and amusing snippets that were gold nuggets to a double O seven aficionado such as myself.

James Bond and Matera

Matera was no stranger to Hollywood when the Bond circus rolled into town to film No Time to Die, the final instalment of Daniel Craig’s tenure as Britain’s super spy. It played the part of the Amazonian city in Wonder Woman. In that instance, it looked so fantastical it didn’t register as a real city. Now, when I look at images from the movie, I can identify Matera … just.

It was considered suitably Biblical for Mel Gibson’s The Passion of Christ. Matera does look Biblical; a rock city carved into bleached limestone cliffs. Cave houses, looking as though they have been constructed on top of each other, make up the Sassi, a troglodyte warren of homes, hotels, apartments, churches, monasteries, and hermitages, mostly accessed via a potentially bewildering network of narrow alleys and uneven cobbled steps, some of which lead to dead-ends. It is a maze of a city. In a way, Matera’s Sassi reminded me of a more robustly constructed version of the tumbledown villages of Morocco’s Atlas Mountains.

Despite their fame, or notoriety, neither film had the impact of Bond.

‘One in three visitors who come to Matera are here because of the Bond movie,’ Cosimo told us, shaking his head, still marvelling at the stats. One in three people. It’s incredible. But I understand why. When I saw the background to No Time to Die’s opening sequence, I wanted to be there, to stand in Bond’s shoes. It looked like one of the most incredible places I’d ever seen. And, as this was Bond and not a world conjured up by DC Comics, it really existed. Or so I believed.

Matera, is it just an illusion?

When we heard we were to visit Matera, I hatched plans for channelling my inner Bond by taking a moody selfie on the old bridge across the ravine that links Matera with the rock cemetery where Bond visits the tomb of Vesper Lynd. However, researching exactly where the bridge was located, I discovered there was no old bridge across the ravine. The one featured in the movie was at Gravina, sixteen miles away. It was grafted onto scenes of Matera by the filmmakers. Amusingly, I’ve since seen a specialist UK holiday company use images of the non-existent Matera bridge to promote trips to the rock city on their website. Their customers might be in for a wee shock when they get there.

Cosimo shattered a few other illusions. The cemetery itself doesn’t exist, at least not the way it looks in the film. The hotel where Bond and Madeleine stayed was also a Hollywood construct.

As well as playing fast and loose with architectural reality, the moviemakers caused havoc in Matera, arriving to shoot scenes at the height of the tourist season, shutting down streets for the ubiquitous Bond car chase. Restaurants located on these streets had to close for the duration of filming, not that their owners complained too much; they were paid a hefty sum for every day they couldn’t open. If restaurants in the Sassi look immaculate and freshly decorated, it’s because their owners invested some of the generous ‘compensation’ received from the filmmakers to carry out renovations.

Matera’s ancient streets proved a challenge when it came to filming the car chase, the cobbles were simply too slippery for wheels to gain a traction, resulting in a couple of Aston Martins crashing. The solution? 8,400 gallons of Coca-Cola were sprayed onto the cobbles, the sticky liquid enabling the cars to finally get a grip. Filmmakers say the streets sparkled by the time the soft drink was cleaned off. What they didn’t reveal was that its corrosive qualities also resulted in some erosion.

Reality versus the cinematic version

You might think learning what went on behind the scenes could remove some of the gloss. It is true parts of Matera don’t look exactly the same as they do on the big screen in No Time to Die. However, having watched the film again, the reality is there’s more to Matera, not less, than viewed in the film. And while No Time to Die has boosted the number of visitors, Matera’s relatively difficult-to-navigate, steepish, and uneven narrow streets keep the masses out of much of the Sassi.

Even without the magic of the movies, Matera is one of those extra special destinations, exceeding expectations and then some. Go visit, unlock the Bond within, but leave the Aston Martin at home.

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.

