Ingredients:

Cannellini beans, canned or already soaked

Red onion, sliced in thin, long strips

Garlic, finely chopped

Parsley, coarsely chopped

Raisins

Salt

Black pepper

Heat olive oil over medium heat and then add red onion. When onion becomes soft and translucent add garlic and let sizzle for about a minute. Then add drained and rinsed cannellini beans, parsley and raisins. Add a pinch of salt and black pepper to taste. Cook for about five minutes, until beans are soft, then serve.

During my first day of orientation in Bologna, I had numerous people explain to me that Spaghetti Bolognese does not exist. It was the first thing I needed to get straight if I was hoping to have a successful year in Bologna. It turns out that Spaghetti Bolognese, spaghetti topped with a watery, tasteless tomato sauce and ground beef, is actually Tagliatelle al ragù, fresh egg pasta with a rich, deeply flavored meat and tomato sauce.

Bologna, La Dotta, La Grassa e La Rossa, (the Learned, the Fat, and the Red) certainly lives up to its nicknames. La cucina bolognese is hearty, heavy and based on meats, pastas and other fatty, rich foods, the most famous of the dishes being: Tagliatelle al ragù, tortellini in brodo, tortelloni stuffed with ricotta, meat lasagne, and a myriad of salumi and other meats.

The best tagliatelle al ragù that I’ve tried so far was at Ristorante Biagi in Via Savenella when my parents came to visit over Christmas break. The noodles melt in your mouth and the meat has a deep, robust flavor to it—my mother thought it might have been boar.

One of my favorite places to grab a quick bite to eat in Bologna is at the famous and historic Tamburini in Via Caprarie—a specialty shop with salumi, cheeses, homemade pastas, etc. and during lunch they have a delicious and affordable buffet with traditional Bolognese dishes, my favorite of which are their tortelloni stuffed with ricotta and topped with a butter sage sauce, and the meat lasagne.

La cucina bolognese is about as rustic as it gets, based on simple, traditional flavors and rich ingredients. Considering that Bologna is often considered the culinary capital of Italy, I must say I have been disappointed with the food. Every single trattoria, osteria and ristorante in the city serves an almost identical menu. The only restaurant I’ve been to with creative and innovative cuisine was Ristorante Al Cambio in Via Stalingrado, recommended by Mario Batali, and quite a bit outside of the historical center of the city.

The bolognesi, however, seem to be extremely satisfied with their cuisine and for the most part, have no desire to eat anything else. Maybe only those who have been raised on such a creative, varied cuisine, such as I was, and most American are, find la cucina bolognese boring and stagnant, even if it is, of course, delicious.

This is one of my favorite healthy, hearty winter dishes. I love the mix of colors, textures and flavors.

Ingredients:

Red onion, sliced in long, thin strips

Fennel, sliced thinly

Yellow pepper, sliced

Leaks, sliced

Garlic cloves, left whole in their skins

Tomatoes, left whole

Fresh parsley, finely chopped

Salt

Black pepper

Coat a baking dish with olive oil and then add the fennel, pepper, onion, and garlic cloves (make sure they are coated in oil first) and then sprinkle with a healthy amount of parsley, salt and black pepper, add another splash of olive oil and stir well. Cook in the oven at a high temperature. Add the leeks later, after 10 minutes or so, as they tend to cook more quickly and burn easily. About 5 minutes before the dish is ready, coat the tomatoes in olive oil and sprinkle with salt and then place in the dish with the other vegetables. When the skin starts to wrinkle and split, test with a fork to see if soft all the way through. Serve over polenta.

For polenta:

Instant polenta

Butter

Garlic, finely chopped

Use three parts water to one part instant polenta. Bring water to a boil and then lower to a simmer. Pour polenta into the water in a steady stream, stirring constantly to avoid chunks. It takes only seconds for the water to absorb and the polenta should be thick and shouldn’t stick to the sides of the pot. Add a large chunk of butter and chopped garlic and stir. Serve immediately.

Ingredients:

Fennel, sliced into long, thin strips

Sausage

Peperoncini (hot red pepper flakes)

Salt

Parmesan, grated

Heat olive oil over medium heat and when hot add fennel. Cook for a few minutes until it begins to soften and become translucent. Then add peperoncini and let cook for a few more minutes until fennel is completely soft. Remove the plastic skin covering the sausage and then use your hands to break it into small chunks, adding it to the fennel and hot pepper flakes. Add another splash of olive oil and season with salt to taste. Add to cooked, drained penne and stir over high heat for a minute. Top with freshly grated parmesan and serve.

