Tradition in evolution at Osteria Francescana, Modena ('Classics' tasting menu)

This afternoon, I visited Osteria Francescana for lunch with family. This famous restaurant was to be the culinary highlight of our Easter vacation in Italy, and I was extremely excited about the reservation. With a perfect Michelin 3-star rating and 5th placing in the St. Pellegrino's list of World's Best Restaurants, amongst other culinary accolades within Italy itself, this was surely one establishment not to be missed by any foodie on a mission to discover the best of Italian gastronomy.

I should get some negatives out of the way first; we nearly didn't make it there. The story goes thus: having missed a call from the restaurant just this morning to reconfirm our reservation, I called back only to be shouted at by a very rude person who barely spoke English and didn't understand my French (he asked if I could speak the language and yes, I do speak it reasonably). Exasperated, he didn't bother getting someone else who could speak English either, and hung up on me after shouting "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" (literally) and insisting that I had called the wrong number. We were already in Modena by then and were seriously thinking of turning back to Florence by train, having received such shocking treatment, but decided to give the restaurant one more chance. I approached the local tourist office explaining the situation and the receptionist, who was in as much disbelief as I was, managed to reach the maitre d' Giuseppe (I think) who explained the misunderstanding (that he was not aware of my call and it must have been picked up by an external furniture supplier?!) in a completely different and very nice tone, and that we were still very much welcome.

I still wasn't entirely convinced that he wasn't trying to cover up for one of his staff, but since we were already in the town we decided to go ahead with the reservation, but we did make up our minds not to tip because of this episode. Even if what he said was true, the restaurant really does need to monitor who picks up incoming calls, as most foreign guests will not be able to speak Italian and you never know which important person/critic might be calling! An internationally renowned restaurant like this should have staff members who can speak a variety of languages, even if the onus is on the tourist to try to fit into and experience local culture. First impressions are incredibly important and I hope that no future customer will have to experience what I went through even before stepping into the restaurant. The service team is at least just as important as the quality of food presented, and major slips like this could seriously undermine the restaurant's reputation and efforts at serving the best food and wine that they can offer (which, as it would turn out, was a most stunning experience!).

The restaurant is located right in the heart of the historical centre, on a small side street amidst colourful buildings that seem to be a feature of the town centre - not the easiest to find without some sort of tracking device like GPS - and the façade itself is so discreet that one would hardly imagine it as a world-famous restaurant. The place seemed to be shrouded in an air of secrecy and mystery - the thick vault-like door remaining locked until customers ring the bell on the side for the front-of-house team to receive them. Once inside, the servers took our coats and promptly led us to our table through a narrow corridor into a small dining room. The restaurant itself is very exclusive - just 11 tables in 3 dining sections - so I suppose I was quite lucky, having just booked slightly more than a month ago! In fact we were quite surprised that the restaurant remained half-full on a Friday afternoon, but it was lunchtime on a work day in a small town after all. It would be a very different picture if the restaurant were located in a bigger city like London.

The name 'osteria' (Italian for 'informal tavern') is a bit of a misnomer for this restaurant due to its formal environment. The décor was in a very stark, contemporary style, with soft jazz music playing in the background, very different from what one expects in typically homely Italian restaurants - perhaps reflecting the style of the cuisine, which chef-owner and proud Modena native Massimo Bottura describes as being strongly rooted in tradition but evolved and projected into the future. A brief look at the videos on the restaurant's website will explain his philosophies far better than I can ever do so myself; suffice it to say for now that if you would be disappointed if you were expecting typical old-school Italian fare - but then again who in the right mind goes for the usual pasta and pizza at such places? I was there to be challenged, surprised and delighted. And I'm really glad that we gave the restaurant a chance, the initial appalling treatment notwithstanding.

Reception area. The space is dotted with numerous examples of
contemporary art, reflecting Bottura's interest in this area, and along
with jazz music, the source of many of his culinary inspirations.

