La Cucina Romana

At the end of March, we traveled to Rome for R to visit with the economics institute there, and for us to revisit a city of our distant past:  the only visit of one of us was 25 years ago, and for the other, 50 years.  Of course, Rome has been there for several thousand.   Even a long weekend in Rome cannot do justice to all of the magnificent art and architecture there, not to mention, of course, the food, so we had to sample and plan ahead a little.  We booked a guided tour of the Vatican Museums, including the Sistine Chapel, that was very rewarding, although exhausting, with all the Michelangelo, Botticelli, and Raffael to take in.  Plus the crowds, which were enormous everywhere in Rome.  We can only imagine what the summer must be like.  We had some good tips on restaurants from those with more experience, and in the end, we ate very well.

First, to orient ourselves, we visited the Campo de Fiori market, said to be the best in town.  This gave us a flavor for some of the vegetables and fruits we might later see on menus.  Two turned out to be very important for Rome: artichokes, which at these markets are more reddish and rounded, and less prickly than the ones we buy at home.  One web site calls them cimaroli artichokes.

The second is "puntarelle."  What was this? Grated zucchini? Some green all its own?

It turns out these, we are informed by this Italian food blog, is an extremely local Roman dish, whose season runs from November until February.  It is a variety of Catalonian chicory, which requires a great deal of preparation (some of which we observed in the market.)  First the leaves are stripped, and then the shoots are sliced, soaked so they curl, and dressed.

Next to the Campo de Fiori is the Farnese Palace, which Tosca lovers will know was the home of Scarpia and the place where he has his fatal supper with Tosca, who sells herself in order to save, she thinks, her lover Cavaradossi.  In fact, the Palace has long belonged to the French, and is now the French Embassy (and home to the Bibliotheque Francaise in Rome).  The new French ambassador wanted to open up the palace to show off its frescoes and other riches.  We had hoped to get tickets, as the Economist had raved about the exhibition, but the web site stymied us, and our hotel wasn't too eager to help either.  Undaunted, especially R, we walked over there from the market, and eventually stood in the queue for those "without reservations."  It was a very short queue, because it is not possible to enter without reservations.  The palace opened at 9 am, and after the nice guard let in 20 or 30 people "with reservations," he let in four of us.  Here is the outside of the palace.

No photos were allowed inside, but the highlights were the frescoes in the music room (Scarpia's supper room) by Annibale Carracci; the structural designs of Michelangelo; portraits of Farnese "holy men" such as Titian's portrait of Paul III and others that are normally shown in Naples, but had originally been in the palace.   Pretty terrific stuff!

But enough about art, let's talk about food.  The cuisine (cucina) of Rome is said to be a cuisine of poverty, making plenty of use of the less treasured parts of animals. The less grand fish are also featured -- anchovies and octopus.  A vibrant Jewish presence had lent its mark to Roman cuisine as well.  It is also, we learned, a cuisine of tradition.  Meat is served at restaurants at the beginning of the week, fish from Thursday to Sunday.  Thursdays are for gnocchi.

We arrived on Thursday and had dinner with a group from the institute and another visitor -- a party of 6 was a good size for sampling a number of different appetizers at the restaurant Da Vincenzo, "known for its fish."  For the antipasti, we had a couple of plates of mussels, a couple more plates of anchovies in lemon, and six oysters.  There were also deep-fried zucchini blossoms stuffed with anchovies, one for each of us.  For the pasta course: potato gnocchi with little mushrooms and clams.  And for fish R and I shared a filet of sole. Fresh and simple. Very nice.   (I have not done a good job of remembering desserts.  So I can say that Roman desserts are not memorable.)

On Friday, after the market and the Palazzo Farnese, R was working all day and I was sightseeing.  For lunch, I found through the green guide a family-run trattoria off the Piazza Navona, Da Francesca, in piazza del Fico, and I ordered a plate of pasta with ragu of polpo - octopus.  This was a rich and yummy ragu, just the thing to power an afternoon of sightseeing (piazza Navona, and many many Bernini statues and fountains. Trevi fountain. Triton fountain. Fountain of the rivers:)

  R did as the Romans did for lunch - and had only a heavenly "artisanal" ice cream at I Caruso, via Collina 15, around the corner from our hotel on Piazza Sallustio, and across from what Michelin says is the best cheese store in Rome.  Friday evening we made reservations for a place far away from the center, Il Quinto Quarto, the "fifth quarter."  The idea is that they make use of all of the parts of the animal (beef) that others leave behind, i.e. offal.  Moreover, they specialize in the local cuisine and wines of  the area around Rome.  This is a small place out past the Olympic park, with just a few tables inside and a few more outside in a closed terrace. We were seated just by the picture window that looks into the tiny kitchen, where we could see the cooks deep frying up a storm.  R started with anchovies, and I ordered a sformatto of asparagus, that really tasted of asparagus!  (See the fresh ones in the market picture above.)  We weren't sure we needed three courses, but the place is famous for its pasta carbonara, the waiter insisted, pointing to some publicity framed on the wall.  So we split a serving.  Good choice!  The pasta was large tubes, the guanciale (cured pig cheek) was small and not crispy, and the sauce was just egg and olive oil.  No cream anywhere in sight.  It was carbonara like nothing ever before.  Finally the main courses: another classic for R, tripa a la Romana, slices of delicate tripe in a tomatoey-cream sauce.  I had the breast of veal, "roasted slowly for 20 hours with herbs and spices."  It was truly excellent, tender, carmelized, with what seemed like caraway or another kind of seed.  The cut was much thicker than the breast of veal we used to buy in Princeton and even at Urbana's Jewel, when we first moved there.  But the portion was gargantuan!  Our google map directions said we could walk to the restaurant from our hotel in about an hour.  We chose taxis both ways, but a walk might have done some good.