Ingredients:

Couscous

Dried apricots, sliced

Pine nuts

Fresh rosemary and sage, chopped

Olive oil

Salt

Black pepper

I use instant couscous as it is much easier to prepare and still delicious. Add three parts water to one part couscous and bring to a boil, then let simmer until all the water has been absorbed and the couscous is light and fluffy. In the meantime, roast the pine nuts in a dry skillet over low heat, making sure not to burn them. In another skillet add olive oil and when hot add herbs and let sizzle for a minute or so. Then add apricots and roasted pine nuts and let cook for a few minutes. When the couscous is finished, combine with apricots and pine nuts in an oven-safe dish and add salt and pepper to taste. You can also add more oil if the couscous looks dry. Cover with tinfoil and put in the oven for 5 or so minutes and then serve.

Last night for dinner I made my first curry with the spices I brought back from Morocco. As I stirred the curry powder into the sizzling onions and slowly added the coconut milk and chicken, I let my mind wander back to the streets of Fes. The day I arrived with my parents I couldn’t wait to try the food, to taste flavors so different from those I had eaten for four months. I had the best meal of the whole trip that first day in the Riyadh where we stayed in Fes; maybe it was because I was starving after the flight from Milan, or maybe because everything tasted so new.

I ordered a chicken tajine with preserved lemons and olives and devoured it within minutes, scooping up the remaining caramelized onions with bread. I think that might have been the only meal I truly enjoyed in Morocco. Before arriving, I had images of dishes that I never once saw during our ten-day trip. In my imagination I confused Greek, Turkish and other Mediterranean cuisines with Morocco—picturing spinach with thick, sweet yogurt, falafel, and pistachio baklava. Instead I found two dishes—tajine or couscous.

Every night as we entered a new restaurant, the waiters (who had obviously been dressed by the manager for tourists, like us, in their silk uniforms and pointed slippers) would seat us at a low table, draped with embroidered cloth, and we would relax onto the long benches piled with cushions. A new face would great us each evening with the same line: “Tonight we have chicken or lamb tajine with our very special forty-four spices, or couscous.” Some nights, when we were lucky, there was also the option of pastilla, a flaky pastry crust stuffed with chicken, quail or pigeon and topped with cinnamon and sugar. There were also the Moroccan salads—spicy eggplant, chickpeas in oil, cabbage, olives—but these were only a starter. The only other dish I encountered was a soup with tomatoes, chickpeas and rice.

I thought it strange that we had found such little variety in the Moroccan cuisine. Each day as we wandered the meandering, narrow streets of the medina, we came across market after market, the ground strewn with vegetables and vendors perched over sacks stuffed with beans, dried fruit and olives. Why weren’t these ingredients in any of the dishes we tried?

This became one of the main jokes of the trip. Each evening before dinner my sister and I would ask each other, “Tajine or couscous? Chicken or lamb?” laughing and then wincing slightly at the thought of yet another tajine. After stuffing ourselves with tajine and couscous in Fes and the Sahara Desert, when we reached Marrakech, we, and our stomachs, couldn’t imagine anything better than pizza. For the next four days we ate Italian, French and Thai food—anything besides tajine.

It took me a month to work up the courage to open my spices, knowing that the smell might never leave my kitchen. The curry, unfortunately, was not fantastic, slightly bitter and tangy, but as always, my boyfriend smiled and said reassuringly, “buono.” It actually made me miss the tajine and couscous, but only for a moment.

Ingredients:

Dried Figs sliced into small pieces

Peperoncini (hot red pepper flakes)

Freshly squeezed lemon juice and chopped lemon zest

Red onion finely sliced into long strips

Cook red onion in olive oil until translucent. Then add hot pepper flakes and let cook for about a minute. Add the pieces of fig and then the lemon juice and zest. Cook over low heat, making sure that the figs don’t burn. Once figs are soft, add to cooked and drained pasta and top with freshly grated parmesan.

I have been in Bologna for five months now and have rediscovered the importance of food in my life. I’ve come to the realization that my major, art history, is too abstract, too distant from my personal life. I want my work to be a part of my life– not something I come home from at the end of the day and want to escape for the evening. I want to use my hands and work with people and feel that what I am doing is an integral part of me, which has led me to the realization that my calling could be in the wonderful world of food.

