Da Cesare is where it is, which is on the western edge of Trastevere in the residential neighborhood of the Monteverde Nuovo district. It’s a schlep from the Pantheon where we were staying. We walked 15 minutes to the Arenula tram stop near Largo Argentina and spent 30 minutes on the #8 tram lumbering across Trastevere to the end of the line. Riding a tram is the last thing one thinks about in visiting Rome, but it’s an important part of a multi-pronged transportation strategy.

As we alighted from the tram, what looked like flocks of wild green parrots swarmed up the main street in the twilight. It turns out they are actually parakeets (Pappagalli Verdi)  of two different species that have established themselves in Rome: the Asian rose-ringed parakeet and the South American monk parakeet. Their origin is unclear but they likely escaped their pet owners and have been spotted elsewhere in Europe. They don’t mix and keep separate breeding colonies in green areas. They know a good place when they see it.
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Da Cesare is about a hundred feet from the tram stop and is easy to find if you take the right path. It is surprisingly modern in décor and furniture given its traditionalist take on food. It is a substantial operation with a very large terrace as well as inside seating. We sat on the terrace.

​Italian food follower Katie Parla (Katieparla.com) called Da Cesare “the perfect Roman trattoria.” I like Katie and her recommendations. I have been inspired in writing this blog by her posts and those of other Rome-centric commentators like Elizabeth Minchilli (Eating My Way Through Italy), Agnes Crawford (Understanding Rome), Natalie Kennedy (An American in Rome) and Gillian Longworth McGuire (Gillian Knows Best).

Da Cesare has been run by Leonardo Vignoli and his wife Maria Pia Cicconi since they acquired it in 2009. It was formerly owned by someone named Cesare, hence the name. Why start everything anew?

We settled in with a bottle of San Pellegrino and a large carafe of house red wine from the Cesanese grape. We had never heard of the Cesanese grape but there are 3 regional variations, grown mainly in the Lazio region. The wine is having a day after once being favored by popes and epicures of ancient Rome. In fact, as Ned Goodwin wrote in December 2024’s issue of Decanter: “It was in 2019, while eating at the great trattoria Cesare al Casaletto, that murmurs of Cesanese’s renaissance became palpable… It is said to have been a particular favourite of 13th century Innocent III and Boniface VIII.” And there it was on our tabletop. It had well-balanced tannins and acidity and made a good pairing with the pasta dishes to follow.
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We began with starters of melanzana fritti and calamari fritti. The melanzana fritti carried a distinct mint flavor that complimented the melanzana and its breadcrumb and pistachio coating and tomato sauce. The calamari were delicate and lightly battered, served simply in a paper cone with a squeeze of lemon. They wafted me home to Fisherman’s Wharf in Monterey, CA.

​Our main dishes of the evening were rigatoni alla Matriciana (that’s how it was spelled), gnocchi alla coda vaccinara and tonnarelli a la gricia.

These were delicious with noted qualifications that the guanciale pieces with the tonnarelli were judged too large (!), the gnocchi were assessed under-salted while the coda vaccinara sauce seemed a little thin, and my serving of rigatoni was enormous (no complaint there). We felt the staff “hovered” too eagerly, snatching plates as they were emptied. Such is the server’s thin line between efficiency and inattention. Overall, however, it was a very successful evening and an excellent meal for 3 at only 81 euros. Somehow, the return trip on the tram seemed to pass with little notice.

And so, after 8 full days, we arrive at:

​Arrivederci Roma...!! A la prossima volta…!

(Did I remember to throw those coins in the Fontana di Trevi…?)

This church sits around the corner from the Piazza del Popolo. The main reason for our visit was to view two Caravaggio paintings of the same year (1601) that hang on opposite sides of the narrow Tiberio Cerasi (Papal treasurer) chapel designed by Carlo Maderno. The two paintings were part of the same commission and they continue to hang in the place of their creation on opposite sides of Annibale Carracci’s contemporary altar painting of the Assumption of the Virgin.
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For undisclosed reasons, the first versions of both Caravaggio paintings were either rejected by Cerasi or reconsidered by Caravaggio and the ones in situ are the second versions of both paintings.  The first version of The Crucifixion was either lost or destroyed while the first Conversion of Saint Paul is held in the Odescalchi Balbi Collection in Rome. It is quite a different composition.

The two existing paintings are in beautiful condition, highlighting Caravaggio’s style of dramatic tension between light and dark (“tenebrism”). Both paintings exhibit the baroque fixation on dramatic events at a moment in time. Given their lateral position in a narrow chapel, both are difficult to view except at a sharp angle from the side. It is likely that Caravaggio’s organizational structure of these two paintings, with their strong diagonal flow, was meant to draw eyes to them on the side walls. In both paintings, flashes of color (gray and pink) appear from cloths spread at the bottom and punctuate the otherwise somber tonal quality of the pictures.

Emperor Nero reportedly crucified Saint Peter upside down around A.D. 64, allegedly at Peter’s request to differentiate his own humble death from that of Christ. Nero persecuted Peter and the Christians as scapegoats for the Great Fire of Rome that same year and as general threats to power.

Everything about this crucifixion painting is arduous and cements the intensity of its focus on the specific action at hand. It takes 3 men that look like beasts-of-burden with their faces anonymously concealed to hoist Peter on the cross and they struggle to do so. One of them gets his shirtsleeve entangled in the rope. Peter’s feet are soiled and dirty. The action evidently takes place at night with no lamenting onlookers. Peter seems physically fit in his 60s and mentally composed, appearing to glance outside the frame with neither fear nor pain. Only the 4 figures are bathed in light; the rest is darkness.
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The compositional flow forms an “X.” One diagonal line begins with the hands of the man on top and flows down the tenuously taught rope on his back to the feet of the man below grasping a shovel in his hands. The other line follows the downward diagonal of the cross. Not only is the “X” itself the shape of a cross but it holds the entire piece together and also serves as an emblem of Christ, since the Greek letter “Chi” is the first letter of Christ’s Greek name.

The other painting is the Conversion of Saint Paul on the Road to Damascus around 35 A.D. Known as Saul, he was happily on his way to persecute Christians. In reports of this event, Saul is suddenly struck blind by divine light and a revelation of the resurrected Christ.
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Caravaggio depicts Paul dressed in soldier’s garb and evidently fallen, albeit from an unsaddled and rather common-looking horse. The horse was never part of the gospel story at all, but it adds a mass that solidly anchors the painting’s entire central section. The lack of a saddle raises questions about the circumstances of Paul’s tumble. Paul lies supine, arms outstretched, forming the “V” of an inverted triangle. He is totally incapacitated and helpless under the horse’s casually raised hoof. An unidentified man stands behind the horse, holding his bridle.

