Trattoria Fantoni: neighborhood glue

Pleased to make my acquaintance with Via del Pratello 11, a cheery spot so obviously adored by the locals. Hugs are given and received, decanters outnumber bottles, and all the menus are handwritten in a tight cursive ― and dated. For a stranger in these lands, it is a fizz on the brain and a reminder to us non-Italians that a healthy give-and-take with caring local institutions is all that protects us from the Olive Gardens of the world.

Trattoria Fantoni is so quintessentially of Bologna that I was compelled to order one of the city's signature dishes, the tagliatelle al ragu, which doesn't invite exaltation. It is what it is, but I gotta say I'm really into the flat-ish egg noodles after a few days here, and fresh pasta just seems weightier and more satisfying than the stuff I'm used to.

Dessert was a chilled bowl of mascarpone with big chunks of chocolate here and there. I left a modest tip and the proprietress, as is the cafe's custom, rang a bell in celebration. A fan has sketched a very good likeness of her on a piece of corrugated cardboard, and it hangs, framed, on the wall.

Comments

Street art

Mostly playful and juvenile, without the polish and ambition of Porto, yet still one senses that important urban psychodramas are being played out on the ochre walls of Bologna. A mask falls away from a modern-day Madonna living two lives. Unlock your brain and start thinking for yourself, urges a hollow, floating head on Via Manzoni, his eyes, mouth and skull open, providing a kind of hieroglyphic blueprint for doing so. Stickmen cops shoot at one another because ... well, there's a backstory there surely. The impulsive brushstrokes of the neighborhood tribalist are found here in great numbers of course. As in Amsterdam, Brussels and almost every major Western city, they become almost invisible after a couple of days. More accomplished works can be found on the rolling shutters shopkeepers pull down at night, many on the city's west side. A marimba-playing boar by Andrea D'Ascanio, aka Sardomuto. He's from Sardinia. The next four are by Aless

Bar De Marchi

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

Lagniappe

Not exactly a con, but not the real thing either. Spitballin' Larry King-style while waiting for the water to boil: 1. The men's shoe game is strong : suede brogues and slip-on drivers, leather Common Projects sneaks. The gals not so much; lotsa Chucks and flyknit this-and-that nursing kicks. 2. There's a difference between tortellini and tortelloni. The 'loni is bigger. When they rise to the top, they're done. Ninety seconds max. 3. Weed is legal. Well, it's more like hemp. I don't think it has any psychoactive properties. A bridge to the real stuff; won't be long. Gotta go.

336 hours in Bologna

Search This Blog