Italy’s Unspoken Food Rules: Lessons in Seasonality and Belonging
- Suzanne Abbott-Lee
- Sep 29
- 5 min read
It’s a wonder I’m still with my husband.
During our first meal together, visibly uncomfortable, he reached over the table and took the knife out of my hand,
“no, no, no, we don’t do that here”.
I had been on the verge of committing a grave, Italian, transgression. Cutting spaghetti.
And yes, initially, I felt that prickle of indignation too, ‘I’ll eat however I want” but as the years have passed they’ve afforded me the opportunity to appreciate the rigidity of Italy’s food rules. When it comes to eating, Italian’s know how to honour their roots, families and themselves.
A wisened traveler to Italy knows not to order a cappuccino after 11.30 AM, carbonara pasta is served sans cream and mopping up leftover pasta sauce with bread is widely encouraged.
Living here, you begin to notice other signs of Italian’s deep respect for their food. Gaping holes on supermarket shelves reveal that local products are always the preferred choice. The way Italians are meticulous in how each cheese is cut: to best preserve its taste, texture and aroma. (For the curious, Parmigiano-Reggiano will reward your senses most favourably if you crack it open with an almond shaped knife. Pecorino, best sliced into hearty wedges. Mozzarella di Bufala, torn by hand). Their habit of sniffing the bottoms of melons certainly took me a while to get used to but now, I can’t think of a better way to check their quality before buying.
And the seasons, oh the seasons, punctuated in Italy by the bounty mother nature has offered up, rather than seasonal decor laid out in the home. Walking down the cobbled viccoli (alleyways) right now, gives away the arrival of autumn/fall. Porcini mushrooms have appeared at the market so you catch fragrant whiffs of them being sautéed in garlic and parsley as you pass by people’s windows, ready for folding into fresh tagliatelle or maybe a risotto.
Then there was the hearty scent of the cinghiale ragú (wild boar bolognese), my 89 year-old neighbour was cooking, prompting my son to request the same at home, and evening Netflix binges no longer signal a 10pm takeaway run to the gelateria. Instead the trusty padella forata is out ready for roasting chestnuts on the fire- unfortunately, we’ve not yet mastered waiting for those deliciously caramelised hand torpedos to cool down before eating.
‘Mangiare di stagioni’ (Eating with the seasons) is embedded into Italian culture, drilled into the children at school, and largely, considered a code of conduct by the adults (you won’t be thanked if you turn up at Nonno’s in October with a punnet of raspberries).
And, while all countries have treasured seasonal dishes, and, we’re well briefed in the benefits of eating in harmony with nature, elsewhere, we often succumb to the commodity of industrialised eating because convenience is prioritised over culture.
So what’s Italy’s secret? Well, seasonal food here is widely prized for being freshly sourced, desired more for being at it’s peak in flavour and nutritious quality than its appearance, and it’s arrival signals a special occasion because you’re not consuming it all year-round. It’s with that attitude you choose your weekly shop (the economic incentives of eating in-season produce certainly help too). Do the children still lament the loss of their summer blueberries? Absolutely. (What’s with this generation and their blueberry dependency?). But here they quickly learn to eat with the rhythm of nature.
We can’t speak about Italian culinary habits without acknowledging the way that they’re served. Italian mealtimes are sacred rituals, with their own set of rules. Unhurried yet animated dinners are the benchmark of Italian families but even cornerstones of Italian society aren’t immune to today’s pace of life. Meals consisting of an antipasto, primo (soup/pasta/risotto), secondo (meat/fish/side dishes- although salad must be eaten alone at the end), dolce, caffé and a digestivo (grappa, limoncello etc.), do still happen but are usually reserved for weekends or special occasions.
I popped in to see a local legend here in South Milan, Chef Lino Gagliardi. His family restaurant La Rampina received the prestigious Bottega Storica title last year- recognising it as a historical food and cultural landmark in Lombardy.
Who better to talk about Italian dining traditions than someone awarded as a custodian of them?
Lino has run La Rampina for the last 53 years. He tells me it’s the deep cultural ties to his dishes that have kept families returning to his restaurant for decades. And it is the loyalty of those customers that helped keep the business afloat when times were hard.
We discuss Italy’s rigidity when it comes to food, their meal sequence has remained the same since the 18th century, being one such example. Lino worries that the more Italians compromise how they eat, the more they comprise their identity.
For him, eating equals connection. Connection to the land because “Italy’s riches are its food”, to its attentive preparation (learning to hand roll pasta with my husband’s aunt definitely felt like an initiation into Italian family living), to the deep connections that are nurtured round the table, honouring both the dishes being savoured and time spent with the people you love.
Lino explains that maintaining the authenticity of Italian cooking has been the thread binding the generations before him, and he hopes, will continue to do so for those in the future.
Listening to Lino speak it’s clear Italy’s insistence on eating their food their way stems less from stubbornness and more from a devotion to protecting their cultural roots. And, perhaps, it’s this loyalty that helps maintain Italy’s culinary standards? Year-on-year Italian food continues to be one the most desired cuisines in the world.
From first dates, to family kitchens, to award-winning chefs, so many Italians take the role of preserving their food heritage seriously.
And for the rule-breakers amongst us, there are still lessons to be taken away. Whether that’s choosing seasonal produce for your meal innovations, cooking together more with loved ones, or upholding your own family’s recipes in the face of commerciality.
Or, at the very least, dig that set of cheese knives out from the back of the drawer, they really will take eating formaggio to the next level.
About the author: Suzanne Abbott-Lee is a broadcast journalist, currently living in Italy with her husband and two children.