It is difficult to characterize this museum and a full appreciation requires some preliminary setting of expectations and considerable time on site. It is a private collection of significant size situated in the city center on Via del Corso.

The palace itself dates from the 15th century, but the Doria Pamphilj family acquired it in the 18th century. The family’s power reached its apex with the election of one of its own as Pope Innocent X (1644-55). Several family members became cardinals and the family acquired a number of palaces. The Palazzo Doria Pamphilj in central Rome is one of those properties. It remains privately owned by the family and houses the Gallery. The latter contains one of Rome’s largest private art collections and was assembled over the years through bequests from various families that have been united by marriage.

On display is the palazzo itself, its furnishings and decorations, as well as the paintings and sculptures that fill every available space. It is a palazzo of large rooms and some intimate salons. There are long hallways, most of them stuffed with chairs, divans, and wall-side (console) tables as well as sculptures and paintings. Sometimes unexpected objects appear, like this apparent bed for a child that must have been born with a silver spoon in its mouth.

We didn’t count the number of chairs and tables, but it was surely hundreds, many of them quite similar. The ceilings are frescoed and the walls are papered. This should definitely appeal to fans of furniture and interior decoration of a certain era. It’s totally sumptuous.

The paintings are a different case. There is a vast number and the arrangement does not do justice to them. Nor does the lack of information and context. Some appear like they have never been cleaned and even outdoor landscapes show dark and somber. Most of the works are untitled but attributed to a presumed artist. Many of the artists are little-known, at least to us, but there are also well-known names represented by lesser works of art. Some are quite good but these are seldom displayed in ways that accentuate their virtues. Almost all of the many hundreds of paintings are hung to fit into a highly structured display scheme and many of these are placed too high to be seen well. As a result, it takes patience and a detective’s sharp eye to spot standout pieces. Some of those we noted and enjoyed are shown below.

​Somehow, we never managed to eat at Colline Emiliane before, despite having it on a list of prime targets on several occasions. It wasn’t easy to get a reservation, but this was the night to visit the legendary eatery tucked away in a non-descript alleyway not far from the Fontana di Treve.

This spot shifts the regional culinary spotlight from Lazio around Rome to the northerly region of Emilia-Romagna that spreads above Florence between the coasts. That is where freshness and simplicity reign. The pasta is made with eggs and are fresh, not dried, often stuffed and served with Parmigiana, not Pecorino. Pasta is the star of the show, handmade fresh daily at Colline Emiliane by Anna and Paola Latini who, since the late 1960s, have accommodated the likes of Fellini, Antonioni, Mastroianni and others.

We shared a sampler platter of antipasti delle colline emiliane, which were fresh and tender examples of varieties of salumi plus unexpected treats like mousse di mortadella. It went nicely with a bottle of 2020 Nero d’Avola Sicilian red wine and a liter of San Pellegrino acqua frizzante. As main courses, two of us ordered the Ravioli di Zucca in butter/sage sauce and the third took Tagliatelli con porcini, both of them culinary harbingers of autumn and delicious.

​When dessert beckoned, we turned respectfully to Mousse di zabaione, Tiramisu con fragioline, and Tarte di fragolini con meringhe, which together created a sweet conclusion to an exquisite meal. At 139 euros for 3, it topped our restaurant expenditures but remained in the moderate range for 3 courses. It was well worth the wait to dine at Colline Emiliane.

​The Palazzo Barberini is a sumptuous baroque palace by architects Bernini and Borromini that provides a massive space for the Galleria Barberini collections. Unfortunately, the collections are spotty. Some works by famous artists are not their best, and many are by little known contributors. Nevertheless, we enjoyed a few high points like those below.

La Fornarina (The Little Baker, 1519)  Raphael (1483-1520) painted La Fornarina (The Little Baker) between 1518 and 1519. The subject’s real name was Margherita Luti. She was his mistress and muse but refused to marry him.

​She sits here gazing aside with a bemused smile and turbaned head in a “modest Venus” (“Venus pudica”) pose of partial modesty. Raphael died a year later at 37 in 1520, which Renaissance biographer Georgio Vasari attributed to excessive womanizing. Four months later, Margherita retired to the convent of Saint Apollonia.

​Henry VIII (1540) by Hans Holbein the Younger. Holbein was a German/Swiss painter and printmaker (1497-1543) who became one of the 16th century’s greatest portraitists. As such, Henry VIII appointed him King’s Painter.

​This portrait of Henry presents him in 1540 in full bloom at age 49. It is actually a copy of part of a much larger fresco that was destroyed by fire in 1698. It is not simply a painting but an iconic political manifesto of absolute authority that was produced in multiple numbers and distributed around the country. Henry stands in a frontal pose with a stern, fixed gaze in richly detailed clothing. Besides its propagandist purpose, the painting is noteworthy for Holbein's exquisite style and technique.

Desiderius Erasmus (1517) by Quentin Massys. Erasmus (of Rotterdam) (1466-1536) was one of the most productive and influential thinkers and writers of the Northern Renaissance in the early 16th century. He became known as “The Prince of Humanists.”
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This painting was originally part of a “friendship diptych” with an associate (Antwerp town clerk Pieter Gillis). Erasmus and Gillis planned to send it as a gift to their longtime friend Sir Thomas More in London with whom they had collaborated in 1516 on the publication of the book Utopia. This gift was intended as a sort of “virtual visit” to celebrate the book’s publication. The books labeled on the shelves are all works by Erasmus. He is shown in black robes translating St. Paul’s epistle to the Romans, his eyes gazing in contemplation to the right edge of the picture.

Quentin Massys (also spelled Masys or Metsys) (1465-1530) was the foremost painter of the time and founder of the Antwerp School of painting, the leading painting school in Flanders in the 16th century.

​Quatro Fontane is the name of a street. Four fountains sit on the 4 corners of the intersection of that street with another thoroughfare. San Carlo alle Quatro Fontane (San Carlino) sits on one of the 4 corners. It is a masterpiece of baroque architecture designed by architect Francesco Borromini during the 1630s. Both exterior and interior are noteworthy for their intersecting curves and convex-concave shapes. ​It's a visual treat and is definitely worth a visit.