Most interesting exhibit we saw - stuffed birds
perched above a black trash bag?

One of three dining areas

Made by a contemporary Italian glass master, we were told.

Elegant table setting

We were soon formally greeted by Giuseppe himself, and having decided on the Classics menu with slight modifications for my mother in previous email correspondences, we were ready to begin this extraordinary culinary journey!

First up was plain sourdough bread served with Tuscan olive oil. The latter being a much healthier alternative to butter, it was a beautiful green colour and extremely fresh and fruity in taste, with a hint of nutty bitterness; one can hardly go wrong with the produce of this famed gastronomic region.

More types of bread followed: plain white and malted grain, plus archetypal Italian bread sticks (grissini). All excellent with the olive oil dip, and the malted grain bread in particular had a really lovely nutty and mildly sweet flavour that was the perfect backdrop for the oil.

First course: tempura of freshwater aula served with aromatic herbs and a carpione (wine vinaigrette) ice cream.

A novel take on the popular Italian antipasto of pesce in carpione, this was a reference to the Italian culinary tradition of agrodolce (sweet and sour) when vinegar was used to preserve food in pre-refrigeration times. I was also reminded of the Japanese delicacy of fried shishamo (smelt). It is perhaps no coincidence that Osteria Francescana's sous chef is Japanese. The fish used here, a small freshwater species native to the Adriatic basin, was the perfect choice - sandwiched between two layers of light tempura batter, its firm texture and mildly sweet taste were aptly complemented by a sweet-and-sour ice cream and a mixture of finely chopped aromatic herbs. The sheer variety of textures and contrast in temperatures within this morsel was simply delightful, as was its combination of sweet, sour and salty flavours. This was a most refreshing and extraordinary way to start the meal proper, and it set the tone for the rest of the highly creative menu.

Second course: 'baccalà mare nostrum' - salt cod fillet served on a pesto of sun-dried tomatoes, Sicilian (Noto) almonds, and 'fragrances of Pantelleria' (anchovies and capers, just two of the many types of produce to be had from this fertile volcanic island in the pristine Mediterranean sea near to Sicily). Surrounded by a broth of Verdesi (green) olives and distilled tomato water, and topped with thyme-infused breadcrumbs.

A dish with patriotic overtones, as seen from the use of the Latin expression mare nostrum ('our sea', a name for the Mediterranean sea during the days of the Roman empire, and now widely used to refer to the Italian identity as a whole), this was a mini showcase of the most well-known produce from all over the country - a combination of fish from the Northern Adriatic sea with typically Southern accompaniments. The soaked and boiled fish was perfectly lean, meaty and flaky, with only a very subtle saltiness, so much so that we initially believed that this had been freshly prepared - a testimony to its high quality. The light and health-giving properties of this fish were further accentuated by its accompaniments of mainly olives and tomatoes. The herb-infused breadcrumbs provided additional bite and aroma. On the whole, this dish was extremely simple, light and tasty, just as the best of Mediterranean cuisine should be. Bottura later described this dish as 'an Emilian chef dreaming of the Mediterranean sea' - hardly surprising, since Emilia-Romagna is a landlocked region, 150 kilometres from either coast.

Third course: 'a journey to Modena' - Adriatic eel coated and grilled with saba (filtered and concentrated grape must), burnt onion ash and sea salt, accompanied by polenta purée and Campanine apple jelly.

Like the first course, this dish looked and tasted uncannily Japanese; think unagi kabayaki and you get the picture. But like every other dish in this tasting menu, it does have a genuinely Italian rasion d'être: the background here is historical, tracing the movement of the aristocratic Este family (later Dukes of Modena) from their original base in Ferrara in the 16th century. Eel trade was the main source of income for them, so Bottura has chosen this fish to represent the family in an imaginary journey from the Adriatic sea to Modena, via the Po river.

