At the Bergamo Food Film Fest, a thoughtful ensemble of shorts and off-screen culinary events gave audiences a lot to sink their teeth into.
In a remote Anatolian village surrounded by dry steppes, three ladies take their time crumbling up freshly curdled cheese and stuffing it into sacks of sheep’s skin. The sacks are then sewn up, pierced on all sides and placed 32 metres underground, in the depths of a fault line. In the months to come, their wool-covered surface will gradually be colonised by rust-coloured mould while the cheese known as divle obruk develops pungent flavours.
“People gave them the moniker of ‘Turkish roquefort’, but we don’t accept it. Ours is superior to roquefort,” a local cheesemaker proclaims. This is one of the most mesmerising sequences in the Cenk Demirkiran’s documentary Aboveground-Underground, one of the works screened at the 2025 Bergamo Food Film Fest. Over the last decade, an increasing number of gastronomically oriented film titles and festivals have sprung up around the world both to satisfy our appetite for food porn and to investigate the dynamics between what we eat and how we live. The film festival held annually in the northern Italian town – one of UNESCO’s Creative Cities of Gastronomy – is one of the forerunners of this phenomenon.
Its recently concluded twelfth edition (20-23 August) continued a fascinating approach of marrying the Italian tradition of outdoor cinema with critical rigour. Out of 600 submissions of various genres and origins, the festival’s artistic director Luca Cavadini handpicked 35 of them to reflect how the production, distribution and consumption of food impacts wild animals’ habitats, the financial stability and aspirations of disenfranchised individuals, the social fabric within a community and beyond.
On a breezy Friday afternoon, I arrived at the Piazza Mascheroni, part of Bergamo’s historical upper town, or città alta. The festival’s straightforward setup allowed me to appreciate that I was among textured medieval edifices. A heavy rainstorm on the previous days forced the opening events to be held indoors, but it dispersed the heatwave that had devastated the region, making for a comfortable viewing experience.
The organisers made a point of welcoming as many people as possible. Each screening block consisted of six to eight documentaries, narrative films and animations, with durations varying from three to 45 minutes. Entry was free and attendees could come and go at any point. Several young adult tourists waltzed in mid-way, gelato in hand, caught a couple of shorts and moved on to other attractions. Meanwhile, many locals completed full sessions. From time to time, I caught some of them waving at their acquaintances walking by the square, or exchanging whispers to marvel at the Egyptian stuffed pigeon being prepared in the films – watching an unhurried audience react to the show is part of the festival’s charm.
Most documentaries eschew complex camerawork or editing techniques, letting tactile scenes of cooking, harvesting and fishing speak for themselves. My favourite works tend to be the ones that feature in-situ interviews: By an open flame on the beach, a master sardine griller in Malaga speaks about having taken up the job in place of his imprisoned brother (The Sardine Roaster). Over in Oaxaca, a farmer explains that native ant larvae have been long revered for their nutty notes as he dug a small pit in search of the “Mexican caviar” (Moles & Escamoles). There is a directness in these commentaries which inject humanity into the films’ affect. The creative animations offered a stylistic counterpoint and a healthy dose of whimsy. Especially remarkable is Rogomme, in which a child dreams of turning rotten fruits into gemstones.
Serious questions about food security were raised too. Priced to Thrill dissects the operation model of an independent, low-cost supermarket in Nova Scotia and its importance to the customers as they brace themselves for skyrocketing grocery prices. The witty fictional film Oro e Contanti taps into Italy’s youth unemployment problem, as three protagonists burgle their way to a first taste of expensive oysters but fail to summon an appetite for the coveted bivalves. Both make the most of around 20 minutes’ runtime to outline how the challenging circumstances nowadays influence people’s decision making and their quest for a good meal.
Between screenings, a diverse lineup of gastronomic experiences, talks and theatre led our culinary horizons to new frontiers. Tastings of Fresa di Ittiri cheese from Sardinia and beer made of grape must derived from Moscato wine production are delicious reminders that an extensive network of independent producers and agricultural associations are the beating hearts behind Italy’s world-renowned cuisine. More food for thought was given by actor Enrico Jacopo Testoni, as he presented a modified performance (due to weather reasons) of Fame, a mix of staged culinary acts and a monologue about food waste.
Yet, I was most intrigued by a single origin coffee showcase. It is to no one’s surprise that Italy has a deep-rooted coffee culture, but this long tradition has often limited how Italians see and drink the beverage. Erminia Nodari, the founder of the Slow Food Coffee Coalition, passed the pour-over brews around she prepared and emphasised that coffee did not have to be bitter like the ubiquitous espresso. When the crowd tasted the gentle acidity and maltiness in the drink, the excitement on their faces was palpable.
During the break, I set off to explore Bergamo’s own gastronomic legacy. The verdant Alpine valleys nearby produce excellent cheeses and cold cuts, and warming polenta – local recipes call for a bit of buckwheat mixed into the cornmeal – has been the carbohydrate of choice to combat the harsh mountainous climate. Given I was already sweating wandering around, I ordered casoncelli, a native filled pasta, for my lunch as I sat down at the terrace of Trattoria La Colombina. Its bowtie shape was adorable, and the sausage and parmigiano filling was a nice match for a glass of red wine.
I skipped dessert at the restaurant because a main checkpoint for my post-lunch passeggiata was La Marianna, a bar and cremerie that invented the stracciatella gelato in the 1960s by adding swirls of chocolate into plain milk ice cream. When you have easy access to the exceptional milk coming from the Alps, a bit of cacao is all that is needed to create a bestselling treat.
Whereas most of these delicacies have a rather lightweight following outside Italy, the Food Film Fest does its best to leverage the cultural currency of la cucina bergamasca to help the city connect with kindred spirits abroad. This year, it spotlighted Santa Maria da Feira, a fellow City of Gastronomy from Portugal, with a documentary about its sweet bread varieties fogaça and regueifa and the related festive rituals. A pre-show conversation between the cultural representatives of the two municipalities outlined the film’s importance in giving Santa Maria da Feira the international exposure it needed. And it is by honouring culinary realities overlooked by dominant narratives that the festival finds its raison d’être.
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