It's small, but fairly well-equipped. Past renters have left some instant coffee, salt, pepper, and, in an Airbnb first for me, turmeric powder and bacche rosa, or pink berry peppers. So all I needed was olive oil, wine and a few other basic ingredients to get going. Maddeningly, there is no cutting board. I hate using a plate for my prep work, because the lip prevents nice clean cuts. So I nursed along a small soffrito of onion, garlic and red pepper, threw in some white-cap mushrooms from the co-op down the street and came up with a creditable paparadelle ai funghi.
I poured a cold Pignoletto from Il Poggio Farm outside Piacenza to see what this white frizzante is all about, and it did not disappoint. In the interest of not coming across as a douche, I will not try to describe its "nose." And a buona sera to you.
Great atmosphere, just a 30-minute walk from the Pratello, and hey, it's quality Serie A football. Fans of the visiting team are kept in a literal cage for their protection. Vendors in the city can be found here (enter "Emilia Romagna" as your region). I got my ticket at L'Occitane Voyages at Via Della Lame 2. Bring your passport. Your name is printed on your ticket so you'll also need some kind of identification at the stadium. The Rosso e Blu fell behind, then boat-raced Empoli in the second half, with all four goals coming right in front of me. On the way home, every scooter on Via Costa tooted its horn.
Piazza Celestini, almost directly in the city center. Good spot for prayin', pastries. I am the least foodie-est person I know and remain shockingly untutored in manners of Italian cuisine, so it's a bit odd that when in Italy I lie awake at night thinking about what I'm going to eat the next day. This country makes you do it. Staring at the ceiling last night it occurred to me that I have never had a sfogliatella (or even a latte macchiato, for chrissake) and was able to remedy those two shortcomings by popping into Il Duca D'Amalfi in Bologna's very pretty Celestini square. Entering this shop, the only thing I knew about sfogliatella is that Christopher Moltisanti thought it worth shooting a pastry clerk over a box of the stuff in Season 1 of "The Sopranos" ― so I really wanted one. As far as the latte macchiato goes, I had no idea I would be afforded the tactile pleasure of pouring my own shot of espresso into a glass of frothy steamed milk. No...
My slender experiences in Italy lead me to believe that the word "bar" signals that a place serves coffee and snacks, and that it also happens to pour wine, beer and aperitifs. This chill pub on Piazza San Francesco got my business today. It is gearing up for a big Liberation Day party coming up Thursday to celebrate the collapse of Fascist rule and the end of the Nazi occupation. Sounds like a simple victory lap in a neighborhood rife with antifa-friendly graffiti, but maybe not. Takeaway alcohol sales have been banned on April 25 previously, so maybe things have gotten out of control, not sure. Motorists in the Pratello are warned that all traffic will be prohibited, and even bicyclists in the neighborhood are advised to vacate the racks. Don't know what that will accomplish or where they’re supposed to put their bikes. On a sunny day, Bar De Marchi is a great place for a cold Pignoletto or a Campari spritz. If you order a birra, they’ll pour you a Dolimiti Pi...
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