What set Parma apart from its neighbours, and established a reputation as a well to do, somewhat superior city was when Pope Paul III created the title of the Duchy of Parma as a buffer between the Church states to the east and Spanish-held Lombardy to the west, which he gave to his son, Pier Luigi Farnese. For the following two hundred years, the Farnese family invested in Parma’s development, making it a centre for art and culture. Its air of superiority was fuelled further when Napoleon’s wife, Marie Louise was assigned the Duchy in 1815, bringing French and Austrian influences; croissants and sachertorte (an Austrian cake) are popular in Parma as a result.

This legacy has resulted in an attractive and elegant city whose inhabitants are well-dressed, even by Italian standards, and have a love of culture and gastronomy; Parma has UNESCO Creative City of Gastronomy status. For all its haughty reputation (an accusation levelled by Parma’s neighbours) it is a friendly, interesting, and tastebud-pleasing place to spend time in. To get a feel for the place, head to Strada Farini early evening and do what the locals do, order an aperitif, sit back, and soak up the atmosphere of a great Italian city.

The Main Attraction – The Duomo & the Baptistry

On Piazza del Duomo are two classic historical beauties. The Santa Maria Assunta Cathedral (free entry) dates from 1074 and deserves a visit whether anyone is interested in religious architecture or not. Highlight of the impressive structure is Correggio’s controversial painting, The Assumption of the Virgin, which decorates the dome of an apse near the altar. It might look murky from way below, but drop €2 into a coin slot beside the apse and the painting of the heavens is illuminated in all its glory. Next door is the octagonal Baptistry of San Giovanni Battista whose pink Verona marble façade positively blushes in the soft sunlight.

Cultural hot spot – Farnese Theatre

Located within the Palazzo della Pilotta (€12 entry – including the National Gallery and National Archaeological Museum), the Farnese Theatre is quite magical. It is more than a theatre, it is a work of art. Completely constructed from wood, plaster, and straw, it is a miracle it still exists. When its inaugural show Mercury & Mars took place in 1628, it’s claimed it was the first opera performed in Italy. It’s an incredible theatre, the sort of venue you’d expect all the world’s great plays to have been staged. Yet in the hundred years after its inauguration, there were only another eight performances. In 2012, after three centuries of inactivity, it opened its doors to the public once again.

Away from the crowds – Piazza San Bartolomeo

Duck down a narrow alley opposite Basilica di Santa Maria della Staccata to reach the charming little Piazza San Bartolomeo, home to a small market where locals have purchased fruit and vegetables since the 11th century. It feels like a quirky little piazza, probably because of the presence of the Osteria del Teatro, where dishes are served on vinyl LP placemats, and the Torrefazione Gallo Café, which looks like the sort of joint where writers and poets should hang out.

A taste of Parma – Prosciutterias & Salumerias

Everyone knows about Parmesan cheese (Parmigiano Reggiano) and Parma ham (prosciutto di Parma) but pop into a prosciutteria or salumeria and you’ll quickly discover there are a lot more Parma specialities to wrap your chops around. These delicatessens are where locals do their shopping, picking up a range of cured meats and the best quality Parmigiano as well as pastas, olive oils, plates of roasted vegetables, lasagnas, torta frita … all sorts. And even better, you can sit inside some and sample the goodies. Salumeria Garibaldi on Strada Garibaldi is one of the best.

Favourite eating spot/drinking hole – Strada Farini & Borgo 20 Marzo

Enjoying a post-work aperitif, usually served with snacks, is part of Parma life. Enoteca Fontana on Strada Farini has been a popular spot for imbibing wine since the 17th century, now it’s a watering hole for workers and students. As far as restaurants go, Borgo 20 Marzo has a few good ones, all with contrasting menus. Our pick would be La Forchetta, a modern, stylish restaurant whose chef fuses flavours of the Mediterranean with Emilia Romagna cuisine. It’s a wee bit pricey, but worth those extra Euros. One of their desserts, Violetta di Parma, is a violet-flavoured pudding that is divine.