The eel was really delicious; although cooked in a completely different way from unagi it had the perfect balance of sweet and savoury flavours (from the grape must and sea salt respectively), just like its Japanese counterpart. A sprinkling of burnt onion ash emphasised the fresh flavour of the eel even more with a touch of bitterness. The sweet and sour accompaniments (notice the agrodolce concept at work again) of polenta purée and apple jelly were also very effective in supporting the flavours of this dish. If there was anything to pick on at all, the eel was a little too lean and firm for my taste - the best of the Japanese varieties are often quite fatty and melt-in-the-mouth - but I realise that this could be due to the different breeding conditions and climates. On the whole, this dish was both familiar and enjoyable.

Fourth course: 'think green: an evolving landscape through the seasons' - a mélange of pea purée, cow's curd, porcini and morel mushrooms, broccoli, asparagus, fresh and pickled radish, beetroot and chlorophyll reductions.

This dish took us straight into the hills near Modena; it represented the fresh sights and smells of the meadows and was conceived as a replication of the experience of grazing cows. As Bottura would later tell us, this dish was also a reminder to be mindful of what we eat. A 'food-chain' theme runs through this dish - the first litre of a cow's milk with a naturally more creamy texture is collected fresh first thing every morning and made into the curd. This milk of course is the most direct result of what they had just eaten the day before (everything else on the plate). The dish is therefore designed as a complete system in its own right.

Probably intended as a palate cleanser before the next heavy course, this salad was extremely fresh, crunchy, juicy and clean-tasting on the whole. I loved the little dollops of cow's curd and seasonal components such as morel mushrooms and asparagus; these were so simple and unadorned yet possessed such an incredible depth of flavour - proof that the best produce will always speak for themselves even with minimal preparation. The whole experience was quite surreal - the stark vegetal and earthy flavours of this dish evoking the meadows very effectively, and remaining as palatable as they were interesting. It could all have been too raw for some people's liking, but I loved it.

Fifth course: five ages of Parmigiano Reggiano (more commonly known as Parmesan) in different textures and temperatures.

The pièce-de-résistance of the menu, and possibly Bottura's single most important contribution to Italian gastronomy using the most famous product of his native Emilia-Romagna region, this was the first dish in the world to be created with one single ingredient (in 1993, even before the days of Osteria Francescana). Bottura is justly proud of this dish and told us later that it was a mind-blowing experience for his mentor Alain Ducasse when he made it for him as an apprentice in Monte Carlo the following year. Since then, this dish has also won other accolades, including a 'Dish of the Decade' title in Italy for 2001-11, proof of its futuristic potential (according to Bottura, still considered too avant-garde in 1993) whilst maintaining a strong link to tradition.

The Parmesan cheeses used in this dish all come from local producers within the Province of Modena, and are derived from the milk of premium cattle breeds such as Bianca Modenese, Pezzata Rossa and Reggiana. Production is limited, demand is high amongst local connoisseurs, and most of these producers only sell directly from their farms, so having this dish counts as a once-in-a-lifetime experience I suppose!

Much more complex than your usual grated version and stretching the limits of one's imagination, this dish demonstrated the full potential of this savoury and piquant cheese at various stages of maturation. Featured are a hot demi-soufflé (24 months Hombre Bio from Modena), mousse (30 months Caseificio Rosola from Zocca), warm liquid cream (36 months Rosola), crispy wafer (40 months Morello di Mezzo from Soliera) and foam derived from a broth of Parmesan rind (50 months). The sheer variety of textures present and alternating temperature sensations engaged our palates constantly. The dish never once felt boring or overwhelming. On that latter point, balance was achieved by an inversely proportional relationship between texture and maturity - from the youngest and mildest cheese featured as a rich creamy soufflé that caressed the palate, to the oldest and most full-bodied cheese made into an ephemeral foam, the intensity of which continued to linger in the mouth for a good few minutes after finishing the dish.

