To forage is to read a landscape, to negotiate what is visible against what stays hidden, to weigh the instinct to search against the decision to commit.

Bologna already moves this way beneath its portici, covered passages that order the city between inside and outside. Walks through this network were recorded and reconstructed into precise movement paths, then used to train a pathfinding logic that could be re-run on other ground. The portico becomes less a structure than a way of moving, one that can be carried elsewhere.

It is carried to Villa Ghigi, a hillside park on the city's edge and a former estate whose order has quietly collapsed, its paths faded with its fields. What the site has lost, the city lends as navigational behaviour.
The building is measured from a single plate of Bolognese, the meal that concluded a day of foraging in the city, scanned and resolved into the smallest spaces in which the dish can be made: a burner, a counter, a sink, a place to eat. The recorded movement threads these into ten foraged rooms along covered and open ground. The building is the portico, re-learned: a foraged architecture for the making of Bolognese.