The quirk – Raw horse meat panini

Back in the 1800s, a disease affecting bovines meant cow meat was unsafe for human consumption. The good people of Parma took to eating carne equine (horse meat) instead, and it became so popular they stuck with it. For some reason, it’s traditionally eaten raw. Pesto di cavallo tastes just like steak tartare, maybe a bit stronger flavour. One of the most unusual ways to eat it is in a panini from Da Pepèn, a hugely popular traditional sandwich shop up a side street. It might not sound appetising, but it is very tasty – I speak from first-hand experience. There are plenty of other options for anyone who doesn’t fancy raw horse in their butties.

Summary

We loved spending time in Parma. It’s an attractive and comfortable city in which to pass the time just wandering old streets, pausing at atmospheric bars to snack and people watch, and popping into artisan delicatessens to pick at pastas, prosciutto, and Parmigiano Reggiano drizzled with balsamic vinegar from nearby Modena. But remember to pack your coolest clothes to try to blend in with the chic locals.

Some cities can be standoffish at first, even slightly moody until you get into their groove. Others are like meeting an old friend you haven’t seen for a long time. Bologna falls into the latter. Despite the fact I have body, style, and looks envy the second I step into Via dell’ Independenza, pedestrianised for the weekend, I feel instantly relaxed, like I’m joining a party where everyone is invited. And that’s what Bologna on a Saturday afternoon feels like, a party. An electric buzz from the milling throng puts beams on our faces. Welcome to the pleasure drone.

There is an air of happy hedonism about the city as we set off toward Piazza Maggiore, the feeling aided and abetted by mermaid statues at the base of Fontana del Nettuno who direct jets of sparkling water from their breasts. It’s just after 2pm and we have a food tour arranged at 3.30pm. But we haven’t eaten since early morning, so some sustenance is essential. Where do you start in a city where food is like a religion?

The Quadrilatero, foodie heaven

In one way, the answer is easy in Bologna. Just aim for the Quadrilatero, a network of narrow streets and slim alleys adjacent to Piazza Maggiore where every establishment sells food to D-I-E for. When there is so much choice of delectable dishes, choosing just one is an impossible task. If I was in a musical, I’d start belting out ‘I want it all, and I want it now’ at this point. We dither our way past cool pavement cafes inhabited by beautiful people picking at mortadella mountains; salumerias decorated with hanging hams and towers consisting of chunky wedges of Parmigiano Reggiano; delicatessens displaying artistically painted boxes brimming with tortellini; a pescheria (fishmonger) outside which two men sit on stools tucking into freshly fried fish while a young couple wrap their mouths around beefy burgers bought directly from the butcher next door. It is overwhelming, in a mouth-watering way. I have never been in a place where there is such an obsession with food, and yet Bologna’s residents remain predominantly slim. Tellingly, I haven’t spotted any international junk food chains. There might be fast food outlets, but they serve top quality fare.

With time dwindling away, stomachs grumbling, and a food tour of the streets we are indecisively meandering through looming ever closer, we turn into Via Calzolerie to see the solution right in front of us, Piadineria la Piadeina. A filled Italian flatbread is prefect for plugging a hole for an hour. Some traditional street food is also a fitting immersion into Bologna’s food scene, the reason for our visit. I order a Nettuno Classiche consisting of mortadella and pecorino dei colli Bolognesi while Andy opts for a mozzarella and tomato cassoni, which is like the toastie version of a piadina. Like many of la Piadeina’s other patrons, we take our seats on the pavement outside and sate our hunger while simultaneously indulging in some serious head-swivelling, admiring fashions that range from the outrageous to the super stylish. It’s a veritable pavement fashion show and the piadina is the best I’ve eaten, not that I’ve eaten a lot. It hits the spot with a satisfying ‘ah.’ Andy gives me a taste of hers, and it is equally delicious, all warm gooey tomatoey cheese wrapped in crisp flatbread. Both are more substantial than we expected, so maybe not the smartest move when we’re about to embark on a food-tasting tour. We’ll just have to smile and swallow. Sacrifices must be made in the line of duty.