Sometimes good things come in small packages and in unexpected ways. This place is one of them. I tried for days to get a dinner reservation at Trattoria della Stampa and the earliest spot for the next 4 days was 9 pm, nearly past our bedtime given our strenuous days. Today, we stopped by with no reservation on our way back from the Palazzo Barberini just before opening time at noon and we got in line. A few minutes later we were inside. Go figure.

​The trattoria is evidently owned at least in-part by Roberto Scarnecchia, a former soccer midfielder who wore shirt number 11 for Roma, A.C. Milan, Napoli and Pisa. After retirement, he went to culinary school and opened several restaurants. His picture and newspaper clippings are plastered on the walls.

​The menu was traditional Roman fare, which is what our trip is all about. The restaurant is small and narrow, accommodating maybe 25 people. This was a great lunch. All three of the main dishes were top of the line. We had mezzo maniche both a la gricia and also amatriciana, and polpete al sugo plus a dish of spicy cicora ripassata. The bill for three persons: 71 euros.

We had passed this church at least 15 times walking between the Pantheon and the main artery Via del Corso. Every time, there was a line of people funneling through the main door. There was no conspicuous sign outside so we never knew what it was. We went inside today and discovered that it was Chiesa di Sant’Ignazio de Loyola in Campo Marzio, a baroque church built in the mid-17th century to honor the founder of the Jesuits.
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It has a frescoed, trompe l’oeil ceiling painted by Andrea del Pozzo between 1691 and 1694. People line up to view it so they can photograph themselves and the ceiling in a tilted mirror. The illusionistic ceiling fresco effectively impersonates a dome that had originally been proposed but was never constructed, presumably for lack of funds. It depicts the Apotheosis of St Ignatius, who is on a cloud near the Cross being welcomed to paradise by Christ and the Madonna.

​It has become a huge attraction on TikTok, Instagram and other social media where it is known as the “best selfie mirror in Rome” thanks to the background framing of the ceiling. We didn’t wait in line, but I did point my camera overhead and snapped this photo.

​It IS a pretty amazing trompe l’oeil ceiling, selfie or no selfie.

​In the late afternoon, we went for a DIY walking tour from the Pantheon to Via dei Coronari, then to Ponte Sant’Angelo on the Tiber River, and then back to Via dei Bianchi Nuovi and Via del Governo Vecchio. They were mostly pedestrian, high-end shopping streets.

​Dipping south towards the river, a quick stop at Neve di Latte on Via dei Banchi Vecchi, 140 landed a gelato pairing of lampone and limone di Almafi that was vastly refreshing.

​Nextdoor was the eatery Supplizio where we acquired a collection of cibo di strada (“street food”) fixings for the light dinner at home that we craved after our massive lunch.

​We got a suppli carbonara, a classico, an affumicata and a mozzarella in carrozza. These are fillings of diverse kinds that are coated in breadcrumbs and deep fried. They made a crunchy addition to other gatherings that we assembled with our vino bianco di Falanghina.

Here is our simple table set for an impromptu feast!

Before developing our itinerary for this trip to Rome, we were never so aware of the “many faces” that “Santa Maria” bears, as in: Santa Maria della Pace, dei Miracoli, Maggiore, delle Gracie, in Via, and so on.

​Today, our destination is Santa Maria della Vittoria. Architect Carlo Maderno finished this baroque church in 1626 to celebrate the earlier Catholic military victory in 1620 by Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand II over the Bohemians at the Battle of White Mountain (Bila Hora) near Prague during the early years of the Thirty Years War.

Its standout feature is the Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598-1680) altarpiece sculpture in the Cornaro Chapel of “The Ecstacy of Saint Teresa.” Bernini completed it in 1652 for Venetian Cardinal Federico Cornaro. The sculpture depicts Bernini’s interpretation of Saint Teresa’s autobiographical account of her vision of a “seraph” (angel) piercing her heart with a golden arrow. Teresa swoons in pain and/or ecstasy while the smiling seraph directs an arrow towards her heart.

​The sculpture is part of an integrated artistic grouping of sculpture, architecture, fresco, stucco and lighting in the chapel. It includes two side sets of sculpted donor portraits in relief of Cardinal Cornaro and family members who are observing and commenting animatedly on the central action as though sitting in theater boxes at a performance. Clouds hover overhead.

​It requires a closeup to appreciate fully the extravagance of Bernini’s interpretation. The tumbling garments, the face of swooning, the radiant abandon, the bare feet--all these qualities set many tongues wagging over the centuries. The enigmatic and arousing nature of the images generated controversy and influenced subsequent artistic works.

​We tried to visit two additional nearby churches, the San Carlo Quatro Fontaine and the Santa Maria Maggiore, but the former was closed for an unknown reason and we were turned away while the latter had a prodigious line that we simply avoided. Recurrent challenges to visiting churches in Rome include: uncertain and changing hours of opening, unpredictable closures for private functions, and pilgrimages or tours at uncertain times. Meticulous preparation is required and, even then, there are changes….

Not only churches but also restaurants have unpredictable hours. We needed an early lunch before our 1 pm reservation at the Galleria Borghese, but two pizzerias that we visited were not yet open by 11:30. So, we revolted and “did healthy” with salad bowls at Verdefresco on Via Aureliana. They provided an international salad lineup--one Hellas, one Cesare, and one Tokyo Mishima! Staff was pleasant and service was quick. We sat outdoors. The salads were not memorable and I would have preferred actual tuna chunks to tuna-inspired dough-balls in my Mishima, but they were…a healthy alternative to pizza or pasta! It carried us through the day at 42 euros including drinks for the trio.

​Dessert after Verdefresco was a short reach around the corner at the single-location gelateria Come Il Latte on Via Silvio Spaventa. This place was the “cat’s meow” with standout flavors including Zabaione, pistachio, etc. It is tops on freshness since they only make enough product for one day, and they use a special banco pozzetti system that keeps their gelato under lids for temperature control. This was the apex so far of our gelato explorations and there was no line but a steady stream of appreciative customers. Very friendly and informative staff, calming black and white environment, and seating available. Wish there was another near our apartment.

Talk about “cat’s meow.” This building has a stunning decorative interior on the walls, ceiling and floors, not to mention the sculptures and paintings on display. Reservations are time-limited. It is a not-to-miss playground for fans of sculptor Gian Lorenzo Bernini, painter Caravaggio and many others. Here are a few we savored.

Let us focus briefly on just a handful of these artworks.

​Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s David (1624) can be viewed on its own terms but, when viewed in comparison with Michelangelo’s rendition of the same subject 120 years earlier in 1504, they exemplify key differences between Renaissance (1400-1600) and Baroque (1600-1750) art.
 
