IX.ix. The Cold War

"Ice-cream is exquisite. What a pity it isn't illegal."
- Voltaire

As the weather heats up, so too does the Gelato War, an unspoken but plainly fought campaign to win over the estival loyalty of nearly every citizen in Bologna. The battle for the best paletta, or scoop, becomes Bologna's own take on the fervent neighbourhood based rivalry of other Italian cities, the only difference being a much freer, though no less earnestly considered, choice of camp. The city has no great geographical rivalries, no horse race, no jousts, but it takes its culinary mission seriously, and Gianni, one of the more famous frontrunners, has even set up a chain of franchises throughout the region in an attempt to evangelize and fatten the Emilian masses.
    Gianni's, in fact, is the original, the gelateria most worthy of status as a local institution, though it dates back only to 1976. Its founder and namesake has acquired a sort of mythic status since his death several years ago, and the main branch displays over fifty flavours with such notoriously non-specific names as Purgatory, The Animal in the City, The Lawyer, The Saint, Giotto, The Two Towers, and so on.
    The Sorbetteria Castiglione, in the south end of the city, is, in terms of sheer volume, Gianni's principal competitor. It is also elegant, one of the few places in Bologna confident enough to store its gelato in covered steel bins, away from prying eyes, delighting in the unappealing, unaltered colours of its product. So serious are the Sorbetteria's owners that they name flavours after their children; Michelangelo, Edoardo and Karin thus take their places beside the darkest ciocolato and the richest crema in the city.
    More down to earth is Moline, in the university district. Somewhat of an underdog, it is noteworthy for producing unadulterated, smooth gelato as well as extremely intense granita. Close to my apartment, my friends and I have finished many a stroll in front of its fluorescent counters, discriminately choosing our scoops before retiring to the plastic chairs outside.
    Il Gelatauro, a relative newcomer with its gelato-eating beast as mascot, has created a great deal of commotion considering its rather poor location in a dimly lit, run-down portico. The flavours here have an exotic, southern flair while the décor speaks of American influence; one of the three Figliomeni brothers who together own the place is married to a girl who was first in Bologna as part of the Brown University exchange program. As for the brothers, they own their own organic citrus grove in Calabria that provides a key ingredient for the unsurpassed orange chocolate. Other flavours, such as the proudly named Prince of Calabria or King of the Two Sicilies include such exotic ingredients as jasmine, fennel and bergamot. Any server will also gladly confirm the plurality of factors that make the Bronte pistachios, grown only on the western face of mount Etna, the best in the world. Umberto Eco, who keeps house nearby, is a known regular, as his waistline would testify.
    The possibilities are almost inexhaustible, and it is only possible to detail the best of the best. I would even venture to say that Bologna, in a general sense, has the best gelato of any northern Italian city. As with the city's art and architecture, the median quality is high. There are, of course, countless superlative gelaterie all over Italy, small holes in the wall that seem to appear out of nowhere to outnumber even churches during the summer months. Other cities also have their own touted flagships, such as Nico or Alaska in Venice, Vivoli in Florence, and the Bottega del Gelato in Pisa, a place I had recently discovered with my friends while on a day trip. In the end Bologna has the highest concentration of worthwhile locales, each trying to trump the other, each a little different from the last.
    The consequences of such fierce competition are far reaching, because gelato in Bologna is world-class. London's Observer pronounced Il Gelatauro's product the best ice cream in Europe, while international culinary references constantly site one of the aforementioned concerns as a front-runner. Scarcely a day goes by when I don't treat myself to a gelato. Still, I refuse to play favourites. I am a citizen of the whole world, and I can do nothing but bask in delicious impartiality.


The range of flavours at Gianni's


A detail view of some of the more popular choices