At 3.30pm, we meet our guide beside the Fontana del Nettuno. He takes us back into the streets we’ve just emerged from, adding detail, anecdotes, and context to the Quadrilatero’s colourful establishments and characters. We turn a corner, and he stops in front of a place he tells us sells some of the best street food in Bologna. It is Piadineria la Piadeina.

We say nothing, praying the owner doesn’t remember us. At least it confirms we have good judgement when it comes to sniffing out the best places to eat.

It irks me to pay a lot of money for a service which can’t be relied upon, especially after travelling through Emilia Romagna by train, where a reliable service was essential for us to be able to meet our objectives.

Over eight days we caught seven trains, taking in two airports and five cities. The trains weren’t always bang on time, but the frequency and a choice of three different operators covering the same route meant that delays were a minor inconvenience at most. Apart from the Malpensa Express from Milan Central Station to Malpensa Airport, which was a wee bit on the grubby side, trains were modern, clean, and easy for visitors to use thanks to efficient onboard information systems.

Marconi Express from Bologna Airport to Bologna

The day before we were due to fly into Bologna Airport, the Marconi Express wasn’t running due to a strike. Because of the uncertainty, I waited until we landed before committing. That wasn’t a problem, I booked a ticket online (€11 one-way) while walking from baggage reclaim to the station. Within minutes, I was speeding to the centre of Bologna.

The Marconi Express gets a 1.5 out of 5 rating on TripAdvisor, with reviewers complaining it is overpriced, bumpy, and crowded. To me, €11 seemed decent value for getting to the centre of Bologna without any hassle. I didn’t notice any bumps (it’s a monorail) and, at midday on a Saturday in March, there were only a handful of people. But there are only two tiny carriages, so I can see how it gets cramped. After leaving London at a reasonably civilised time, we were enjoying the smells, sounds, and sights of Bologna by 13:00. That’s a good result in my book.

Bologna to Modena

I love it when you get an app that does what it promises. I came to cherish the Trenitalia app during our time in Emilia Romagna. It’s über user friendly.

Emilia Romagna’s main cities lie in a line between Milan and Rimini. Throughout the day, travellers rarely have to wait to long to catch a train south east or north west. We had a choice of three – the high speed Frecciarossa, the most expensive at €16; the Intercity at €9; and the RV regional train, superb value at €4.30. The RV takes longer, just under 30 mins from Bologna to Modena as opposed to 17-20 mins, but it’s still just a hop of a journey. The frequency of trains meant we were able to enjoy a relaxed breakfast knowing we had plenty of options for getting to Modena in time to dump our luggage at the hotel and make a 10:30 appointment.

Modena to Reggio Emilia and back

Travelling to and from neighbouring Reggio Emilia couldn’t have been easier. Again, there were the same three choices – Frecciarossa (€15 each way), Intercity (€8.50), and RV (€3.50) – with the times for each being much the same, 12-15mins. That flexibility gives the traveller greater freedom.

Modena to Parma

By the time we moved from Modena to Parma (same choices, a 30-45 min journey for €18, €10, and €6), we were old hands at travelling along this route. When something works, it doesn’t take long to become familiar with it, and that confidence in the trains makes you want to use them more, especially when you feel you’re getting good value as well, as is the case in Italy.

Parma to Malpensa Airport via Milan

This involved two trains; the route we’d become accustomed to, and from Milan Central to Malpensa Airport T1. For once, and for speed, we used the Frecciarossa (€27.50 and 45 mins) to travel to Milan, the extra cost including a reserved seat and being able to check in online once we’d boarded.

In Milan there was some confusion where the platform for the Malpensa Express was, but there were plenty of staff around to confirm we had the right one. The Malpensa Express (51 mins and €13) was slightly seedy, and train staff warned of thieves, but it did its job. When you’re trying to get somewhere to catch a plane, that’s what matters.