I’ve always had a passion for eating and have often been called a food snob. I was spoiled by my parents’ creative, delicious cooking when I was growing up. In the last few years I’ve watched as my mother has continued to grow and explore in the kitchen, making homemade ricotta and herb ravioli, squash and fontina pizza, pesto from her garden. Her method of cooking used to drive me crazy; every time I asked for a recipe she would respond, “oh you know, cook it until it looks done.” My father on the other hand, true to his personality, likes to follow recipes and measure ingredients, while my mother does everything by feel and look.  As I have become more comfortable in the kitchen I have become more like her– just doing what feels right and trusting my instinct.

Only in the past year and a half have I learned how to cook. Last year I lived in an apartment with my best friend who has a deep passion for cooking– it is her way of nurturing and expressing her love. She taught me the basics and from there I started experimenting. Before, I had always seen cooking as a hassle– the only times I had had to cook was when I was living alone and I found no pleasure in cooking for myself so I usually reverted to basic salads or pasta. I only discovered the joy in cooking when I was cooking for someone else. Even when I had hours of reading and papers to write, I would find the time to put together a three course meal for us, knowing how much delight it would bring her. We alternated nights cooking for each other– I learned from her healthy, creative, experimental cooking with ingredients I had never tried before, and she learned from my Mediterranean and hearty palate.

When I first met her she was a strict vegetarian and I was wavering back and forth. I hadn’t eaten red meat since I had lived in India for three months in 2006 but I never labeled myself as a vegetarian, trying to be flexible when I traveled. We cooked only vegetarian dishes and I learned to cook vegetables and grains in more ways than I knew were possible. Only before coming to Bologna did I begin to re-introduce meat into my diet. I have started eating chicken, some seafood, sausage and pork again but still haven’t tackled my fear of beef.

Three months ago I decided to leave my boyfriend of two and a half years to start a new relationship. I never cooked for my ex-boyfriend. We rarely saw each other since he lived across the ocean from me and when we did we spent most of our time eating out. I was afraid to cook for him because I knew he wouldn’t like my food. He only ate meat, potatoes and pasta and had no interest in exploring new foods or flavors. I longed to cook for him, to have his approval, but never found the courage or a common food.

In my new relationship, cooking has become my main activity. I remember saying to my best friend that I was afraid to cook for him for the first time because I wanted so badly for him to like it. She reassured me that he would love my cooking, that she so missed my food and had made many of my dishes from our year together for her boyfriend. The first time I cooked for him I made him a pasta dish that has remained his favorite:

Pasta with pancetta, red onion, fresh herbs and panna (cream)

-Slice red onion thinly into long strips. Cook in olive oil until translucent then add small cubes of pancetta. As pancetta begins to cook add finely chopped sage and rosemary. When finished (takes only minutes for the pancetta to cook), add to the cooked and drained pasta and add panna, stirring over high heat for a minute. Serve immediately.

There is nothing healthy about this pasta and that’s exactly why I decided to make it for my Sicilian boyfriend. The rich flavor of the pancetta fat, oil and cream is balanced by the hint of fresh herbs. He loved it and since then I have gone on a cooking spree, introducing him to foods that he doesn’t even know the names for and that I can only find in the market and not in the grocery store . I have made him squash stuffed with pesto and tomatoes; red lentils with parsley over basmati rice; beets with fresh mint and a lemon vinaigrette; roasted sweet potatoes with herbs; kale with raisins and walnuts, as well as more traditional pasta dishes such as penne all’amatriciana (a spicy tomato sauce with pancetta); an eggplant and tomato sauce; and gramigna alla salsiccia (a Bolognese specialty with sausage, onion and cream). Each time he takes his first bite he looks at me and nods, “buono.”

This second semester in Bologna I have changed my focus from art history to food anthropology. I am doing an independent study with Massimo Montanari, the country’s expert in food anthropology and reading his books: “La Fame e l’abbondanza,” “Il cibo come cultura,” “Il formaggio con le pere” and “La cucina italiana.” I am also starting an internship for a magazine on food, Degusta. My boyfriend was the one to suggest that I should start a food blog with my recipes and cooking but also reviewing the many restaurants I eat in during my year here in Italy, so here I am, beginning my adventure with food in Bologna.