Street Food Tour in Modena, how does it taste like?
Here it is. A mild Tuesday in between seasons.
I have an appointment with Anne and Carl. All I know about them is that they’re Canadian, it’s their first time in Italy, and they’re particularly curious about discovering the Modena of good food. I see them arriving—smiling, yet reserved. I notice the way they look around, surprised and delighted—after all, we’re standing in one of the most beautiful squares in Italy. As I propose the itinerary I’ve planned, I make sure to add that food will simply be the excuse to get to know the history, tradition, and even innovation of this wonderful city of ours. Anne agrees enthusiastically, while Carl keeps his hands firmly on his camera. I think to myself—we’ll dive right in, the mood is perfect today. And, as we say in the business, Modena is selling itself today.
We take a pleasant stroll around the square, admire the Duomo and the Ghirlandina, wave to la Bonissima and promise we’ll be back by lunchtime. Speaking of which—it’s time for coffee, not that there’s ever a wrong time for it. We head down Via Farini, with the Palazzo Ducale winking at us from afar. On the left, about halfway down, we step into the historic coffee roastery La Messicana.
The aroma wraps around us. The owner greets us politely, without interrupting his fascinating ritual. I put myself in my Canadian guests’ shoes and can’t help but smile. I think of all the times I’ve witnessed a Japanese tea ceremony and, though I never truly understood what was going on, I always admired those expert hands, the precise gestures, the focused expression of someone weaving the present with a distant, precious past.
It’s almost touching to hear a foreigner shyly order an “espreesso… macchiatto”, and it becomes downright delightful when they sip the divine liquid and comment: “Oh dear, so strong!” Anne squints, Carl laughs. This is followed by a full-blown photo report of the roasting machine, the empty cups on the counter, the rows of bean sacks stacked on shelves. The place fills up quickly, and we head back out.
We walk and window-shop; the next inevitable stop is Giusti. My guests listen with curiosity as I explain where the various wines come from, the cured meats, the different pasta shapes. Their eyes widen when I have them read the founding year on the black sign above the shop: 1605! We arrive at Piazza Roma—a few anecdotes for Anne, while Carl gets acquainted with Ciro Menotti. “Oh really? A military academy?” Of course—we’ve even got that.
Beneath the portico, a cooler and shaded atmosphere ushers us into the world of traditional balsamic vinegar.
The girls at the shop are always smiling, and within moments, they’ve arranged a series of different bottles on the table, like chess pieces on a board. I can almost sense a little thrill—can we really taste them? Not only that—for every spoonful, there’s an explanation, a tip, a recipe.
I’ll candidly admit, even if it sounds a bit touristy, I’m always fascinated by these tastings in the shop—and whenever I get the chance to visit an acetaia, I still get excited. I usually end up buying a bottle or two myself! The walk continues—I usually alternate between busy areas and more hidden corners. I like to imagine that, once they’re on their own, my guests will seek out some of the little gems I hinted at along the way.
One place I love to show off is Pasticceria San Biagio, one of the best in town. That red shop window is like a magnet—you spot it from afar and already know you’re doomed. “Okay, it’s lunchtime… wait, no! Maybe later for an afternoon snack… should we come back after we eat? Mmm, let’s check the opening times…”
Everything’s there: the tagliatelle cake always makes people smile, the rose cake makes them dream. The croccante from Fiumalbo transports you to the green mountains, and a couple of amaretti are the bare minimum to walk away with from this sweet circle of temptation. Personally, my fix is a little bag of four marrons glacés.
Of course, we haven’t reached the highlight yet—but we’re just minutes away. I still haven’t decided which entrance to Mercato Albinelli is best. I’d like to say one of the two iron gates, especially the one on Via Albinelli, but lately I’ve come to appreciate the view from the Galleria del Pane. What a riot of colors, what a feast of scents!
People at the market always seem happy. Anne is enchanted by everything. She notices the ladies with their shopping carts, and senses that this is more than a market—it’s a place of community. Carl, of course, has photographed every vegetable, the lady buying cheese, the elegant black signs.
It’s fascinating to see what people notice—like a mini social experiment: some spot the prices, some the number of organic products, others stop at the first stall and start sampling. Today’s tour is absolutely thorough—we’ve missed nothing! We even treat ourselves to an aperitivo.
Seated at the tall counter of the deli, Anne and Carl exchange knowing glances. I order for them.
Just enough time to say goodbye and give my final recommendations when the waitress arrives, passionately listing the selection of cold cuts and cheeses, carefully arranged on a rustic wooden board. Add to that some fresh bread, homemade chips, and two glasses of the best Lambrusco, bubbly and inviting. I know exactly what they’re thinking—because I often think the same myself: sometimes, you just know you’re in the right place.
You don’t have to come all the way from Canada to appreciate that—of course not. But I know my guests will remember this moment for a long time. I walk away.
Bye Anne, bye Carl—enjoy!
Official Website: EAT Modena, your street food experience
