Beauty of food re-emerges in Italian dining experience

Nation's Restaurant News, Dec 2, 2002 by Nancy Kruse

There's nothing like a vacation to put things in perspective, and this year our timing was impeccable as we embarked on our annual 15-day sojourn to Italy immediately after NRN's Culinary R&D and MUFSO conferences. The former, with its focus on the menu, and the latter, with its spirited debate on obesity, were perfect foils for Italian attitudes on food and diet.

(1) Italians like substantial portions. Much is made of the hefty portion sizes in American restaurants, but Italians don't skimp. While it's true that the main course of meat or fish appears modest by our standards -- largely by virtue of the fact that sides are ordered and plated separately -- just getting to the main course involves some strenuous eating. A hefty plate of pasta is de rigueur as a first course. I was frequently taken aback at the sheer volume of the servings, especially if I'd already indulged in an antipasto, which, also not for the faint of heart, typically features serious portions of local seafood or smoked meats.

(2) They don't fear fat. How could they, when a favorite dish is lardo di Colonnata, taken from pigs specially raised for the toothsome white fat of their rumps? Lardo appears in various guises: in transparent, melt-in-your mouth slices next to the salume on the antipasto platter, as a topping for bruschetta or in generous dollops atop polenta. In the markets it's sold in hunks right next to the cheese. My American sensibility was shocked at its presence in some of the best restaurants, but I was lulled into trying and enjoying it by enthusiastic waiters. Italian waiters, when questioned or challenged, become such passionate advocates that it's virtually impossible to withstand their entreaties. Most of the time they're absolutely right.

Of course, lardo di Colonatta is typically just one small component of a multicourse meal that also may include fish so fresh that it's practically still swimming on the plate and salad so pristine that you literally can taste the color green. Most important, upon completing those repasts, Italians are very likely to take to their feet to return home or to the office. In Verona chic ladies, businessmen and senior citizens pedal bicycles from place to place, and a common sight in even the most vertiginous hill towns is elderly ladies schlepping their shopping bags up the steep slopes.

(3) It's cool to be a waiter, which is as it should be, Servers are blassed to be able to work with food every day, and the very best are true interlocutors between the kitchen and the customer, Bustling Trattoria alla Madonna in Venice has a squadron of white-jacketed professionals to serve hordes of locals and tourists who jam the premises for the signature fresh seafood. My husband claims it's Joe's Stone Crab moved to the Rialto Bride. Our waiter, Renzo, tells us he's been waiting tables for 35 years, and it shows in his articulate body language. A shrug or a twitch serves to steer you away from a questionable option while the right choice elicits smiles, nods and clucks of approval that make both of you complicit in a great eating experience.

(4) They aren't afraid to change. Only a few canals, but many light years, removed from alla Madonna is the spanking new Enoteca San Marco. A tiny but lively wine bar fronts the sleek dining room with its exposed brick walls and Euro-style furniture. The building dates to the 15th century, but the restaurant dates to last April and everything about it is contemporary. The young multinational, multilingual serving staff, which includes a women, sports snazzy khakis and striped shirts. The menu boasts fashionable offerings like tuna steak with sesame seeds, and entrees automatically are accompanied by fresh veggies, unusual in Italy but a smart ploy with the tourist trade.

Despite the trendy touches, the kitchen, which is so small that our waiter dubbed it "a miracle," adheres to Italian tradition by emphasizing seasonal foods and local specialties. And though callow, the wait staff is knowledgeable and leaps at the chance to explain and romance the food.

(5) There's a healthful reverence for food. Nowhere is that attitude more apparent than in Torgiano, a picturesque Umbrian town that houses museums dedicated to both wine and olives. The wine museum, in a lovely 16th century mansion, is beautifully laid our and includes archeological artifacts and works of art that record the centrality of viticulture to Mediterranean life. Around the corner in another artfully restored medieval dwelling is the equally engaging Olive and Olive Oil Museum, a monument to the indispensability of those products and a paean to the intimate relationship of agriculture to Italian culture and cuisine.

Italians have the right idea. Somehow we've lost respect for the bounty of the table; instead, we've substituted an unhealthful obsession with food and made it our enemy.

Faced with such perversity, Renzo would shrug mournfully, shake his head and offer another round of his inimitable seafood risotto.