A Life Worth Eating

I first ran across a recommendation for this place in Frank Bruni’s NYT article from last October, I think, comparing Emilia-Romagna and Piemonte to see which region is the bigger culinary gem of Italy. The chef, Marco Bottura, is certainly well-known, not only in his own region, but seemingly all across Italy. Other chefs throughout my journey had only good things to say about him. Walking around in Bologna one day, I decided to call and see if I might book a spot there several days later. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re closing after tomorrow evening’s dinner service for ferie (vacation)”. When presented with such a limited time frame in which to check out this restaurant, it became clear that the next evening, I’d better make my way to Modena, which I did, just in time for my 8:30 reservation. I arrived to an empty restaurant, save for one gentleman just finishing his last few courses. Had I immediately outed myself as a tourist by eating at the early-bird hour of 8:30, or was this just a slow night? I may never know, but, hell, what did I care? I had come hungry, and with high expectations. I was ready to be impressed.The menu choice was, as usual, an easy one. Degustazione, please. In this case, I Classici, the classics, priced with the always-annoying convention of da (from) €100. I’ve always hated this pricing scheme, so common with Japanese omakase, for example, but I suppose it does make for more flexibility in crafting the particular meal you feel like eating that evening. They asked how hungry I was, and I jokingly replied something to the affect of, “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Even in my crappy Italian, they got the point. I was hungry. Keeping in mind what I’d read about the chef, I asked them to weave in a little of his wonderful creativity here and there, while maintaining a focus on the traditional cuisine of the area, as this was my first time in Modena. Not a problem, they said, and we were off.

Two types of warm bread were brought out. One white, one whole wheat, both quite good. The first taste of the evening would be the restaurant’s olive oil, from an estate the chef selected himself in Tuscany, near Arezzo, if I remember right. It was just smooth enough to dab liberally on the bread, with a finish spicy enough to let you know it could be a bit more aggressive, too. Very tasty. After tasting the oil, more warm bread was brought out, this time 5 or 6 different types of rolls — ciabatta, rosmarino (rosemary), sourdough, etc, along with some grissini (long, crispy breadsticks). A ll pretty flavorful, though some of the crustier ones verged on being too chewy. I think my favorites were still the thick slices of the first two breads they’d brought out. I figured I should conserve a bit of room, though, as I had no clue how many courses would be coming out. There would likely be plenty of sauces to sop up later on.

The amuse-bouche was fantastic. Spuma di mortadella con gnocco salato farcito di ciccioli di maiale. Mortadella “foam”, a light-as-air puree of the delicious local meat elsewhere bastardized as bologna, with the consistency of a savory whipped cream. Served alongside a fat cube of fried bread filled with a thin, crispy layer of fried pork rind. Ah, and a little dusting of pistachio pieces on the plate for a little more texture and flavor. This was as ridiculously delicious as it sounds. Such a nice start.

First actual course was Caesar salad preparata a Modena in chiave aromatica. Wild greens and herbs, carefully piled alongside two long croutons standing on end, anchored to the plate by an anchovy-spiked, aioli-like dressing. The finishing touch was a tableside shaving of vibrant orange embryonic eggs, only the second time I’d ever seen these (the first was a meal at Blue Hill Stone Barns in New York in the spring). This was a very well balanced dish, I thought, in both texture and flavor. The greens were quite flavorful, and, for me, needed little to no adornment whatsoever, though the salty, crunchy, creamy accompaniments certainly didn’t hurt. I’ve got to agree with a fellow reviewer who called this dish “the finest of expression of nature and its glorious fields – exceptional in its wild spirit”. I’m not quite that much of a poet perhaps, but I, too, thought it was tasty.

Next was the Tortino di porri, cipollotti e tartufi, a wonderfully aromatic mound of creamed leaks and onions with fresh black truffles shaved on top. I hate to use the cliche, but the leeks and onions really melted in your mouth. This dish was phenomenal, and I can only imagine it with the more potent winter truffles. Yet I think I might actually prefer it with the more gentle summer truffles, as their earthiness provided a wonderful backdrop for the creamy leeks and onions without overshadowing their natural sweetness. Just a really harmonious flavor pairing, with no single ingredient singing backup for the others.

Then came a dish I definitely remembered reading about in Bruni’s NYT piece: Cinque stagionature di parmigiano reggiano in diverse consistenze e temperature. Five different ages of parmigiano-reggiano, presented in five different consistencies and and at five different temperatures. At the base was a tepid creamy sauce of 18-month parmigiano. Resting in that was cool, airy whipped cream of 24-month parmigiano, beside a warm sformato of 30-month parmigiano that had, I think, the addition of some fresh ricotta for less grainy texture. On top of the cream was an “air”, or foam, of 36-month parmigiano, and perched above everything was a crispy frico (tuile) made with stravecchio 40-month parmigiano. A dish of both unity and contrast at the same time, I quite enjoyed this. You would think that the same ingredient repeatedly in the same dish could get redundant, but the different textures, temperatures, and intensities of the cheese made this a fun dish to eat from start to finish, as every bite was a new sensation. This was exactly the kind of dish I was looking for from this restaurant, and by that I mean, a dish strictly loyal to local ingredients, but with a creative playfulness that makes it that much more fun to eat.