There was also a more philosophical/moralistic aspect to this dish: in this insanely fast-paced world, Bottura hopes to remind the diner that the best things in life come to those who are willing to wait, since we would not be able to savour these evolving flavours without allowing sufficient time for nature to do its work. Also, remember that the greatness of this dish was only widely recognised several years after its conception, and even today it seems astonishingly modern; perhaps it will take yet many more decades for alternative uses/treatments of Parmesan to become part of the tradition? This ground-breaking dish will remain etched in my memory, and I feel extremely fortunate to have been able to try it in person.

Fifth course (alternative): a mixture of leeks and shallots, topped with black truffle shavings.

This was the more conventional alternative for my mother who doesn't take cheese (shame really!), and I tasted a little of it. The truffle aroma was surprisingly weak; I wasn't sure whether it was smothered by the leek-and-shallot combination, or whether truffles are simply past their seasonal prime by now. The mushy texture of this spoonful was also not the most appealing to me, though my mother liked it as an older person. To be fair, the overall taste of this morsel was very pleasant, though it could hardly be considered on the same level as the Parmesan dish.

Sixth course: 'a compression of pasta and beans' - from bottom to top in a shot glass: crème royale of Borlotti beans and foie gras, radicchio cooked in wine, pancetta, Parmesan crust 'pasta', Borlotti bean purée and rosemary foam.

Bottura considers this dish to be the closest to his heart - 'a parfait of my gastronomic history in a shot glass', as he once said to food critic Andy Hayler in an interview. The bottom layer of crème royale (using foie gras, no less) pays homage to his fundamental classical training with French chefs Coigny and Ducasse, while the top layer of foam represents his time spent learning new techniques at the now-defunct El Bulli in Spain. The middle layers of 'pasta' and beans are the traditional and emotional part of the dish: they recall a typical Italian grandmother's cooking, in a time when non-wastage was the order of the day, particularly in the aftermath of the war. In fact, the 'pasta' here is not even egg pasta (which would usually be the 'maltagliati' type, a practice originating from this region of using up all pasta scraps in random shapes) but shaved rind of Parmesan, which Modenese people from previous generations would use in the good old days, as raw materials for egg pasta were scarce and expensive. Boiling leftover Parmesan crusts produced similar taste and texture to real egg pasta, and if I'm not wrong, in Bottura's case the resulting broth could also have been used to make the foam component of the previous Parmesan dish, if he has truly inherited his grandmother's kitchen ethics!

For all its claims to austerity this dish was only deceptively simple; as my spoon dug into the shot glass and my palate experienced the different layers all at once, a world of flavours and textures unfolded, from the rich and musky crème royale, to the smooth and mildly sweet bean purée, and everything else in between for a good measure of bite and savoury depth. The herbs imparted pleasant aromas and also ensured a certain freshness amidst all these rather heavy ingredients. Who'd have thought that a humble pasta-and-beans dish could be elevated into such a sophisticated gastronomic experience?

Seventh course: 'guinea fowl not roasted'. On the main plate (second picture): breast, upper leg with spinach, lower leg with bits of liver and fowl gelatine, potato and truffle purée, bay leaf oil, balsamic vinegar, roast aroma spray made from distillation of bone stock. On the side (first picture): crispy skin, spreads of white chocolate & garlic and dark chocolate & liver, toasted bread ice cream.

An 'upside-down crostino', according to Bottura.

After the seriousness of the previous dishes it was now time for a bit of fun; the title of the dish said it all. Traditionally of course, one expects guinea fowl to be cooked by roasting, but Bottura has deliberately decided not to do so as this often results in a dry texture. Here, the meat is first cooked at low temperature to retain all juices and give a tender texture, then seared on the skin side on a hot grill at over 400 degrees just before serving, to give a nicely browned roasted look. But how does one replicate the delightful aromas of authentically roasted meat? This is where the spray kicks in: made from vapourised bone stock and applied liberally across the plate upon serving, the aromas are so immediate and convincing that one overlooks any thoughts of artificiality. A most inspired procedure indeed that allows the kitchen to achieve the best of all worlds in treating this meat. We had the additional honour of Bottura himself coming out of the kitchen for the first time to explain this dish and spray our plates. We would speak at length at the end of the meal, but more on that later.

