For most of my life, bologna—that flabby, flaccid mystery meat most often spotted between two mayo-slathered slices of Wonder Bread—was something to be avoided at all costs. So imagine my surprise when I learned that in its native town of Bologna, the Italian counterpart commands the same reverence as a fine prosciutto, with top specimens fetching up to 20 euros per kilo. Known as mortadella, this subtly seasoned delicacy made of lean pork speckled with lumps of lard is a far cry from the stuff found in the deli aisles of American supermarkets.
It also boasts a rather distinguished history. Two millennia ago, it fed the Roman army, as stone tablets contained in Bologna’s Museo Civico Archeologico attest. In the Middle Ages, roughly 10,000 people, a quarter of the city’s population, were involved in its production at around 280 salumerie. Foreigners—from Napoleon, who brought it back to France, to Buffalo Bill, who flew to Italy to promote it—took a shine to the stuff over the years. Sophia Loren’s character even attempted to smuggle one past US customs in the 1971 film La Mortadella.
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