Michaelangelo delivered his David in 1504, with an artistic message characteristic of his time: timeless, pensive, calm, rational, motionless, stable, balanced, ethereal, restrained, harmonious. It invites contemplation.
 
Bernini’s David in 1624 represents a brief but dramatic snapshot of David in time, transparently purpose-driven, intensely emotional, energetic, grimly determined, poised for action, and physically engaged. It evokes empathy in the viewer.
 
Such is the evolution of Renaissance to Baroque.

Titian painted his quizzical but untitled piece in 1514 when 25 years old as a commission to celebrate a marriage. It depicts two women, one clothed and one nude, at opposite ends of a sculpted water trough with a spigot. There is a small puto between them stirring the water. Nearly 200 years later in 1693, the Borghese Gallery assigned the painting an inventory name as Amor Divino e Amor Profano (Divine love and Profane love). Since then, instead of probing Titian’s actual intent, art historians have poured over the piece’s exquisite details seeking answers to the question (which a tour guide addressed to his group during our visit to the gallery): which figure represents divine or profane love? This blog is not the place to examine the issue, but one finds many intriguing online explorations.

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​Antonio Canova’s Venus Victrix (Venus Victorious) (1805-08) represents a complex potion of diverse motivations. By 1800, Canova was the most celebrated artist in Europe. His neoclassical artistic style appropriated ancient mythology in the service of contemporary persons and events, nicely sidestepping complications of current politics. The Venus pose invokes the classical repertoire of reclining Etruscan and Roman figures as well as more recent recumbent figures in artistic circles (e.g. Titian, David). It depicts the half-nude deity Venus/Aphrodite who glances to the side and delicately holds the golden apple awarded to the most beautiful goddess in the “Judgment of Paris.” The subject and model for this piece happens to be Napolean Bonaparte’s sister Pauline.

​Italian prince Camillo Borghese and Pauline had married in 1803, shortly after the death of her first husband General Charles Leclerc in Santo Domingo.  Camillo commissioned the sculpture in 1904. The statue was originally conceived as a robed huntress Diana/Artemis for private showing. Pauline disagreed and instructed Canova to make it a nude Venus. Pauline was a young but promiscuous creature who evidently relished pushing the boundaries of convention. She provocatively intimated on several occasions that she had posed nude for Canova. On her behalf, it should be noted that her marriages were not necessarily of her own volition.

Napoleon I, one of Canova’s patrons, ruled France from 1804-1814 and was King of Italy from 1805-14. For Napoleon, the alliance with Borghese strengthened his pan-European imperial claims to power and his designs on the Kingdom of Italy. For Borghese, the statue embedded his family in the legitimacy of ancient mythology and allied it with the rising power of France.
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The piece is striking for the visual and tactile appeal of its “real flesh” effect in the subject and the delicate rendering of the mattress. Canova’s process was critical to his success. He operated a studio with mass production principles. He first made terracotta sketches that assistants turned into plaster casts and finally marble statues. Canova himself performed the final polishing with progressively finer abrasives and used a special acqua di rota that conveyed the softness and luster of living skin. This extreme “lifelikeness” itself generated some controversy because its "comeliness" violated the customary distance between an artistic object and its audience, much like the "fourth wall" in a theatrical context.

​The Hosteria Grappolo d’Oro was one of only a few restaurants we found in Rome that offered a reasonable fixed price menu of the kind we had relished during our time in France earlier in the year. Prix fix is a fixture at French restaurants. That was a main reason we reserved well in advance. By the time we arrived at Grappolo, though, it was apparent that fixed menus were not the prevailing Italian style of eating.
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We proceeded accordingly with two of us ordering tonnarelli cacio et pepe and the other a guancia di manzo brassata (braised beef cheek) to be shared with one of the others in return for a share of cacio e pepe.

The tonnarelli are a squarish long pasta and thicker than spaghetti. They are a conventional and appropriate accompaniment to many of the Roman pasta dishes. The caccio e pepe was very well made. Cacio e pepe has none of the pork or egg ingredients of gricia or carbonara, so it is a challenge to make the sauce with only pecorino cheese and pasta water and this challenge was well met. The dosing of ground pepper was just right. An insalata mista provided a colorful and palate-cleansing close. The guancia di manzo had an intense flavor, normally consumed in fall or winter, and was accompanied by braised chicory. One mustn’t confuse beef cheeks/jowls with pork cheeks/jowls that are known as guanciale. These are different animals. Cows spend their lives in lovely fields chomping on grass. Their cheeks turn into tough, lean muscles with lots of collagen and intense flavor that requires long, slow cooking in a braise. Pork cheeks are a salumi (cured) product that turns sweet and nutty with fat that renders and blends beautifully when combined with cheese and starchy water to coat pasta.
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The restaurant was busy and the service a bit spotty in minor ways but generally courteous and efficient. We ate inside, which was comfortably air-conditioned on a hot night, and the overall vibe was positive. We shared a bottle of sparkling water and a Lazio red wine blend. The clientele skewed heavily to English-speaking and the prevailing vibe was positive. Billing came to 72 euros.

[Author’s Note: This post is the fourth of eight on this site that will recount a visit of Eight Days in Rome that transpired in September 2025. On that trip, my wife Carol, an art historian (PhD, Yale), contributed insights on art and other matters. Our son Matt, a prize-winning videographer contributed photos and insights. The overall narrative and construction are mine.] ​

​I’ve now run out of corresponding Italian menu categories (primo, secondo, etc) for my post headings and neither contorni nor dolci seems to fit the bill, so numerical “days” will have to suffice from now on.

In Carmel, CA where we live, many houses are “knockdowns” that are acquired for their precious seaside location and/or view and immediately demolished and replaced with a new structure. Back in Roman days, church fathers found it simpler and more economical to build on top of existing structures and they often re-used stones from earlier buildings. Basilica San Clemente, located near the Colosseum, is a salient example of these time-capsules with successive edifices built over one another.

​It released our inner explorers to descend through layers of time and history and explore the well-maintained excavations. Our trip led through centuries of Roman history down slippery staircases, threading past re-used stones, vaulted brick tunnels to a dark and humid level where a rushing stream gushed through crevices in the rock and nourished vivid green moss that serves as a modern-day wishing well.

