Another food & politics report from Extreme Mortman culinary correspondent Vic Matus, known in other sophisticated literary circles as Weekly Standard assistant managing editor and blogger for Galley Slaves:

For the past six years, the German Marshall Fund of the United States and the Bertelsmann Foundation have been cohosting a transatlantic conference, bringing Americans and Europeans together to promote dialogue and understanding. As you can imagine, this hasn’t always been easy, considering the differing attitudes over the Iraq war and now Iran. But it does help that each year the conference is held in the same location, balmy Lake Como, Italy. Specifically we convene at Tremezzo, overlooking the lake and just across from Bellagio. So in between very open-minded discussions on issues like counterterrorism’s impact on international law, we also have time to sit in the sun, enjoy the floating pool (right on Lake Como and anchored to the hotel’s dock), and, best of all, feast on authentic (and abundant amounts of) Italian cuisine. But on this last trip two weeks ago, a new item was added to the agenda: a dinner sampling of regional fare, both from the Como area as well as neighboring Piedmont–and a tutorial by Italian food and wine experts.

Torino chef Pier Bussetti first brought us an amuse gueule: a cup of salted yogurt with a Mueslix flake and shredded meat. The flavor was intriguingly salty and sweet. The meat reminded me of bacon, although it did not come off a pig, but, rather, a horse. Next came the bresaola (or “brazhole” as my Jersey paisans call it) and its goat equivalent.  That’s right: Two goat legs were brought out, having been air-cured and salted in a cellar for a year. Each slice is so high in protein, explained the hotel’s restaurant manager, that it goes right into the blood stream. “They give this to patients in hospitals,” he added. At the very least, it was lean.

Being one of the deepest lakes in Europe, Lake Como is home to a fish that can be caught only one time each year (during mating season). Fortunately that time is now. Similar to smelt, these fish, about three inches in length, were deep-fried and served whole, from head to tail. This was, for me, a highlight (and high in calcium!). But the guiltiest of all pleasures was a tray of, for lack of better words, bacon fat: strips of lard, with only scant bits of actual meat, translucent and oily and drizzled in a sugary syrup. Not for the faint of heart. But for the sake of this column, I had two pieces. It is amazing how your mind can convince you that this can’t be all fat. It did have a chewy texture and tasted much like bacon. But Italians could not really be eating pure fat, could they? I asked what this deadly fare was called in Italian. Said the restaurant manager: “Lardo.”

There was more during the week. We gorged on pesto and mushroom risotto and tiramisu and plump little balls of bufala mozzarella. Needless to say, the culinary dimension of the trip kept everyone in a good mood (and in good spirits thanks to bottles of Prosecco). Despite some differences, no fists were thrown, threats made, or condemnations of either effete Europeans or boorish Americans. And, in fact, there were a few areas we all agreed on. Such as that U.S. troops need to stay in Iraq until the government is stabilized. And there needs to be a solution to Guantanamo. And immigration is a serious problem in Europe.

And who ordered another plate of Lardo?