This dish marked the transition between savoury and sweet courses, and was intended to prepare our palates for the upcoming finale. Eating the delicate and mildly sweet breast meat with vinegar, for example, felt almost like having dessert. What really did it for us, though, was the whimsical bite-sized side dish - an 'upside down crostino' as Bottura called it. This was a pure stroke of genius that nearly upstaged the main focus in terms of creativity and taste. The bottom crispy layer was not toast as one would expect, but rather roast guinea fowl skin; conversely, the ice-cream right on top, where one normally expects the savoury fillings, had an uncannily convincing taste of toast. A mixture of sweet and savoury spreads in between completed this deconstructed and highly idiosyncratic version of Italian toast. This morsel, with its brilliant combination of flavours and effective reversal of roles, challenged all our perconceived notions of toast and showed us just how far things could be taken and yet still be made to work. Just wow.

Eighth course: foie gras crunch with traditional balsamic vinegar from Modena.

The first of two desserts, this was as intriguing as it was delightful. Foie gras terrine was marinated with Calvados then shaped like an ice cream lollipop on a wooden stick. Showcasing that other famous product of Modena, this 'lollipop' was then injected with a touch of extra old balsamic vinegar (aged more than 25 years in private wooden casks) and finally coated with chopped toasted Piedmont hazelnuts and Noto almonds.

It was hard to imagine how Bottura could have come up with such a 'dessert' - the rich muskiness and creamy texture of foie gras (who'd have thought of using that to imitate ice cream?) given further body and sweetness by the Calvados, then balanced by the most beautiful deep brown, glossy and viscous core of balsamic vinegar with the perfect balance of sweet and sour flavours, and a hint of wood from the cask aging. This balsamic vinegar was of course authentic Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena, protected by Italian and EU laws just like Parmigiano Reggiano - not to be confused with the watery and inferior condimento grade balsamic vinegar commonly used in salad dressings. If I hadn't visited this restaurant today I might never have known how real balsamic vinegar should taste like. I am generally not a fan of vinegar as I always find it too acidic and pungent, but this was just so different - incredibly smooth in texture and complex in flavour. A coating of the best Italian varieties of nuts completed this charming morsel with lovely bite and aromas. On the whole, this dessert was astonishingly novel yet effective in its blurring of the sweet/savoury boundary.

Ninth course: 'oops! a broken lemon tart' - lemongrass ice cream, lemon confit, sabayon sauce with lemon, oil of chilli peppers, apple mustard (mostarda), capers, coffee powder.

Even the plate is 'broken'!

This was the only real sweet course of the day and it ended this fascinating culinary journey on a high note. Any feelings of sluggishness after a heavy meal were instantly dispelled by the refreshing nature of this dessert. Its curious presentation also revealed a remarkable sense of humour, recalling Bottura's time as an impatient young chef, trying to learn the technique for Emilian crostata crust from his mother. Each time the pastry's texture didn't work out he'd throw the pies onto the table in frustration. This dessert is a tribute to his mother's love and patience, and is apparently her favourite dessert, now that her son has learnt to make it properly!

Within the light and crisp crust lay a filling of lemongrass ice cream. Though not particularly Italian, it was memorable for its mellow citrus flavour with subtle notes of ginger, and none of the sharp acidity of its real citrus counterpart. Of course, real lemon derivatives were present as well, but in smaller quantities to give an appropriate kick without upsetting the delicate balance of the dessert. A touch of capers and coffee powder gave a slight sharpness to the overall flavour, while bits of mostarda and a single drop of chilli oil provided a subtly piquant lift without overpowering the main citrus flavours. We finished this incredible meal feeling completely invigorated and nourished. There is a profound beauty in imperfection after all.

