Everything You Know About Culinary Authenticity Is Wrong

Even our most beloved food traditions are moving targets

The image in question (My Madison Bistro)

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I recently posted something on social media — a throwaway idea, nothing substantial — about “Bolognese,” aka ragù alla Bolognese, which I also referred to as a famous “Italian” pasta sauce. Because the post was not something I gave much consideration to, yet of course desired maximum interaction for, I also grabbed a photo from Creative Commons to jazz it up a bit. It all seemed harmless. To my enduring shame, however, the photo I foolishly chose (see above) paired Bolognese with… spaghetti.

The reaction was swift.

For days, no exaggeration, I found myself defending this hasty photo selection to Italians — that is, to be clear, people who actually reside in Italy — who came out of the woodwork to tell me that what I had posted was not, after all, Italian, at least not in the traditional, authentic sense. Because, it turns out, tagliatelle is the pasta the Bolognese pair with ragù in the 21st century. Never spaghetti. I was well and resolutely scolded.

Beyond this embarrassing personal folly, Italian recipes in particular have become a hotbed of authenticity challenges online. Take, as exhibit #1, the popularity of the social media account “Italians mad at food,” for example, in which bona fide experts tell the world what is wrong with their cooking. Or this gripping scandal that recently captured the entire country’s attention: when Carlo Cracco, one of Italy’s most well-known chefs and television personalities, drew ire nationwide after suggesting — ON TV! — that adding garlic to Amatriciana was a good idea.

(I could go on…)

Naturally, this led me to ask myself: what defines authenticity anyway?

For something like ragù alla Bolognese, Amatriciana, or any of the myriad other famous and not so famous Italian recipes, what first leaps to mind of course, is tradition. The idea that this is the way it’s always been made, passed down from generation to generation. A technique or idea that must be preserved as it was to be considered authentic now.

But here’s the twist: that’s often not the reality, even with the things we consider to be most authentic.

For ragù alla Bolognese specifically, for example, when food historian Luca Cesari — in his outstanding book, The Discovery of Pasta — went looking for records of it in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, he found very little. And what he did find is quite enlightening.

The oldest recipe available was not published, but rather kept in a handwritten collection gathered by the cook for the bishop of Imola (near Bologna) during the late 1700s. In this case, Alberto Alvisi’s recipe, “ragù for sauced macaroni,” was essentially a stew of veal or pork loin or chicken gizzards, chopped finely and cooked with onions and broth (no tomato yet). Of particular importance here is that this early recipe called for maccheroni— then a generic name for tubular or short pasta — not tagliatelle, the supposed (according to my online friends) traditional Bolognese choice for ragù.

Denti di cavalli (florencecity.it)

A century later, when Pellegrino Artusi published his groundbreaking 1891 cookbook, La scienza in cucina e l’arte di mangiar bene (“Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating Well”) — a seminal tome that helped to unify Italy’s regional cuisines for the first time and even today remains foundational to modern Italian cuisine — he also called for maccheroni, in this case specifying denti di cavallo (“horse teeth”), a shape that somewhat resembles rigatoni.

Another interesting example came from Giulia Lazzari-Turco, who noted within her recipe for “pasta condita alla bolognese” in 1908’s Il piccolo focolare that the ragù “goes best with tagliatelle, taglierini and smooth or ridged macaroni.” Two things jump out there: first, that multiple pasta options are welcomed, and, more importantly, that there is no communication of a strict requirement. These are the optimal options, Lazzari-Turco seems to be saying, but not the only ones.

The early Bolognese recipe evolved over time, eventually adding tomato, of course, as well as settling on tagliatelle, a popular pasta in the region, as its preferred partner. The key here, notably, is that it indeed evolved, as human recipes always do. In other words, this illustrates why the idea of “this is the way it has always been done” is almost always bunk.

In a different chapter, Cesari took aim at the purity of Carbonara, this being another pasta recipe that seems to attract hard line traditionalists. I’m reminded, for example, of a scene from the No Reservations Rome episode, when one of Bourdain’s local expert helpers got into a heated exchange with the also local restaurant owner, because they had added some — gasp! — fresh zucchini blossoms to their Carbonara.

Looking at the history, however, Cesari’s research managed to show not only that the first published Carbonara recipe was done so in English, in the US, but that early recipes — even Italian ones — often contained wacky ingredients such as clams, ham, mushrooms, and, believe it or not, cream.

Modern carbonara (wikimedia commons)

But now let’s move away from pasta, to another foodstuff that also inspires passion and devotion: Philadelphia’s cheesesteak. Though a mostly local dish until the 1990s, the explosion of food-centric TV and the internet have more recently turned it into a global phenomenon. And what’s the most famous thing about the cheesesteak? Why, the neon yellow, gloopy, gloppy, exceptionable processed dairy of choice for this sandwich, of course: Cheese Whiz.

