Eating the land: Tasting Mantova Through Its Layers
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LOST IN TRANSLATION: LIFE OF A JAPANESE GIRL IN ITALY
I had the opportunity to spend a month of my summer doing an internship in Mantova, a city in the Lombardy region of northern Italy.
My favourite view in the city was the one I would see from Ponte di San Giorgio on my way from where I was staying into the city centre.
As I reached Ponte di San Giorgio, the stretch of land that had continued up to that point suddenly gave way, and the view opened onto the lake on both sides. Beyond it, the city seemed to float on the water. Palaces, a castle, and churches rose like a film scene, forcing me to stop and and more the view every time.
Why I Find Mantova So Interesting
① A city built up layer by layer since ancient times
Walking through Mantova, large squares and streets appear one after another, giving the impression that the city hasn’t one centre, but several. In fact, Mantova was not rebuilt by completely erasing the city that came before. Instead, each new period added to what was already there, while the city gradually expanded outwards. As a result, when you walk through Mantova, different periods remain layered within the same city. I think this is one of the things that makes walking through Mantova so interesting.
② The Gonzaga family added another cultural layer to the city
For centuries, Mantova was ruled by the Gonzaga family, a ducal dynasty. During the Renaissance, artists and musicians gathered here, and the city itself became a stage for the expression of politics and culture. Even within Lombardy, I feel that Mantova retains an atmosphere slightly different from that of other cities.
③ A fortified city surrounded by water
I came to Mantova from Piedmont, where I usually study at university, travelling eastwards across the Po Valley.
If you trace the water surrounding the city on a map, it leads north towards Lake Garda. The River Mincio, which flows out of the lake, forms lakes and wetlands around Mantova before eventually joining the River Po. Yet, this waterside landscape wasn’t created by nature alone. At the end of the twelfth century, hydraulic works were used to regulate the waters of the Mincio, creating the system of waterways that would become the three lakes we see today. The water served as a fortification protecting the city, while also being used for agriculture and transport.
In a local brochure, I came across the expression ‘Fra terra e acqua’—‘Between land and water’. It seemed exactly right to me: while water has shaped the form of the city, people, too, have reshaped the water to suit the way they live.
④ Between larger political and cultural regions
Administratively, Mantova belongs to Lombardy, but geographically it lies close to both Veneto and Emilia-Romagna. It also shares with its neighbouring regions the Po and the Po Valley, which form a broader foundation for their food cultures. That’s why, while eating my way through Mantova, I often came across dishes that made me think, ‘Wait, haven’t I eaten this somewhere else before?’ This is particularly true of Emilia-Romagna, which I wrote about in a previous article, [‘Eating the land: Emilia-Romagna]—the two regions share many elements of a food culture shaped by livestock farming, especially pork and cheese.
Yet, being on the border isn’t what makes Mantova interesting. ‘What makes Mantova distinctly Mantovan, despite all it shares with neighbouring regions?’ Searching for an answer, I traced each of the traditional dishes I had eaten. My view expanded past the city, then past the region, until the River Po and the Po Valley came into focus.
① Riso alla Pilota: ‘Drawing the Water’
I once said to a friend from Mantova, with a little air of knowing what I was talking about, ‘I really want to try risotto alla pilota’. He immediately corrected me: ‘It’s not risotto. It’s riso. For us, they’re two different things. ‘Wait, there was a distinction like that?!’
The area around Mantova is rice-growing country, where a variety called Vialone Nano is cultivated. Riso alla pilota is said to have originally been eaten by the piloti, workers in rice mills known as pile.
A local taught me the expression used to describe its ideal texture: ‘asciutto e sgranato’—dry, with each grain remaining separate. Rather than stirring the rice continuously to create the creamy emulsion of a risotto, it is cooked with a fixed amount of water and then left to rest, so that each grain remains firm and distinct. When I finally tried it, my first thought was: yes, this is very meaty. It is packed with pieces of Salamella Mantovana, a local pork sausage, with the fat and richness of Grana Padano added on top. The fat from the pork and cheese lightly coats the firm, separate grains of rice; it is completely different from a creamy risotto. It almost reminded me of fried rice. And it is slightly difficult to eat with a fork. Somehow, it felt like a dish with an entire supply of energy packed into a single plate.
Across the plains around Mantova, people have drawn water into the land to create rice paddies and grow rice. To that rice are added pork from pigs raised on the same plain and cheese made from the milk of its cows. Rice paddies, pig farming, dairy farming. Landscapes of the Po Valley that had seemed separate to me were reunited on a single plate.