At the bottom are remnants of a Roman house used as a Mithraic 2nd century temple and school compound. Mithraism was a secretive Romanized Persian cult that thrived during the first several centuries A.D. and it competed in many ways with Christianity until it was banned in the 4th century. A male-only cult, it was particularly popular with Roman soldiers.
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The god Mithras was born from a rock, slayed a sacred bull/boar shedding blood that led to salvation, shared a feast with the god Sol (sun) and ascended to heaven. Followers met in dark, underground temples where they shared communal feasts and structured initiation rituals that re-enacted the narrative. The Mithraic compound at San Clemente includes an altar depicting the bull-slaying episode (tauroctony), and rooms with stone benches for the communal ritual meal. Hundreds of Mithraic remains have been uncovered in Europe.

On the left (below), the 11th century Miracle of the Sea of Azov, commissioned by the Rapiza family, depicts a miracle attributed to Saint Clemente who was martyred by being tied to an anchor and thrown into the Sea of Azov between Ukraine and Russia. On the right, a 9th century fresco depicts Jesus’ descent into Limbo (the “anastasis”) following his death to liberate just souls who had the misfortune to die before his work of Redemption. In the fresco, Jesus grips Adam’s wrist while the devil grabs his ankle but Jesus carries the day by stepping on the devil.

​Additional 11th century frescoes from the nave of the lower church include The Mass of Saint Clement and the Saint Alexis Story.

​Atop the 4th century church, the visible street-level basilica dates from the 12th century and returned us to fresh air and blue skies.

​The Capitoline Museums occupy an envious spot on the Campidoglio (Capitoline Hill), one of Rome’s 7 hills adjacent to the Roman Forum. Michaelangelo designed the piazza in 1538 which includes a sloping entrance staircase (a Cordonata) with elongated low steps. This design accommodated the transit of horses and donkeys, much less seen today than in 1538, but it encourages contemporary people to pause catching their breath before proceeding to the museums’ two facing buildings. As seen in this overhead bird’s-eye photo, it’s an impressive ensemble.

We found the signage and navigation of the buildings in the museums to be strenuously confusing and many collections were disappointing. We did particularly enjoy the following few pieces.

​The bronze Lupa Capitolina (Capitoline Wolf) is a she-wolf that stands suckling the mythical twin brothers Romulus and Remus, whose tumultuous history in Roman mythology led to the founding of Rome in 753 BC. The legend dates back to ancient times. The Wolf’s attribution has historically been Etruscan but remains debated, and the two boys were added by Antonio del Pollaiuolo in the 15th century.

​The Spinario (thorn-picker) is a popular favorite and much-copied 1st century BC (Hellenistic or late-Greek) bronze sculpture of a young boy extracting a thorn from his foot. The sculpture presents a simple, everyday experience with which many viewers can relate. It transmits thoughts of innocence, accidental injury, and concentration. Unlike art works that seek to portray abstract and eternal concepts, it captures a transitory moment in time with widespread resonance.

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​The equestrian statue of Emperor Marcus Aurelius (c 170 AD) is a larger-than-life original of the copy that stands in the piazza outside, between the Capitoline Museums. As with most Roman portraits, it is dated mainly by the hairstyle and facial physiognomy of the subject. The emperor is in civilian garb and projects his right arm with palm facing down in a peaceful gesture.

​Reactions to the “Dying Gaul” reflect the attitudes of the viewer. To many, it elicits empathy or sympathy, while to some it may confirm satisfaction with a job well done. Over the centuries, the pose became a potent “type” or “meme” with varied interpretations like this contemporary one  by Kehinde Wiley in 2022.

The Capitoline Venus is a Roman marble statue that portrays Venus (Aphrodite) caught unawares in a bathing situation. It is one of 50 known copies of a late Hellenistic sculpture that itself was a copy of a 4th century BC Greek sculpture by Praxiteles called the Aphrodite of Knidos that was destroyed in AD 475 by fire in Constantinople. That was the first known sculpture of a full-size, fully-nude woman. Most of Greek art of the time was about male nudes.
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The Capitoline Venus, dated 193 A.D., is one of several known as “modest” Venus (“Venus pudica”) because she also covers her breasts with her right hand rather than only her genitals with her left hand as Praxiteles had done. Hers is a fool’s errand, however, since she is displayed to be seen “in the round” and her efforts at concealment seem at best half-hearted. Viewers are likely to feel like “voyeurs” who have unexpectedly hit paydirt.

Our Italian friends invited us to join them for an afternoon pre-prandial gelato at the nearby Giolitti gelateria. This was located just down the street from the Parliamentary Chamber of Deputies on Piazza del Montecitorio and not far from the Pantheon. Little did we know that it is a late-afternoon gathering place for tutta Roma. It is a true emporium of gelato and dolci founded in 1890 that was packed to the rafters with a long line and a crowd of gelato-licking customers in the street out front. With our friends’ deft maneuvering of their familiarity with the "buy your ticket first and then choose your flavor" protocol of the gelateria world, and their relationships with the service staff, we managed to have crema/chocolato cones in our hands in short order. This  allowed us to re-connect in person for the first time in several years.

This evening, we accepted our Italian friends' invitation for a celebratory reunion at the Bistrot Collegio on the Piazza Capranica just north of the Pantheon. This establishment is situated in a former “wine and olive” store that was resurrected by members of the original Santarelli family from the town of Amatrice (as in Amatriciana). It is the only dining establishment on the piazza and is totally unassuming on the outside. Despite its proximity to the Pantheon, it is a peaceful world apart from the crowds that throng permanently in the latter location.
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We had a rollicking time from 8 pm to 11 pm and the dinner confirmed observations about Italian meals made elsewhere on this blog. The classic Italian menu consists of antipasti, primi, secondi, contorni, and dolci. Our meal, on the other hand, transpired as basically a one-course meal, with exception of an early round of focaccia. Subsequently, the 3 Italians and 1 American chose only a secondo selection of a meat and potato combination, while 2 Americans selected only a primo of mezze maniche alla carbonara (we were there for the pasta!). All Americans drank wine while the Italians stuck with water. The wine was Rosso San Giovenale, a blend from the surrounding Lazio region interestingly composed mostly of French Rhone Valley grape varieties like Grenache, Syrah, and Carignan. All Americans took a tiramisu for a dessert dolci, while all Italians abstained. Our Italian friends must have had their main meal earlier in the day. Somehow, we managed to stretch this gathering over 3 convivial hours.

As one of the carbonara consumers, I can attest it was a bravura performance by the kitchen. The pasta was cooked perfectly al dente, the quanciale was crispy, and the sauce was silken and in perfect proportion with the pasta. The one American who selected a secondo appreciated the saltimbocca alla romana. So, despite the elaborate formal structure of Italian menu offerings, the Italians were consistently minimalist in their evening repast. It was great to catch up with our old friends in their home environment.