While conducting research for my book, A History Of Philadelphia Sandwiches, however, I learned a few interesting things about cheesesteaks, Cheese Whiz and authenticity. For one, the very first steak sandwich made by Pat Olivieri — who is widely credited for popularizing the dish in Philly — had no cheese at all. (It was just steak and onions.) In fact, cheese didn’t appear until almost twenty years later! And while there is some debate among those in the know over whether the original Pat’s CHEESE steak featured American or Provolone, one thing it definitely didn’t have was Cheese Whiz.

And yet, today cheesesteaks and Cheese Whiz are inextricably linked. So, which is the truly authentic cheese? Clearly, Whiz was not part of the original cheesesteak. On the other hand, most of the cheesesteaks at the city’s most well-known shops today — such as Pat’s, Geno’s and Jim’s — do feature Whiz. In 2015, for example, Pat’s current owner Frank Olivieri Jr. said about 60 percent of his customers chose Whiz, followed by provolone, then American.

Obviously, the fact that more people order Whiz does not make it superior. But does it make Whiz more authentic? Maybe.

Pat’s steak with whiz (wikicommons)

Perhaps instead of a strict adherence to tradition, then, authenticity is instead derived from the people themsleves, i.e., what is perceived to be authentic becomes authentic. This notion reminds me of how — while researching my monograph on Chianti Classico — I came across a fascinating academic paper that discussed Tipo Chianti, the California wine brand made in the style of (dare I say authentic) Italian Chianti — and sold in those same straw-covered flasks — in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

“Current notions of authenticity, based as they are on the unique geographies of taste, would never recognize Tipo Chianti as ‘real’ Chianti” wrote Harvard professor Zachary Nowak.

But perceptions were different back then. “This Californian Chianti was not a product that Americans were fooled into buying, ignorant of the real thing,” he continued. “They bought Chianti made in both California and in Italy, and saw both as equally authentic.”

Ad from 06 Feb 1906, The Evening Mail, Stockton, California (Newspapers.com)

Another thought here is that authenticity is deeply personal. In my own family, as one example, we follow a number of food traditions passed down from my great grandparents, who came to the US from Palermo. In Sicily’s capital city, street food is king, with the now ubiquitous arancine as well as the lesser-known pani câ meusa, literally bread with spleen, a sandwich that also includes caciocavallo and (optionally) ricotta cheeses.

When my family, however, went to make the latter in their new home — to celebrate the return of meat after Christmas Eve midnight mass — they couldn’t easily find spleen, thus substituted crispy bacon, and (obviously) never went back. As far as cheese goes, at some point ricotta became the main ingredient, and sharp provolone often filled in for the difficult to source caciocavallo.

Today, what we call vastedda (the name of the roll this sandwich is served on) is one of my family’s most cherished holiday traditions. But is it authentic? I would have to say no, not by any measure, when one considers that pani câ meusa is still readily available in Palermo. But it is certainly authentic to us.

Madaio-style vastedda (author photo)

For anyone to understand and accept the eventual truth here, it is crucial to come to terms with the idea that ingredients, techniques and preferences are constantly evolving, and there is likely nothing we could ever do to stop this (as long as human civilization exists, at least). And that just because most of us may not always notice these traditions slowly changing around us does not mean they are not.

In the end, I am tempted to conclude that either anything can be authentic, or that maybe nothing is authentic. Perhaps it truly is all in the eye of the beholder. As an alternative to the definitive answer, then, I might instead offer the following advice:

Embracing the idea of authenticity — a deep connection to a certain place, culture or time — can absolutely be rewarding, so by all means do enjoy the foods, drinks, etc. that are authentic to you, your family, culture, etc. Cherish them, learn about them, share them with others (and learn about their own authentic things), and especially pass them along to your next generation. But also accept them with grains of salt and humility; understand that these things have changed, do change, and will continue to change.

Lastly — and perhaps most importantly — please don’t use them as a reason to yell at strangers on the internet.

References & further reading

Cesari, Luca. The Discovery of Pasta: A History in Ten Dishes. Pegasus Books, 2023.

Madaio, Mike. A History of Philadelphia Sandwiches: Steaks, Hoagies, Iconic Eateries and More. The History Press, 2024.

Madaio, Mike. Becoming Chianti Classico: A Wine Region’s Fight for Authenticity. Life at Table, 2024.

Novak, Zachary, “A Transnational Fiasco : Authenticity, Two Chiantis, and the Unimportance of Place.” Global Food History, 5 (June 2018): 1–20.