After this came Foie gras con spuma di Vov e pasta e fagioli in bicchiere, the classic bean-and-pasta soup totally reinterpreted, and presented in a shot glass. The base layer was ultra-creamy foie gras. On top of that was a layer of beans, and then a thick, dark brown puree of what I assumed to be pasta e fagioli soup. Topping it all off was a foam made from Vov, the Italian egg liquer, like a drinkable zabaglione. This dish was as rich as it sounds, and quite tasty. Although, aside from a similar sort of earthiness, I didn’t really like the match of the foie gras with the dark, somewhat grainy beans. The textures just weren’t complementary, in my opinion. Certainly not a weak dish by any means, just not among the better ones of the evening.

Next up was a pasta dish: Pomodoro, mozzarella, e basilico in due ravioli. His take on the classic caprese, Chef Bottura told me as he stopped by the table to chat. Nothing fancy in the preparation of this dish, he said, as 99% of the work had been in looking for the absolute best tomato, mozzarella, and basil he could find. I assured him later that his search had more than paid off. Each of the two ravioli were filled with a whole basil leaf, a piece of quite possibly the sweetest tomato I’ve ever tasted, and a fresh mozzarella so milky and creamy I could have sworn it was actually burrata. Dabbed uselessly in a few spots around the plate were basil puree, tomato puree, and a creamy mozzarella sauce of some sort. These teardrop shapes were a nice touch visually, but were so miniscule that they had little to no affect as a condimento of any kind to the pasta that was already sauced lightly with melted butter. A nice refreshing touch at the end was a shot glass of tomato water (and perhaps a bit of gelatin) with tiny pea-sized balls of fresh mozzarella suspended in it. Good dish. After this course, and recalling the Caesar salad earlier, I certainly now trusted Massimo Bottura the food shopper as much as I trusted Massimo Bottura the chef. He clearly doesn’t mess around in his search for the best ingredients.

More pasta was next, one of the most common recipes in the regional repertoire, Tagliatelle al ragù di Bianca Modenese. Okay, so perhaps the last little bit, about a certain breed of white cows raised in the Modena area, is not so common, but still. Maybe it was the cows, or maybe it was the cook, but this was quite tasty, certainly among the best renditions I had on the trip. He was relieved to hear that I liked it, he told me, as if he can’t do that recipe proper justice, he has no place as a chef in Emilia-Romagna. “È molto importante,” he said.

Time for more meat, this time with the Maialino da latte laccato con anice stellato, arancia e aceto stravecchio di mele. Suckling pig varnished with a delicious glaze consisting of star anise, orange, and 120yr-old apple vinegar. After a pass under the broiler, the glaze had rendered the skin a sweet, salty, crackly, and unctuously fatty delight. So good. The underlying meat, presumably from the shoulder, was moist, and oh-so-tender. There were two small beds of lentils on the plate, along with more of sauce that had been the pig’s glaze, and another kind of lighter sauce I don’t quite remember. This dish was a knockout. I found the flavor combination to be very harmonious, and the cooking spot-on. Good show.

Time for a “cheese course” of sorts, with the Crema di parmigiano-reggiano all’aceto balsamico brulee. A standing spoon was brought out with a single, fat cube of a parmigiano custard (think the consistency of a firm flan), topped with a thin, crackly sweet and acidic layer of bruleed balsamic vinegar. There were but two voices on this track, but they sang well together. Delicious.

As a little pre-dessert, a little shot glass of palate-cleansing chilled cherry soup topped with a white foam made from a liquer whose name I can’t recall. Tasty, but nothing amazing.

Dessert, though, what can I say? Nothing short of fantastic. It was his take on zuppa inglese, Italy’s answer to the trifle, and a dessert quite common in many places I visited. For those curious cooks at home, I actually found the recipe online here. At the base, there was a square-pyramid shaped chocolate gift from the gods. I don’t typically like chocolate so much, but this was stunningly good. As you see mentioned in the recipe, the top square was a thin crackly layer, giving way to the dark chocolate interior of your dreams. Was that texture mousse-like? Cake-like? Brownie-like? Yes, yes, and yes. All of the above. I’m pretty sure this would be a real chocolate-lover to tears, as I was just about there myself. Flanking the pyramid were spongy, tasty savoiardi (ladyfingers), and a quenelle of creamy vanilla gelato. Laid atop all of this were several beatiful scarlet-colored thin sheets of gelatin made from the Italian liquer called Alchermes. With notes of cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla, the liquer yielded quite a flavorful gelee. Also scattered here and there on the plate were strands of fresh lemon zest that served to lift the other flavors that much more. Did I mention I really, really liked this dish? In a meal with many highlights, this stole the show for me.

With my after-dinner caffè came a small tray of piccola pasticceria goodies, which included two types of chocolates, and two types of cookies topped with, of all things, candied tomato. Tasty, if just a touch too savory to close things out. Still, by this point, I was more than satisfied.

Of course I can’t call this a proper review without mentioning the vino:
Ca’ del Bosco, Anna Maria Clementi 1999
Ribolla Gialla, Damijan Podversic 2003
une Mùfe di Piculit dal quatri, Marco Sara 2004 *Delicious. My favorite sweet wine of the trip.*

The food: €110. The wine: €40. The verdict: Very, very good meal. I would (no, scratch that, I will) go back at some point.