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Ristorante Nino

As a stranger in a strange land, I always feel a bit adrift, not above relying on the unearned sympathy of strangers who feel sorry for the guy who can't hold up his end of the conversation. Welcomed by the staff at any food establishment in Bologna, however, the dynamic shifts in my favor. I am safe and invincible, cocooned by an unassuming professionalism.

Waiters here have invariably addressed me in Italian and not baby English, and that means a lot. To a fault they have been impeccably polite and unobtrusive, patiently waiting for me to raise an index finger for dessert, for coffee, for il conto. How refreshing it is not to be assaulted with a "How's everything tasting? or a "Are you still working on that?" At his most gregarious, a Bologna waiter might approach from the side, bend slightly at the waist without making eye contact and ask in a near-whisper, "Va bene?" before quickly retreating. It is a pro move. We are co-conspirators.

Nino's Tomino piemontese bardata allo speck con verdure grigliate.

Yes, sir, everything has been great. This win streak remained intact today at Ristorante Nino at 9 Via Volturno, steps away from the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, which is still closed seven years after the earthquake. A dome of melted Tomino cheese, insulated from below by a rectangle of seared golden pepper, wears a cap of charred, smoked fatback. Grilled zucchini, leeks and tomato complete a rose window fit for Santa Maria.

The Contadina.

"Voglio di piu," I tell my accomplice, and out comes an oniony Contadina pizza with sausage and mushrooms. Upon completion, my brain whistles the two-minute warning. A couple of jagged shortbread cookies with blackberry preserve filling, on the house, accompany my espresso. It is an evil city.

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