Macrobiotic Bologna

This was the macrobiotic meal I ate in Bologna before catching the overnight couchette to Paris. A classic balance of grains (brown rice and millet) with pulses (pinto bean stew) and a medley of fresh local vegetables, steamed and raw, it came with a dish of deep-fried vegetable tempura.

Un Punto Macrobiotico offers only one choice. I like that. It’s like eating at home, “you’ll get what you are given”, and no endless agonising choice and “I wish I’d had that”.

(Macrobiotic note: the restaurant and shop is inspired by visionaries, George Ohsawa and Mario Pianesi).

Any austerity was softened by the home-made peach ice-cream, sweetened with rice malt, which releases its sugar slowly so is better for the body.

I strode off for the ten-minute walk back across the bridge to the station, feeling quite the international traveller. I like trains. Slower than planes but far more civilised, it’s no sacrifice taking the green option.

(Foodie warning: Trenitalia and Eurostar serve rubbish and pricey food, so take your own. The waiter kindly parcelled up my tempura to take-away).

Bologna station was the scene of a horrifying terrorist attack in 1980. We witnessed a moving memorial (see flag below) on the day we travelled to the Adriatic coast, August 2nd. This is the date now designated in Italy as a memorial day for all terrorist massacres.

In the sauna-like heat on the Adriatic, we arrived at our stunningly stylish apartment, with its high ceilings, wooden shutters, IKEA furniture, Virago books, essential oils. So, I am sitting there glancing idly through the welcome file when I realise: crikey, it belongs to a friend of mine!

Ingrid Rose had booked it on the web (“I chose it because it was the only one saying you could walk – not drive – to the beach” she said). And then I find out I know the co-owner! A journalist who, 30 years ago, had given me encouraging and enduring advice – to “break up long sentences into short ones” – and whom I had recently met up with again because (another crazy coincidence) she is a dear friend of a dear friend.

Six degrees of separation, indeed!

Below is a picture of my sister gazing down from the apartment at the spectacular view below. Real food lover that she is, she patiently answered all my questions about Italian food.