The fountains and waters of Rome are a special breed. Rome is known as the home to iconic fountains like those at Piazza Navona, the Fontana di Trevi, and many more. There are elaborate fountains around Rome where people fill their water bottles. Some of them are prime tourist spots like the Piazza del Popolo and the “sunken boat” Barcaccia Fountain (by Bernini pater e figlio) in the Piazza di Spagna. These fountains are fed by aqueducts that carry water from the principal reservoir at Lake Bracciano. ​

​Many other fountains are simply cast-iron columns with a spout of continuously flowing water that are collectively called nasoni (“large nose”) or fontanelle. There are some 2500 of them around Rome dating from the late 19th century. If you plug the downward spout with a finger, a stream bursts upwards through a hole in the tube for easier drinking.

​There are also other fountains with particular distinction for their imagery and design like those that we encountered in Roma Centro and on the Via Margutta.

​On this day, we made our way from the Pantheon to the Piazza di Spagna, then up the charming Via Margutta to the Piazza del Popolo and back down Via del Corso to the Pantheon.

We stopped at the Antica Salumeria at the Piazza Rotonda in front of the Pantheon. The front room is mainly a sandwich deli and wine shop, but we slipped into an inconspicuous back room equipped with a few tables.

​Shortly after, we were presented with a tasting platter of salumi, cheeses, bread and olives that resembled nothing so much as a curated culinary flower. With two drinks, the tab was 45 euro with plenty of leftovers to take home.

The Museo Nazionale Palazzo Massimo alle Terme near the Stazione Termini (main train station) is one of the most underrated (and undervisited) museums in Rome, but its treasures of Greek and Roman art (mainly sculpture) should not be missed. It is also a fabulous value, since a single ticket costing only 10 euros (with an Amex card) provides entry to 4 different National Museums in the city. We went to one of them (Palazzo Altemps) yesterday. Prime objects on display at Massimo alle Terme included the following sculptures as well as lovely frescoes from the Villa Livia.

​The Empress Livia was the wife of Augustus and she had a painted garden (30-20 BC) covering walls at her villa at Prima Porta north of Rome. Her dining rooms were partially underground for cooling in hot summer months and, instead of looking out at real gardens, an imaginary one was painted on the walls in predominantly cool colors. It included an illusionary space that depicted vast species of trees, flowers, fruits and birds.

​Such a solution made possible unexpected combinations of flora and fauna and the inclusion of symbolic allusions to health, welfare and longevity. It also ensured seasonal consistency despite changing weather outdoors. The paintings convey a sense of depth and perspective, with closer objects crisper and clearer than the background. There is a sense of wind-driven movement in the bending foliage and flying birds.

Dinner at Emma Pizzeria fell towards the disappointing end of the scale. We had eaten there years ago when Emma emerged as a leader in the world of Roman pizza and we were duly impressed. Emma is laudably meticulous in delineating the origins and qualities of its ingredients and stylish in its visual materials.

​Emma creates an exquisitely thin style of Roman pizza crust that resembles little so much as a crepe.

The menu presents an explicit choice between red, white and “traditional” pizzas. There are other offerings as well, but we were of a mind for pizza. The reds were crisp and covered with a sparse layer of sauce and whatever toppings one selects.

We chose a quatro stagioni, a margherita vacche rosse (margherita red cow), and a vegetarian (white). The quatro stagioni included a curious mix of toppings that did not clearly enunciate any “seasons.” It was mid-September at the time and they seemed skewed towards brown, autumnal varieties without much hint of other seasons. The distribution of cheese on the horizontal plane was unbalanced and pooled. As for the margherita, it shared little with the legendary original Neapolitan conception of the pie in 1889, nor was its titular “red cow” in evidence unless it referred to the combination of red tomato sauce and white cheese. It carried a rather soggy cheese layer topped by two quixotic, miniscule olives but no basil. The vegetarian pie presented a plain canvas with some cheese and a nicely cooked smattering of vegetables (eggplant and peppers).

In general, the visual and taste profile of the pies was minimalist and lacked a distinctive or memorable punch. The red “house” wine was nice and delivered to glasses in generous pours. Service was polite and efficient and our time fell well within the 90 minutes allotted for our reservation. Emma’s tab came to 63 euros for 3 persons.

​After departure, a few seconds’ walk took us to the nearby outpost of Fatamorgana for a satisfying finishing touch of gelato.

​Our first full day on the ground came after a rocky night—awake at 3, up at 5--par for the course the morning after a trans-world trip. Eventually, we headed out and walked 30 seconds to the Pantheon. This impressive building includes a portico with free-standing columns attached to a domed rotunda (roofed circular building). It was first built c 37 B.C. by Marcus Agrippa as a temple to “all the gods” (Pantheon) and finished later c 126 A.D. by Hadrian. In the 7th century it became a Catholic church. Much remains uncertain about the Pantheon’s historical evolution.

​The massive dome with recessed coffers and a 30-foot central opening (oculus) is the largest un-reinforced concrete roof in existence. The oculus is open to the sky and may have been structured as a reverse sundial marking time with light that shines on interior walls rather than shadow. At mid-day on equinoxes, a shaft of sunlight illuminates the intersection of the dome and northern wall. On April 21, the traditional founding of Rome, it illuminates the entrance. On our visit, it shone as below.

​The Pantheon’s height to the oculus matches the diameter of the interior circle, forming a perfect hemisphere that symbolizes harmony between earth and sky as well as the power and engineering prowess of the Roman empire.

​Our next stop was the Museo Nazionale Palazzo Altemps, at the northern edge of the Piazza Navona. The building was designed in the 15th century for a nephew of the presiding Pope. It changed hands over the years and eventually the Italian state acquired and opened it in 1997 as a branch of the Museo Nazionale Romano. [Tip: a single ticket provides admission to 4 National Museums in Rome: Baths of Diocletian, Palazzo Massimo, Palazzo Altemps and Crypta Balbi].

The museum holds several collections of sculptures. Among its holdings are beautiful pieces from The Ludovisi Collection assembled by 17th century cardinal Ludovico Ludovisi. The standout piece is the “Ludovisi throne,” found in 1887 at the Villa Ludovisi in Rome. It may or may not have been a throne and is uncertainly dated as 460 B.C. and attributed to Greek origin. This is a U-shaped structure with its exterior back side and one of its side panels shown below. The rear exterior may depict the birth of Venus/Aphrodite in diaphanous dress rising from the sea while one side panel shows a seated girl with legs crossed playing a double flute. Ultimately, the iconography remains open to interpretation.

