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We were surprised to find out that Mantova has canals. We hadn't noticed them the last time. Then again, last time we were only passing through on a day trip instead of staying the weekend. This time we had the chance to see more, eat more, and explore more. And kill more mosquitoes in one hotel room than one would think possible.

As they most often do, our formidable discoveries involved food. Food that you've never had; foods you didn't know existed; and foods you really shouldn't be eating in the first place. No, really. We shouldn't have been in the private workers club eating lunch. They told us so, but then let us in anyway.



Apparently, the club could have been fined several thousand euro for allowing non-members to enjoy their delicious lunch. We certainly stood out when we walked into a dining room that until our conspicuous entry had been populated by what were clearly workers on their lunch break. Grown men sitting at tables, eating and not really talking. Looking up to stare at the strangers.

Eventually conversation took hold and the dining room got noisy; women and desserts joined the tables; café was ordered. We had a great meal in a place we hadn't expected. It's a fresh sensation to be somewhere and know for a fact that you're the only strangers. That you are the fly in their honey. And that they welcome you anyway.

One of Mantova's specialties, among many, is mostarda. Mostarda is a syrupy chutney-like sauce comprised of mustard-infused candied fruit. It's the perfect accompaniment to strong cheeses and boiled meats. And one of the unique features of Mantovan mostarda is that theirs is generally made with one type of fruit rather than the standard mixed variety. Thus, an apple variety, a squash version, a cherry one and so on.



We came to a small salumeria owned by a man named Giovanni who told us that his whole life has been lived in a salumeria. His commitment is obvious in his shop. The walls are lined with large containers of mostarda of every variety, salami hang in the window and cheese is laid out en masse. The mostarda is the real highlight - a spicy apple variety being the perfect highlight to a nice strong cheese. Especially when it's served by Giovanni himself on a sheet of wax paper with a toothpick to keep it all together.



But back to the things some of us won't eat. And some of us will. Horse. I won't name names but certain people in our party were very happy with their traditional Mantovan cuisine featuring horse. Others of us, adventurous enough to dare more than one spoonful of the restaurant's searing hot mostarda, did not indulge. Regardless, the restaurant itself and our seats outside among Italian families and friends, gave us all a great Saturday night.

The walk back to the hotel after dinner was a late spring treat - thick jasmine clouds hung over the sidewalk and bicycles whizzed here and there. Families rode to gelaterias filled with what must have been half of the town, spilling out on to the streets, eating their cones in a jumbled group. I held hands with my dinner date - and it wasn't Stefano. He was busy talking with our favorite Texan.



Mantova is a really great place. The food is excellent, the people are nice, and the bicycles never stop riding by. I could live there. Really. But I don't think I'm budging on the horse issue. I'll stick to private clubs and mostarda for my Mantovan thrills.

parma is for eaters

Parma is an easy hour and ten minutes away from Milan. The train ride was picturesque, zipping past early-morning hunters combing through fields with their dogs at their sides, and the colors of fall blurring into a general warmth and glow that filled the windows. Parma is also a very familiar name. If you've heard of Parmesan cheese or Parma ham you've heard of Parma; both items were born here.



The city of Parma feels small but not too small. There's a river, appropriately named the Parma River, running through the western side of the city and a beautiful Duomo. There is also a magnificent octagonal Baptistry; four stories high and finished in the 13th century, it's pink marble and elaborate details give it more personality than most. In the Palazzo Pilota - which was built in the 1500's and restored after heavy damage during in World War II - there was an exhibit on medieval life in Parma, complete with digital imaginations of both church services and a Medieval market. Among many objects equally-aged and impressive there were books scribed in 1100 AD and priests' vestaments almost 800 years old.

There's a lot to see in Parma but we'd be lying if we didn't quickly admit to being there for the food. Most of our weekends are spent in search of new and wonderful Italian foods. It's a true wonder that both of us haven't been rolled away to the fat farm. And this weekend did nothing to weaken our candidacies.

We had lunch at the Gallo d'Oro (Golden Rooster) and didn't pull any punches. There was the local wine - a fizzy red by the name of Lambrusco - that was perfect for a drizzly afternoon. Stefano took the opportunity to indulge in a local specialty that's not easily found: culatello. It's a type of ham that is so specifically made and in such an odd way that the authorities have made it difficult for it to come to market. This ham was accompanied by fried puffs of dough that were light, airy, and decadent. To start, I had the finest parmigiano risotto I've had to date. Go figure. It was creamy and savory, with traces of onion and a complex spectrum of flavors from the cheese.



Mixed homemade ravioli followed for Stefano - there were the squash variety, sweet but still savory, also those with a pesto filling with more of a punch, and then a spinach variety that let the others shine. Eggplant parmigiano followed for me - the oven's flames had rendered the cheese crusty and smokey, with the eggplant nearly melting in your mouth. For dessert, there was a cheese course highlighting a pecorino with a gentle bite that lingered on the tongue. Zero complaints here.

But I do have a comment. The lady sitting next to us, who had nodded a "buon giorno" our way as she sat down, was eating something that I can safely say I would never eat. Ever. It was horse carpaccio. Americans by and large are not conditioned to the idea that horse is for eating. For riding, for plowing... Yes. But not for chewing. This lady had a plate full of red, ground, raw horse meat. And she ate about 3/4 of it before stopping. We now know who shops at the horse butcher we'd passed earlier in the day.

But back to the flights of fancy that swirl through dreams and coffee breaks - handmade chocolates, artistic pastries, and miniature cakes.



I am happy to report that despite an appalling lack of info in the guidebooks, Parma is full - and I mean 100% pieno - of pasticcerie and chocolate shops. It's hard to walk a block without tripping past at least one mouth-watering display window filled to the gills with terribly delicious sweets. And apparently these shops take their art seriously; Parma gets credit as the only city in Northern Italy that has thus far scolded me for immortalizing a window display with my trusty camera. Not easily dissuaded, Stefano proceeded to indulge in candied peel covered with dark chocolate.



There was even what we are now calling the greatest candy shop in the world. It was a small space - maybe the size of a teenager's bedroom - and it was crammed, floor to ceiling, with every kind of sweet imaginable. Was there an Italian candy or chocolate you'd wanted to try? Rest assured, it's here. Whether you can reach it is another story but there was a man there who between helping people reach the sweets, was helping us try the different candies.



The place was filled with customers and there was a pleasant commotion, kind of like Santa's workshop. What's not to like when you've got Italian chocolates in your mouth, a basket of Italian candy in hand, and a room of delights left to plunder? I'm not embarrassed to say that we spent enough in that small room to buy our round-trip train tickets and then some. Life's about the little things. Including lots of little candies.



There was a gentle drizzle for part of our day in Parma. I like the way a little rain makes the streets shine, and the statues a little more mysterious. I also like the way Italians work to avoid contact with the weather. I can't remember ever seeing a person in the United States riding their bike while also holding up an umbrella. I always thought you had to choose one or the other. If you want to ride your bike in the rain, you get wet. If you want to use an umbrella, you don't get on your bike. But not in Italy. In Italy you get to do both.

Kind of like the way you get to eat more than one dessert. Italy's nice that way.