Hopelessly lost in Modena, walking in circles and shivering in the rain, I was five minutes away from taking the train back to the comforts of my Bologna hotel room and completely giving up on the idea of lunch that day. I wasn’t suffering from hunger by any means. My vacation activities are pretty much single-mindedly food-centered -- I easily could (and probably should) nix one meal. Oh, but I’d come so far! I’d made this reservation for Hosteria Giusti four months ahead, by reading homemade, semi-phonetic Italian cue cards, no less. Then again, I was almost late, and my cold, tired body began to trump my will for even one more amazing gastronomic experience. Imagine my relief four minutes later to spot Salumeria Giusti.
A man was rolling down the salumeria’s metal door for the afternoon siesta as I hurried across the street to inquire about an hosteria with the same name. He shook his head; said I needed a reservation. I assured him of mine. He spoke to a woman inside the dark shop, who then asked my name. Don’t know how she knew it off the top of her head, but she did. The man motioned for me to quickly duck through the partially rolled-down door and clicked it shut behind us.
Inside, the salumeria was dark and quiet. Really dark. And really quiet. Following the couple through the shop, I barely made out shapes of salami and hanging prosciutto; the smell of formaggio, however, was undeniable and wonderful. We walked behind the counter, through a small doorway, and into a hall that just might’ve survived the Middle Ages. This place was astoundingly cool and yet I thought, “What the hell am I doing? If I am killed, no one will ever find my body.” Just then, at the end of a small stairway, the woman opened a door and welcomed me into the most charming hosteria in Emilia-Romagna. The heavenly aromas and jovial chitchat seemed to fill the dining room to the brim and gush out into the hallway each time the door opened. It was as if the wooden door was holding in all that cheer lest it squanderingly leak into the gray streets of Modena. Big job for one little door.
There were only four tables in the hosteria, and one was mine! My heart raced -- the anticipation was almost too much. My server spoke English, which was helpful. (Food words in Italian I had down cold; sentence structure and most other words were my weak spots.) Signor Morandi Adriano bounded up to the table to welcome me and ask (in Italian) what I would like to eat. That was easy -- anything & everything. The more Sig. Adriano talked, the more my Italian kicked in. Finally! I couldn’t respond well, but I knew what he was saying.
Sig. Adriano asked where I was from; when Seattle came up, he excitedly inquired if I knew Mario. While I know of Mario Batali, I don’t know-know Mario. He left the table for a moment and returned proudly with one of Mario’s cookbooks, as if that might clear up any confusion. Then he asked if I knew Mario’s pappy. Well, that I did. I’d recently dined with a handful of Washington winemakers in the back room of Salumi, Mario's pappy's place. Just to be sure we were talking about the same person, I said, “Armondino?”
“Si!” he said with delight, “Just a minute, just a minute.” He left the table again, for quite a while this time. Upon returning, he held out a crumpled blue object and said, “Would you take this hat back to him?” I laughed and gave him my word.
Before the first course was served, two lovely gentlemen from the adjacent table filled my glass with bubbly from their magnum. One of them, Paolo, mentioned he was an international wine distributor that works in Seattle regularly. That explained the huge bottle of sparkling on a Thursday afternoon, but not the curious coincident of another Modenesi in this tiny place tied to Seattle. Nonetheless, it was mighty thoughtful of them to share.
First course: Gnoccho fritto con affetati - Fried pastry pillows layered with proscuitto e culatto. Crisp, light as air and delicious with the sparkling wine.
Second: Ravioli ricotta e spinaci - ravioli filled with ricotta and spinach.
Third: Tagliatelle with asparagus
Entree: Arrosto di Vitello with potato puree & zucchini caponata
Dessert: Blackberry Crostata - a local specialty.
Espresso - Perfect espresso in a perfect little cup. Perfect.
Sig. brought one of his other guests, Claudio, over to my table. He introduced Claudio as a member of the Cavicchioli family, who produces some of Modena’s premier Lambruscos. I, of course, was introduced as the chef from Seattle who knows Mario and is returning Mario’s pappy’s hat. (An honorable title.) Interestingly enough, but not really surprising by this point, Claudio also does business in Seattle. I began to wonder if I’d stumbled upon a covert Seattle/Modena club, which turned into musings of a cleverly hidden door somewhere in the vicinity that could transport one straight into Pike Place Market or the back room of Salumi -- you know, like the conservatory/lounge secret passageway in the board game Clue.
Sig. gave me a quick tour of the small kitchen on our way back to the ancient hallway. Up the stairs, through the doorway, around the counter, and into the still-darkened salumeria where his wife was slicing salami. A quick photo, traditional kiss-kisses, and I thanked him profusely for the best meal of my life. Sig. presented me with a bottle of Claudio’s Lambrusco as the metal door was rolled again to the halfway mark, letting in a smidgeon of light. I repeated the quick duck underneath the door, but in reverse this time, toward the sidewalk. The door rolled down and clicked shut behind me, ending the experience in the same brisk manner it began.
Alone, once again, in the silent, drizzling streets of Modena, but this time, utterly content and filled to the brim with delight. Like the little wooden door, my body tried to hold in all that cheer, lest it burst out in the form of a suspiciously pleasured smile or a happy dance.
Back in Seattle, walking into Salumi, I held out the hat to Armondino. His expression was priceless. He chuckled and said, “Well, that thing has been around -- how in the world did you get hold of it?”
(btw: As far as I could tell, nothing resembled a secret passageway.)
April 2005
