Every spring the world of children’s book publishing screeches to a halt and all eyes, ears and pocketbooks are focused on Bologna, Italy, where foreign rights agents, lawyers, editors, writers, illustrators, literary agents and anyone interested in children’s books descend on this small North Italian city to show their latest books or buy the next bestseller.

It’s a great pace to meet old friends and business partners, eat great pasta and discover the history of one of the great regions of the world.

But I’m really here to write about a dinner for eleven people that I cooked in Italy without a cheese grater.

The conversations at the trade fair don’t only focus on the buying and selling of thousands of copies of children’s books. With grave solemnity, discussions over counter-top espressos lead to, “Where shall we eat tonight?”

This year I rented an apartment with two other professionals as did a number of other friends and pros. We all decided early on that a communal dinner at one of the apartments would be fun, easy . . . and cheap (we are all starving artists, after all).

We settled on Erzsi’s place. Her Bologna apartment was large enough to handle eleven people and was centrally located. And she had a dishwasher. I volunteered to plan the menu and cook.

I had a two-hour window between my duties at the book fair so I grabbed a taxi and headed straight into the market area of Bologna just off the Piazza Maggiore, the great square in the center of town. Four or five narrow streets are lined with fresh produce, candies and sweet confections, meats and fish, cooking oils, cheese and, of course, fresh pasta. Unfortunately it was 3 o’clock, so many of the shops were closed for the afternoon. But there was still plenty to choose from.

I planned to serve some tortellini, the pasta for which Bologna is best known. I settled on a kilo of tortellini freschissimi, something I could serve with a simple sauce. As I ordered the pasta, the old shop owner behind the counter said, “For soup, si?”

“No,” I replied. “With a sauce.”

“What sauce?”

“I thought some tomatoes and …”

“NO!”

I thought he was going to jump over the counter and hit me with one of the nearby ham legs hanging from the ceiling.

“No tomatoes!” he said. “I know tomatoes! Cream! Cream and cheese! Here, cream … due, two…” He handed me two small cartons of thick cream for the sauce. I picked out a brick-size hunk of Parmigiano Reggiano and slunk out of the shop with my parcels.

I had promised the group something fresh and light so I entered another shop and bought some tagliolini, thinner long pasta, hand-made, of course. I saw a small basket of dried porcini mushrooms and added that to my collection. I bought some olive oil, tomatoes (I was determined), shallots, a head of garlic, fresh basil, two jars of black olives and a bunch of greens for a salad. I dumped them all back at my apartment and raced back to the fair grounds to begin my portfolio reviews at the Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators stand.

Later, back at Erzsi’s, I started to cook. Everyone began to arrive and wanted to help so they all pitched in. John opened a bottle of wine and one of champagne and handed out glasses to the cooking crew. Kathleen began to chop the garlic; Leonard sliced thick hunks of the rustic bread Roy had brought. Erzsi chopped the shallots while Susan tore pieces of lettuce - rocket and radicchio - for the salad. I diced the tomatoes. It was then that I discovered we had no grater for the cheese.

I mean, really, isn’t it a law that every Italian household must own a cheese grater? But Roy rose to the challenge; he set his cutting board on top of the refrigerator (the only flat, empty space available by then) and cut thin slices from the Parmigiano and finely chopped the slices into small pieces. Kathleen D. whisked up a vinaigrette with honey, lemon, orange and dill for the salad. I started a large pot of water to boil. We were ready.

Our primo piatto was the tortellini freschissimi with just some cream and cheese (the old man was right).  The salad was placed on the table. As the second pot of water was boiling I began my other sauce. It was simply sautéed shallots and garlic in the olive oil, the diced tomatoes, the chopped re-hydrated porcini mushrooms (with some of the rich liquid), the olives, basil, salt and pepper and a nice glug of balsamic vinegar from Modena, the town we had visited the previous day.

The tagliolini was laid out on a gawd-awful ugly plastic platter (no choice; it was only thing big enough), the sauce spread out on top with Roy’s exquisitely chopped cheese in a bowl. We raised our glasses and toasted to the book fair and to lots of signed contracts with the wine Paul and Debra brought along.

Then we ate. And drank. And talked. And talked. And ate.

Eating well in Bologna is never a challenge. There is a large selection of terrific restaurants scattered all over the city. But every so often a home-made meal in a friend’s apartment surrounded by award-winning authors and illustrators of children’s books with the camaraderie of like-minded people can be the perfect counter to going out to eat yet again and putting on your good manners and best shoes.

I recommend it for everyone.

But make sure you pack a cheese grater.

Doug Cushman is a former Redding artist and author who now lives and works in Paris. He was born in Springfield, Ohio and moved to Connecticut with his family when he was 15 years old. While in high school he created comic books lampooning his teachers, selling them to his classmates for a nickel a piece.

Since 1978, he has illustrated and/or written more than 100 books for children and collected a number of honors, including a Reuben Award for Book Illustration from the National Cartoonists Society, New York Times Children’s Books Best Sellers, and the New York Public Library’s Best 100 Books of 2000. He enjoys hiking, kayaking and cooking (and eating!). Learn more about Doug, his art and his books at his Web site, http://www.doug-cushman.com/index.htm

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