The Ludovisi collection also includes a vigorously sculpted “battle sarcophagus” in high-relief depicting a chaotic, writhing battle scene between Romans and barbarians that is dated A.D. 250-60. These sarcophagi were popular commissions for military commanders during the “crisis of the third century” when the Roman empire nearly collapsed under the pressures of invasions, civil wars and economic crises.

​The relative scarcity of tourists at Altemps provides a welcome opportunity for a respite from crowds. The building offers spaces to occupy a window seat with a book, reflecting or collecting thoughts and plans for the day.

Afterwards, seeking caloric reinforcement, we spotted the Antica Bottega di Norcia where panini di porchetta were on offer. Norcia is a town near Perugia in the province of Umbria. Porchetta is crusty, roasted pig, redolent with herbs like rosemary and sage. During earlier car trips around Italy, we had often found porchetta roasting roadside for convenient pit stops. It is found in Rome as one of several components of “street food” (cibo di strada) that is an encompassing category of generally portable nourishment that also includes pizza, suppli, maritozzo, filetti di bacala, and even gelato.
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Part of the charm of places like the Bottega di Norcia is the production process itself, with full roasted pigs on display. We observed the artful construction of sandwiches from meter-long loaves of focaccia bread and sliced porchetta.

​On this occasion, we enjoyed panini di porchetta sandwiches sitting comfortably outside at one of only two available tables.

​Piazza Navona was nearby but filled with noon-hour diners and too hot in the mid-day sun to linger. We moved on to Campo dei Fiori with its sheltering tent-like market coverings on our way to the Jewish Quarter.

​We made our way into the Jewish Quarter where we had stayed for several weeks in 2018 and 2019 during two earlier visits to Rome. It still feels like home. We lived then in an apartment in the Palazzo Costaguti on the Piazza Mattei. This Palazzo is a large structure built during the first half of the 16th century. It was acquired in 1578 by members of the Costaguti family of Ligurian financiers who still own the property. Over the years, some Costagutis maintained residences while others created luxury rental apartments that retained original frescoed rooms by notable artists like Domenichino, Guercino, and others. The first floor (piano nobile) became an ultra-luxury 5-bedroom apartment with full concierge service that is marketed as "The Costaguti Experience." In Anthony Minghella’s 1999 movie, The Talented Mr. Ripley (based on Patricia Highsmith’s novel), Tom Ripley rented an apartment in the building or nearby while he assumed the identity of murdered Dickie Greenleaf.

A sidenote of interest is that when Pope Paul IV created the Jewish ghetto in 1555, Jews were required to live in the compact area, deprived of various rights and sequestered overnight. The main entrance to the Palazzo Costaguti found itself inside the Jewish Quarter, so it added a second entrance outside on the Piazza Mattei. Effectively, the building straddled the boundary between the Ghetto and central Rome. During WWII when Nazi troops occupied Rome in 1943, this strategic location enabled Achille and Giulia Afan de Rivera Costaguti, who were not Jewish, to hide Jewish families within the palazzo and to facilitate clandestine transit from the Ghetto into Rome proper, saving many lives. In acknowledgement, in 2002 the State of Israel recognized the Costagutis as “Righteous Among the Nations.”

​The Piazza Mattei features the celebrated Fontana dei Tartarughe (“Fountain of Tortoises”) dating from 1581-88. It was privately financed by Muzio Mattei to have a fountain near his house. Papal architect Giacomo della Porta conceived its intricate design and Florentine sculptor Taddeo Landini executed the design.

​This fountain was one of many constructed in the sixteenth century to provide free water to the people of Rome. It used a renovated Roman aqueduct named the Acqua Vergine that was first built in 19 BC. All fountains functioned by gravity alone (no pumps) and in this case the narrow spread in elevation between the water source and the fountain led to water pressure problems for all of them. This led to later modifications in the design of the fountain.

It has a square basin below with a circular basin mounted on a pedestal in the center. Four slim young adolescent men (ephebes) stand with one foot on the head of a dolphin that lies atop a conch shell. Water pours from the mouths of the dolphins into the shells and then into the basin below. Originally, there were no turtles. Instead, the hands of the ephebes held 4 dolphins spouting water. The dolphins were removed, and putti beneath the basin spouted water into the basin below. In a 1658 restauration, Gian Lorenzo Bernini replaced the dolphins with decorative bronze turtles scampering into the basin. The turtles symbolize longevity and the Latin motto of wisdom Festina lente (“make haste slowly”), while the youthful ephebes evoke balance and harmony in assisting the turtles’ arduous climb.

We stopped at the fabulous (but easy to miss) Beppe e I suoi Formaggi (Beppe and his Cheeses) shop on Via Santa Maria del Pianto to buy a round of blended cow and goat milk cheese for snacks. It lasted for days as snack material. Beppe Giovale has an enormous selection of carefully curated raw milk cheeses from his own production in Piedmont as well as well-chosen French cheeses. For a small operation, this place pushes a lot of buttons. Sure, it’s a cheese shop but it also has salumi and wine, salmon and olives, offers tastings and has a restaurant with a piedmontese spin next door. It’s a little treasure on the edge of the Jewish Quarter.

In the late afternoon, we boarded the tram to Trastevere where we had reserved a table for dinner at Ristorante Il Tarallo. [Tip: We discovered that the initial validation of the CIS ticket requires insertion at a special machine on board the tram which was tricky to find].

Upon descending in Trastevere, a contrast between Trastevere and Roma Centro was immediately apparent. Centro is like a massive wave of people slowly moving from one spectacle to another, while Trastevere seemed more gritty, light and lively, and more animated and diverse in its vibes.

Our first stop in Trastevere was at the church Santa Maria di Trastevere, where a wedding was clearly assembling in the piazza outdoors. We sneaked in quickly to outflank the ceremonies and gawked at the gorgeous mosaics illuminated in the central apse.

Suddenly the lights went out and we figured the wedding was about to begin, but we discovered it was only a light timer that expired so we contributed 0.5 euro for another 3 minutes on behalf of the collective good.
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We still had an hour before our dinner reservation so we set off strolling on a personal DIY walking tour that led down various paths.

Our dining destination, Ristorante Il Tarallo, sits on a relatively quiet street trending up towards the Janiculum hill in Trastevere. We were early arrivals, but our hosts accommodated us at a terrace table.