An impressive array of petit fours followed shortly. I really loved the lemon thyme madeleine, raspberry jelly, chocolate ganache with hazelnut feuilletine, and ginger-infused truffle (centre). The other chocolate truffle and coffee brownie were good too, if a little pedestrian.

At this point Bottura came to our table again to ask how everything went, and we had a nice chat about his ideas on food and cooking. This was a man very passionate and proud of his culinary heritage, who constantly strives to educate both Italians and foreigners in the wonders of Italian cuisine, while remaining open to occasional new techniques and flavours. Bound by a deep love for the produce of his region, the animated chef lamented the tendency of his fellow Italians to dismiss their own food and culture and wished that they would be more appreciative. Nothing inspires him more than good, fresh produce: he related a story of how 4 French customers once asked him about the inspiration behind a certain dish, and all he did was to ask them to taste the individual components of the dish. Moral of the story: one never has to try too hard with high-quality ingredients - they will speak for themselves.

For a chef of his stature Bottura was refreshingly informal and affable, with a most charismatic flair about him. Despite his busy schedule that afternoon he still managed to make time to check on all tables throughout the sitting, and serve us the guinea fowl dish. We were also allowed to roam the kitchen freely taking pictures, and he even personally fed me a snail cooked in a wonderful herb sauce from a pot, as part of preparations for a photo shoot and culinary demonstration that he was doing that day. To top it all off he gave us a parting gift of the extra old balsamic vinegar that we had just tasted in the foie gras dessert, a lovely gesture indeed! Bottura was by far the most engaging and focused chef I'd ever met; his energy, complete reverence for food, understanding of its social, geographical and historical contexts, and sheer dedication to furthering the cause of Italian gastronomy were as moving as they were infectious, even for first-timers to the restaurant who might not be very familiar with his work and personality.

Bottura inspecting a bunch of herbs
before the demonstration.

Mixing some snails in a pot of aromatic
herb sauce, which I got to try!

Utter bliss after being fed those lovely snails by Bottura!

Today's lunch would have been perfect but apart from the unpleasant episode in the morning, we also found the service team to be somewhat stiff and incongruent with Bottura's ebullient personality. To be fair, the staff were professional, generally fluent in English and described as well as answered all my questions on the food with patience and astute product knowledge. We still enjoyed the overall experience but felt that a more laid-back atmosphere would have been the icing on the cake.

Back street of the restaurant with typically
colourful buildings of Modena's historic centre.

Many fine restaurants are to be found on today's international gastronomic scene but few truly innovate. From that perspective, Osteria Francescana deserves every bit of the reputation it has earned. Today, we discovered new frontiers to a popular and illustrious cuisine which many of us have come to take for granted. Cooking at this level is an art form and, much like being in a gallery, a profound contemplation of food and its provenance is necessary to get the most out of a dining experience here. To merely label this cuisine as 'molecular gastronomy' à la Noma/Fat Duck/El Bulli would be to undermine the devotion and intelligence behind the cooking. This is not experimentation or playfulness for its own sake; Bottura is all too aware of the huge responsibility he has in ensuring that Italian cuisine continues to remain relevant and loved in the future. The occasional references to Asian cultures are perhaps also a reminder that food connects humanity and that we are all different yet similar in various ways.

On a practical note, for all its sense of adventure the food was also remarkably appealing (remember that 'interesting' and 'effective' don't always come together) and I think it says a lot when even my mother who's a very conservative eater enjoyed herself. Prices were also very reasonable by fine-dining standards; compared to what similar establishments in Italy charge for their tasting menus, I thought that our lunch had been extremely good value for money. Go with an open mind and be amazed and stimulated by what's on offer! Truly worth a special trip for Italians and foreigners alike.

(Update 29/4: Osteria Francescana is now No. 3 on the World's Best 50 list, up two places from when we visited. Congratulations to Bottura and his team!)