Saturday! The Vatican.  They did a good job of crowd management, timed tickets, places to lecture to groups about the Sistine chapel well before the crush to get there.  But a long time on our feet, waiting and walking and craning our necks to look at the magnificant frescoes.  We had wanted also to tour St Peter's, but needed lunch first, and didn't want to eat at one of the many Vatican cafes (very Disneyesque) or nearby.  And R had regretted not having lunch on Friday at another neighborhood place near the institute, Cantina Cantarini, piazza Sallustio.  Miracle of miracles, it was still open at 2 pm on Saturday as we dragged ourselves back up the hill from the Piazza Barberini metro, past the impregnable hulk of the Palazzo Marguerita, home to the US embassy.  The Cantina is a neighborhood place, started by migrants from the Marche region, and it was full of neighbors as we dined.  R had cuttlefish ink pasta, and I had spaghetti con vongole.  And so did many others!  Just the perfect antidote to all that power and glory across the river.  R's host at the institute recommended a few other places in the neighborhood, including "for more modern cuisine," Otto e mezzo, "8 and a half," so we made a booking there for "otto e mezzo," which is a little early by Roman standards, but we'd had a long day.   This is ultra cool, meant to be homage to Fellini, gesturing to Roman cooking traditions but in a modern way.  Thus R had puntarelle with deep fried anchovies, and I had artichokes served four ways - a couple of quarters deep fried, others thinly sliced, others steamed, and finally small stuff ones.   We skipped the pasta course and went straight to the fish: sea bass with artichokes (there is a Theme here) for R, and turbot with olives and cherry tomatoes for D.  Plenty of good white wine to accompany.

Sunday is another, and our last day, for sightseeing.  We went to the Colosseum, first stopping at the church St Peter in Chains, to see Michelangelo's sculpture of Moses for Pope Julius's tomb.  Approaching the Colosseum, all kinds of touts invited us to join their guided tours and "skip the lines"; this was the rule for the Vatican Museums: groups trump individuals.  One said the wait would be an hour and a half, but the line was moving pretty briskly, and we decided to remain independent. We were inside in no more than 20 minutes.  We were able to climb to the upper tier as well as walk all around the lower, and look into the basements below.   The day was gorgeous, sunny but not too hot, and it really felt like we were on holiday.

But all those sights make a person hungry!  We figured we were pretty close to Trastavere, a neighborhood of bars and trattorias across the river, but we didn't count on the Palatino hill on our way being a closed monument.  We had a ticket to get in, but the traffic was one-way, the wrong way.  Eventually we made our way around the old forum, and to the Capitoline Hill (whose square was laid out by Michelangelo), through the Jewish quarter and off to find a restaurant.  Eventually we settled on a pizzaria, Dar Poeta.  More touristy than some places, there were tourists with guidebooks in all languages, and the pizza was fine -- zucchini blossoms and - yes! - anchovies for R, and pesto, cherry tomato, potato (soft not crispy) and mozzarella for me.  The secret of both -- very spare on the toppings, to let the bread flavor come out.

Perusing our guidebook, we noted that Raffael's mistress had lived on one of the streets nearby, and we thought, where in Rome is her famous portrait, La Fornarina, that we had seen when it was traveling to Indianapolis?  It is in Palazzo Barbarini, the museum of ancient art, right on our route back to the hotel.  So we moseyed along back streets, seeing more fountains, like this one to which Bernini added the tortoises on the top:

The museum was practically deserted.  In addition to the lovely La Fornarina, there was also a magnificent fresco in the main salon, by Pietro da Cortona.  Three fabulous ceiling frescoes in one weekend!  And still one more dinner to fill.  We had hoped to eat lightly at a local wine bar, but it was closed.  So our hotelier recommended a "very good" nearby place, Taverna Flavia, noted for its celebrity loving host and pictures on the walls of celebrities from film and politics.  For our last Roman dinner, I wanted finally to have "Carcioffi alla Giudia," artichokes Jewish style.  These are deep fried, and we'd seen many coming out of the kitchen at Quinto Quarto.  I had two little ones, they were tender and crispy and very flavorful.   R had sardines.  For pasta, R had tagliatelli with porcini, and I had another Roman classic, pasta amatriciana, which is a sauce of tomato, guanciale (pork cheek), and pecorino cheese. (You can buy little kits to make it in some grocery stores.)  I think I need to sample a few more examples to become hooked, but the place was pleasant, and the pictures fun to look at.  We tipped our waiter pretty well, I guess, because as we were leaving he invited us to view the Elizabeth Taylor room, another dining room in the wayback. It seems she and Richard Burton hung out there when filming Cleopatra.  The owner, said the waiter, never married. He told Liz that if she would not marry him, he would never marry anybody.   Wow, there were a lot of pictures there!

In the morning before our flight, we dropped by the famous cheese store, knowing regretfully that we had lots of good Neal's Yard cheese at home, but unable to resist a few samples. So we bought some aged pecorino, and a soft cheese, Robiola.

Ciao!