The Mythical Tortellini of Castelfranco Emilia

In his 1624 poem La Secchia Rapita (The Stolen Bucket), Modenese poet Alessandro Tassoni writes that during a 1325 battle, Venus, Bacchus, and Mars stopped at a (still-operating) inn in Castelfranco Emilia La Corona. The Bolognese innkeeper was so enraptured with the nude goddess that he tried to replicate her naval in the form of a meat-filled egg pasta known today as the tortellini of Castelfranco Emilia. 

This tale has been passed down by generations of rezdôre, the Emilia term for the women who roll out the dough manually. The men, on the other hand, handle the filling. We met some of them at La San Nicola, a voluntary association headquartered in Malvasia Castle in the nearby town of Panzano, and others at Il Tortellante, an association for autistic children – chef Massimo Bottura is involved in both of these institutions. 

What they have in common is the desire to transmit, preserve, and share a phenomenon that's not both gastronomic and social, teaching the craft to a new generation of young people to help them overcome their disabilities and gain independence. Here are some of their stories of these ordinary women. 

I Am legend

"May this tradition last another hundred, thousand years!" wishes Candida Leonardi, a 79-year-old tortellini-maker who spent most of her life working in a pork slaughterhouse in the Modena area. She and her daughter Loretta, a cook, participate in Tortellante, a social workshop during which she teaches autistic children the techniques and secrets for making this filled pasta. She says that they amaze her, "by now, they are much better than me." The official recipe is the one her mother Iolanda handed down to her: 2 lb. pork, 10½ oz. Modena prosciutto, and 1 tsp. mortadella cooked together. Once cold, she adds a lot of Parmigiano Reggiano and just a pinch of nutmeg, so as not to overpower the flavor of the meat. 

From Father to Daughter

Born and raised in Castelfranco Emilia, Sergina Capuncelli has tradition in her blood. For several years, she has been the rezdôra for La San Nicola, a voluntary association that organizes an annual festival in September in honor of the traditional Castelfranco Emilia tortellini. “I managed a rotisserie for years, then I worked in the kitchens of a supermarket. My father, who rolled out the dough in a sublime way, instilled a passion for food in my brother and me. I then passed it on to my daughter and my niece, who live in England. When they come back, they want to eat tortellini for a week. My secrets? The raw pork in the filling, the pasta dough that rests for at least two hours, and a calm mind. I knead in the morning and roll out in the afternoon. Who knows why? It comes out better. I have to be relaxed. I stand there with the rolling pin, and I don't think about anything else.”

Filled with meaning

"The rezdôra was the one who ‘held’ the house, its economy. Her balances. My grandmother, for example, was a farmer and boasted of having married her ten children without incurring debt," says the graceful, 80-year-old Emilia Panini. With her daughter Silvia, a co-founder of Il Tortellante, she teaches autistic children, like her grandson Paolo, to make tortellini. "The motions, when repeated, reassure. They allow us to communicate. They are precise, rigorous."  It's wonderful," she confides. "The kitchen? In Italy, it keeps the family together and happy. My husband and his brothers founded the Panini publishing house [a company that produces comic books, trading cards magazines, etc.]. He'd do business at the table and would bring the artists home for dinner."

Hand down the rolling pin

Thirty years as a metalworker, "a man's job", and a stint as a seamstress, 75-year-old Graziella Bassi (here with her granddaughter Valentina, 21, whom she teaches to bake), has an imponderable passion for pasta dough. “At La San Nicola, I make tortellini for the festival and have been teaching how to make them for ten years. I learned from my mother-in-law, who is an exceptional cook. It was she who passed me the ‘cannella’ or ‘matarela', as they say in dialect. Theoretically, the mother would have to include it in the dowry, but we were 12 children and my older sister had inherited it. I keep hers, all crooked, as a souvenir." 

She begins to roll out the puff pastry from the center, gradually looking at the dough against the light to see if it's perfect. "My secret is never to add flour while rolling out. That way, the broth stays clear." She can roll out the dough for up to five hours at a time. "My back even stops hurting because I'm happy while I'm working on it." 

The sfoglia is life

A former retired business secretary, Angela Rinaldi has been working with the La San Nicola association for a few years now. "But I've been making tortellini since I was eight years old. My teachers were my mother Ada and my aunt Marcella," she says with a thread of emotion. "They were only made at certain times like for the feast of St. Anthony, the patron saint of animals,
a very important day for those who, like us, lived in the countryside. Then they were never missing at Easter and August. I remember that I had to put them all in a row, very neatly – a ritual within a ritual. I handed down the recipe to my daughter Annalisa when she was still a child. Today, because of her job, she rarely prepares it. I'm a little sorry for that because this is an art, and you have to pass it on. It keeps us close to to our origins. My nephew, who lives in Chicago, always tells me that he misses tortellini so much and I am filled with pride."

And yet, feel

For ten years, Loredana Grandi was a pastry chef for Il Campazzo di Nonantola, a trattoria in the Modena area with Lidia Cristoni, the woman with whom Massimo Bottura took his first steps as a chef. Loredana Grandi today also works with the social laboratory il Tortellante. Sweet, empathetic, she says, "pasta speaks to you under your hands. It must be caressed. This is the only way you can feel where it's thinner and thicker. Cooking for me is welcoming. At Christmas, in addition to my large family, I like to host a friend who is left alone, who no longer has a wife or husband. Being at the table is joy. This year, my husband and I were alone at Eater because of the lockdown and I felt lost." The secret of the perfect tortellino? "Close the pastry only at the tip with a firm grip so the pasta cooks evenly. You can feel it in your mouth."