Overall, travelling through Emilia Romagna by train was a reminder just how enjoyable and relaxing train travel can be, which is exactly how it should be in a time when sustainable travel is so important.

As a Brit travelling on spotless, ultra-modern trains for a handful of Euros, I couldn’t help but lament the general unsatisfactory state of train travel in Britain, and mentally curse those responsible for it.

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.

At this point Andy rolls her eyes and says “you say that, but you always wolf it down when we have a pud.”

That’s true as well. I love good puddings. The thing about dessert menus is in some countries they can swing from the divine to the deadly dull, especially in traditional restaurants. You never know which is going to show up. Portugal is a classic example of what I mean. This is a country whose dessert menus are dominated by puddings made from left over egg yolks after nuns have used the whites to starch their wimples. Conventual desserts have novelty value when first encountered, but after numerous occasions discovering all those desserts with odd little names (nun’s belly, lard from heaven etc.) consist of the holy trio of egg yolks, sugar, and cinnamon, it all gets a bit samey. But then, deliciously fruity crumbles, and dreamy, creamy cheesecakes can turn up on a lot of Portuguese menus as well, just to confound expectations.

My least favourite part of a meal is dessert… unless there is something which awakens the sweet-toothed child that slumbers within. And there regularly is, no matter where we travel around Europe.

White chocolate egg, Italy and Portugal
The dessert menu at Mundet, located in the non-touristy town of Seixal on the other side of the Tagus from Lisbon, is inspired by Alice Through the Looking Glass, and does feature goodies suitable for a wonderland setting. Humpty Dumpty involved a white chocolate egg enclosing Mundet’s take on a traditional sponge cake called pão de ló. It was fun, lip-licking tasty, and reminded us of another white chocolate egg dessert which caused a WOW moment, as it was dropped from above diners’ heads to smash into pieces on their plates. That one was at the two star Michelin restaurant Piccolo Lago on the banks of Lake Mergozzo in Italy. All night we wondered why there were sudden outbursts of laughter at tables around the restaurant, until a huge,white chocolate egg whizzed past Andy’s head to explode on her plate, revealing an anarchic splodge of raspberries with banana and caramel ice cream.

Deep-fried ice cream, Glasgow
It is true, the west of Scotland is deep-fried Nirvana – a land of battered sausages and hardened arteries. As teenagers we never thought twice about ordering deep-fried pizzas and Scotch pies from the local chippie after a night on the Tennents. But deep-fried ice cream at Oriental fusion restaurant Opium on Hope Street was a first for me. It consisted of a large ball of vanilla ice cream enclosed in melt-in-the-mouth golden, crispy, batter, drizzled with chocolate sauce and honey; the epitome of sinful dining.

Salt and caramel, La Palma
The first time we knowingly tasted salted caramel was at Jardín de la Sal on the volcanic badlands at fiery Fuencaliente, the site of a brace of volcanic eruptions, the last being in 1971. The restaurant specialises in giving traditional dishes a contemporary reboot. The signature dessert dish (literary as the chef actually signed it using caramel) was as wildly surreal as the surrounding terrain – featuring an eruption of chocolate mousse; chocolate cake; almond ice cream; broken Oreos; dried banana; toasted almonds; passion fruit syrup; yoghurt, and goat’s cheese foam. The salt used to elevate the caramel to the culinary heavens was from the salt pans outside the restaurant. Caramel desserts without salt just don’t make the grade now.

