Italy has changed a lot since my first trip backpacking with friends one hot July in the 70s, fresh from A levels. We arrived sleep-deprived in a Transalpino at Milano Centrale, and I can still remember the sensorial hit – a mixture of poetic train announcements, the smell of coffee, and the arms stretched through train windows to pay vendors for salami rolls. Back then the country was still innocent of the culture of consumption that was sweeping across the Atlantic, and four impoverished teenagers could get by on simple pleasures. Our budget covered lunch in a bar: a Toast of ham and cheese, a glass of water, and a 50 lira gettone for the juke box. Et tu by Claudio Baglione was the summer hit – a triumph of plaintive yearning that reached out and grabbed our 18 year old hearts.
Nowadays Italy has inevitably embraced the culture of TV dinners and hyper-choice. I recently came back after three years to find that supermarkets now do a roaring trade in cartons of readymade broth. 15 years ago every self-respecting Italian mother would make her own brodo di carne, and I learned how a piece of chicken (tip-always a wing for flavour), beef, and bone could be simmered to produce an exquisite broth for tortellini. These days some people pay extortionate amounts for 6 tortellini arranged on a plate in a fancy restaurant, but fortunately here in the heartland of Emilia, some grannies still have time to make their own tortellini and broth for a traditional Sunday lunch. As I overheard a shopkeeper say recently, “ la Nonna ha il suo perchè”