② Luccio in Salsa: ‘Taking from the Water / Transporting by Water’
I had wanted to try luccio in salsa while in Mantova. Luccio is pike, a freshwater fish found in the River Mincio and the surrounding lakes. The fish is boiled and served with a sauce made with anchovies, capers, parsley and other ingredients. What I found interesting was that, although the fish itself comes from freshwater, the sauce contains anchovies that came from the sea. So it doesn’t all come from freshwater after all, I thought.
When I tried it, the flesh was surprisingly tender and flaky. The salty, slightly acidic sauce went perfectly with the delicate fish, and the overall balance was wonderful.
Risotto con i saltarei, which a friend from Mantova told me he loves, is another dish made with small freshwater shrimp from the area. Catfish, eel and other aquatic creatures have also long been eaten around here.When I think of fish dishes in Italy, I can’t help imagining the very ‘Italian’ seaside landscapes of the south, facing the Mediterranean. But what I encountered here was something different: a fish culture in the middle of the plains.
Walking further through the city, I also found traces of the system that once brought this fish culture all the way to the table. The Pescherie di Giulio Romano was once the city’s fish market. Beneath the sixteenth-century structure, a canal called the Rio, connecting Mantova’s lakes, still flows today. Simply having fish in the lakes is not enough to bring it to the table. Catch it in the lake. Transport it along the waterways. Sell it at the market. And then, people eat it. Water did not only sustain the fish; it was also the road that carried them into the city.
③ Tortelli di Zucca: ‘The Land Produces, People Create the Flavour’
Ask anyone in Mantova for the local dish, and they will say tortelli di zucca.
Unusually for a filled pasta dish, it contains no meat, which is why it has long been a familiar part of the Christmas Eve table, when meat is traditionally not eaten.
When I first tried it, I was amazed: ‘It’s sweet! And it tastes a bit like annin!’ Inside the pasta, pumpkin is mixed with amaretti (almond biscuits), mostarda (fruit preserved with mustard and syrup), nutmeg and other ingredients, while Grana Padano and butter add saltiness and richness. It is sweet, yet savoury at the same time. It might be the number-one flavour you are least likely to encounter in an Italian restaurant in Japan, I thought. That surprised me.
That was precisely why I began to wonder: ‘Why did people in this region make pumpkin taste like this?’ Why pumpkins grow so well here is explained by the environment I had seen: hot summers, fertile soil from the rivers, and farmland that people have shaped by drawing in and draining water. But why wrap that pumpkin in pasta with amaretti and mostarda? The natural environment alone cannot explain it.
This is where the Gonzaga family comes into view again. At court, food - like art and architecture - expressed wealth, refinement and connections, and the outside world. Pumpkin, amaretti, made by hand, or brought from afar. Different elements wrapped inside a single pasta.
Eating tortelli di zucca made me realise that the land determines ‘what can be eaten’, while people determine ‘how it is eaten’. The unusual contrast created by layers of sweetness, saltiness, acidity and spice feels, to me, distinctly Mantovan.
④ A Landscape of Cornfields
Whenever I travelled from Mantova to another town by train or bus, I would often see vast stretches of cornfields outside the window. One day, on my way back to Mantova from a nearby town, I had been travelling by boat through the wetlands created by the River Mincio only moments before. Yet after moving just a little further away, the landscape had already changed, and vast cornfields now stretched out before me.
But the water had not disappeared. It had simply become less visible; beneath the plain and through its canals, the water was still flowing. Through irrigation, water is drawn into the farmland, allowing crops to be grown across this vast plain.
And this corn is not only eaten by people. It is also used as feed for livestock, connecting, through cattle and pigs, to meat and milk, and eventually to cheese. Seen this way, those cornfields I had been watching from the window were also one of the landscapes that formed an important part of Mantova’s table.
‘Water That Flows Vertically’ and ‘Water That Spreads Horizontally’
When I think about the relationship between water and food in Japan, I imagine ‘water that flows vertically’. Water falling onto the mountains becomes rivers, passes through the plains and makes its way towards the sea. Fish and vegetables are often valued for being eaten as fresh as possible, so the line from production is relatively short and easy to trace: ‘This fish was caught in this sea, and is eaten in this place’.
What I encountered in Mantova, by contrast, was ‘water that spreads horizontally’. Water does not simply flow downstream. It is held back, divided and drawn through canals across the vast plain. That water grows rice, corn and wheat, feeds cattle and pigs, and connects to meat, milk and cheese. Here, tracing a single food does not end with the land in front of you. I thought I was looking at separate dishes and landscapes, but tracing them further revealed they were connected horizontally across the same plain.
Mantova shares the River Po and the Po Valley with surrounding cities. Yet, the same foundations don’t necessarily produce the same food culture. Tracing Mantova’s dishes showed me that perhaps a place’s character is not about searching for something completely unique. It is about how shared elements are connected and layered together. And I think it was precisely this distinctive way of layering that drew me to Mantova. Follow our journey @movimento.metropolitano.
