From The Sunday Times Travel Magazine, September 2008

Outsiders have always struggled to define Bologna; that’s why they’ve given it so many nicknames: la grassa (the fat); la rossa (the red); la dotta (the learned).

But to its citizens, it’s ‘the town of three Ts’: torri, tortellini e tette (towers, tortellini and tits). This is a city proud of its history, its food – and its looks.

In the Middle Ages, Bologna was among the wealthiest cities in Europe, thanks to its prolific silk industry and its university, the oldest in the West. Families marked their affluence by building towers, sticking them like spears into the skyline as a sharp reminder of their power.

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By the 14th century, almost 200 towers scraped the skyline. Now only 20 are left. The silk industry has also gone, replaced by equally sleek business: Ducati, Ferrari and Lamborghini are all based nearby.

The university, though, remains; and in a city that throbs with the liberal minds of students, the left-wing streak that earned Bologna its ‘red’ soubriquet is alive and kicking. Rebellion mingles with tradition: graffiti framing a fresco of the Madonna; scruffy students sitting beside pearl-clad old ladies; the old bakery, now a modern art gallery.

But life today is lived through the stomach. Only the Bolognesi would draft a law to protect their handmade pasta from industrial imitation. And the mere mention of spaghetti bolognese – a foreign moniker thrust upon their beloved tagliatelle al ragù – is a personal affront.

As the sun cools down in autumn, people keep warm with plates of steaming pasta, while the food markets are piled with enough obscure veg to baffle even Jamie Oliver. Home to prosciutto, balsamic vinegar and Parmesan, the Emilia-Romagna region is Italy’s larder; Bologna is the capital.

BOLOGNA THE FAT

Start at Bologna’s traditional meeting place, sotto il culo (‘under the arse’) – that’s the fleshy posterior of Giambologna’s bronze Neptune, who lords it over his fountain as you enter Piazza Maggiore. The vast, barn-like building opposite – the Basilica di San Petronio – is Bologna’s defiant V-sign to the papacy. Owned by the commune, rather than the Catholic Church, it not only dwarfs the official Cattedrale di San Pietro (on Via dell’Indipendenza), it’s also one of the biggest religious buildings in the Catholic world.

If it’s morning, follow your nose to the Mercato di Mezzo, the ample belly of Bologna, where the air is thick with pungent produce. Grab some cheese (there are 21 types of pecorino alone) or salami at La Baita (Via Pescherie Vecchie 3/A). Then join the thirsty troops at Bologna’s oldest inn, the Osteria del Sole (Vicolo Ranocchi 1/D), where you can eat your own food. Come prepared, though: a 500-year history has enshrined hard-core drinking hours, with regulars filling its pews from 8.30am and a wine list whittled down to just four options: red, white, still or sparkling.

l Nip into the church of Santa Maria della Vita (Via Clavature 10) to catch its extraordinary sculpture, the Lamentation over the Dead Christ – Mary’s face is like the agonised expression in Munch’s painting The Scream. Then head out past the sugar rush of Atti’s cake-filled windows (Via Drapperie 6) to 75-year-old deli Tamburini (Via Caprarie 1), where legs of prosciutto hang from the ceiling, and the tortellini are sold by the kilo.

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