Mountain of cream, Bavaria
There’s no split personality issues with desserts in Germany. This is the country which gave the world the Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte – Black Forest gateau. The problem in Germany is trying to not eat too many delicious desserts. Sometimes a mission impossible. We don’t like to eat a hefty lunch mid-hike, but the desserts at Windbeutelbaron (a mountain lodge en route to the infamous Eagle’s Nest above Berchtesgaden) tempted us right off that path. Their speciality is a puff pastry, fresh cream concoction known as Der Windbeutel which is inspired by the various peaks of the Watzmann Mountains forming the panoramic view from the lodge’s terrace. Each cake is gigantic. We showed some restraint by sharing one, whereas most other customers devoured a mountain to themselves.

Spanish toast in Extremadura
If you like French toast, you’ll love torrijas, the improved Spanish version. The really good ones are as light as air, despite some looking the size of a brick. I could mention a few places where we’ve eaten outstanding examples, but the torrija cacereña at El 13 de San Anton in historic Cáceres gets pride of place as we enjoyed such a good evening there, plus the torrija was accompanied by English cream, coffee ice cream, and Licor de bellota.

Deconstructed classic in Drôme Provençale
According to some online sources, the USA is responsible for the gift that is lemon meringue pie. I’m afraid I’m not buying that story. Other sources attribute it to Victorian England; although nearly everybody accepts a form of lemon tart has been around since way before Columbus crossed the ocean blue. Meringue is a French word, so there’s definitely some French influence. It’s one of my favourite desserts, and when spotted on a menu every other option becomes a blur. The most memorable in recent years was a deconstructed version served in the leafy courtyard of L’entre2, a charmer of a restaurant in a typically Provençal stone house just outside the old centre of Saint-Paul-Trois-Châteaux.

Pure pantomime, Tenerife
It takes some talent when a chef can please the taste-buds and put a smile on your face when you’re suffering from the flu. We’d booked Michelin star El Rincón de Juan Carlos in Los Gigantes months in advance and had spent all day in bed, sleeping, sweating, and shivering etc. after succumbing to some bug picked up thanks to the poor hygienic habits of too many of the guests at a resort hotel we’d stayed at. But there was no way we were going to miss a meal at our favourite restaurant in the Canary Islands. One of the things we enjoy about avant-garde dining is the sense of theatre and fun (see white egg previously). Chef Juan Carlos ended another triumph of a taster menu with a flight of pure whimsy in the shape of a bonsai-sized candyfloss tree. Magical.

Awesome apples, Austria
It’s unfair to pick out one restaurant when it comes to apple strudel as I don’t remember having a bad one anywhere in Germany, Austria, Croatia, or Slovenia; all countries where the dish crops up all the time on dessert menus. We’ve flaked their pastries in roadside cafes, alpine lodges, farmhouses, and bustling city centres. Purely to choose one to illustrate, I’ve opted for Gasthaus Zum Kranz in Freiburg. It was a cosy, convivial, traditional restaurant in the Altstadt whose apple strudel in custard rounded off a tasty introduction this environmentally friendly city’s gastronomy.

Hot and cold in Venice
We expected the gastronomic offerings in Venice to have suffered due to overtourism, just like we’d previously experienced in places like Dubrovnik. We ended up pleasantly surprised both by the quality of the food we ate and the fact that after dark there were nowhere near as many tourists filling the streets. On sultry summer nights good restaurants were far easier to get into than some other popular European cities. Our visit was topped off by a delight of a dessert at Impronta Cafe (not a cafe at all) in the arty Dorsoduro district – mascarpone cheese custard on a meringue waffle with lashings of hot liquorice and star anise sauce. The Italians simply do good food like nobody else.

Hard to beat puds, England
I’m biased, but nowhere in Europe does puds quite as good as Britain. And yet I struggled to come up with a standout one from England. Not England’s fault, it’s just that we don’t spend much time there and when we do it’s usually with family, so desserts don’t often figure. Then I remembered a December day a couple of years ago, sitting by the fire in Yo Olde Nags Head in Castleton with snowy scenes outside the window, good company at my side, a craft ale in my hand, and a bowl with sticky toffee pudding in caramel sauce on the table in front of me. These are the sort of ingredients that make hearty, British desserts difficult to top.