​One of us ordered a starter of fritto misto and another chose a primo of orecchiette. The third person took a cautious step in the direction of quinto quarto with a primo of gnocchi vaccinara (oxtail), and a still bolder step in that direction with an order of trippa alla romana (tripe) to be shared by all three participants. As explained in the earlier post on Pasta, the term quinto quarto refers to the "fifth quarter" of butchered animals that is commonly known as "offal." As a result, we all emerged as certified members of the Roman quinto quarto. A nice Sicilian cru of vino Frappato sealed the deal. It was a very good meal. The total tab for 3 was 105 euros.

We arrived at Fiumicino airport on ITA airlines at noon, following an uneventful and fully on-time flight from SFO. We caught a ride into Roma Centro after a long wait in line for a taxi. The prezzo fisso charge for the 45-minute ride was 55 euros.

​Our hostess Claudia gave us a short introduction to our apartment, which is just down the street from the Pantheon. We set off to acquire a SIM card for the phone, a Carta Integrata Settimanale (CIS=7-day pass for unlimited travel on public transport), and some initial shopping at a local food store. [Tip: in procuring a SIM, avoid the (low service, high price) Vodafone shop near Largo Argentina and for better deals try either TIM or Wind3 near Piazza Colonna. Any tabacchi shop will do for buying a CIS, but pack enough cash for 29 euros per card].

The most appealing way to launch our explorations was with our first gelato at the nearby Gunther Gelateria on Piazza Sant’Eustachio. Gunther has only two other locations in Rome. As explained on this website in an earlier post on gelato, gelato is not ice cream. It is made with milk, not cream. It has less butterfat and sugar than ice cream. It is denser with less air and is served warmer.

​Gunther Rohregger, a former ski instructor, came to Rome from the mountainous alto adige region in the north where he developed carefully curated sources for his water (Acqua Plose from the Dolomite mountains), organic milk, and ingenious flavors. 

​This church was designed by Giacomo della Porta and sits close to the Piazza Navona. Della Porta was a sculptor and architect who accomplished a prodigious oeuvre throughout Rome in his role as Architetto del Popolo Romano (Architect of the Roman People) during the last half of the 16th century. The church contains a trio of Caravaggio paintings, in his distinctive chiaroscuro style, that portray the calling (1599), martyrdom (1599) and inspiration (1602) of Saint Matthew.

​They hang on the three walls of the narrow Contarelli Chapel. This makes the two paintings on the side walls difficult to view, just as with two other Caravaggio paintings in the Cerasi Chapel in Santa Maria del Popolo. Those two paintings share stylistic features evident below and were Caravaggio’s first significant religious commission. Both are dynamic group portrayals with strong alternation of light and shadow. They firmly established his artistic reputation.

​In “The Calling,” the presumed Matthew figure hunches over the table on the left, hugging or counting his tax collections and perhaps vainly seeking obscurity. A bright light from the right illuminates the scene like a spotlight. Also from the right, Jesus points a recognizable hand gesture at Matthew, selecting and awakening him to his vocation. “The Martyrdom” shows a soldier killing Matthew upon orders from the King of Ethiopia while he was saying mass at the altar.

Caravaggio is known with the name of his birthplace rather than family names. For much of history, he was a figure reputed for his explosive personality and for having murdered a man. His later artistic choices led him to depict decisive historical moments with figures of common mien in highly dramatic settings with stark contrasts of light and dark.

Following a short rest in the afternoon, we embarked on an excursion in search of an evening nosh that took us in the cool evening air from our apartment towards the Fontana di Trevi. It is not a long walk, but nevertheless we struggled to stabilize our sea legs and concentration after the enervating 17-hour trip from California.

​At the Fountain, we found a piazza teaming with people waiting for the fountain’s waters to flow and the lights to shine, as though anticipating a re-enactment of Anita Ekberg and Marcello Mastroianni’s iconic moment splashing in the fountain’s glory. In 1960, Fellini’s film La Dolce Vita (“the sweet life”) crystallized images that became emblematic of both Italy and Rome and more generally of postwar western society. Or, perhaps the crowds were attracted by the enduring cultural tradition of tossing coins into the fountain to ensure a return to the city, a practice that currently yields a harvest of 3000+ euros a day.

​In any event, we made our way to a couple of prospective restaurant picks that had surfaced in research, but it was soon apparent there was no hope for a score without a reservation. Tired, but determined not to settle for easily available less attractive establishments with empty tables, we made our way back towards the Pantheon and an area with a warren of small piazzas and walkways that we hoped would be less besieged.

​The fine folks at Ristorante La Tavernetta 48 merit a shoutout for accommodating a tired and shuffling trio of visitors without reservation who appeared on their doorstep in a hidden alleyway just north of the Pantheon. By that time, we were nearing the end of our resilience.

La Tavernetta 48 is a small establishment. Despite some initial hesitation, they offered us a coveted table at the edge of the terrace. Our meal was bookended by entirely unexpected but welcome complimentary offerings of bubbly white wine in cute flutes upon arrival, and a taste of limoncello to conclude our meal. Our dining choices included Mezze alla Gricia (Mezze maniche are “half-sleeve” short, wide ribbed tubes) served in large pasta-like shells and Spaghetti aglio olio e pepperoncini con grattugia. A couple of colorful mixed salads combined assorted greens, mozzarella, tomatoes and olives. A liter carafe of house red wine and of acqua frizzante (sparkling water) were nice accompaniments. The tab-for-three came to $110.

​During our meal, we shared animated conversations with two successive couples at an adjacent table, one from South Korea on their “honeymoon” before their marriage and the other on a 10-week “walkabout” from Australia. It was a restorative conclusion to a trying day.

​Postscript: We returned to Tavernetta 48 on our last evening in Rome, so it wrapped our entire stay with both our first and last Roman restaurant experience. It rose to the occasion. The first time, described above, we neglected to take photos but redeemed ourselves on the last night. Two of us ordered Saltimbocca alla romana and one ordered mezze maniche amatriciana, as shown below.

​Saltimbocca is a dish I used to make regularly, and now will again. It has a base of thin veal cutlets, garnished with sage, and topped with prosciutto. It is dredged lightly in flour and sautéed in butter/oil and finished with a sauce of white wine and perhaps some stock. Both dishes were attractively presented and a delicious conclusion to our Roman holiday.

These first impressions of Rome in its current moment during a Papal Jubilee year were those of a giant amusement park with prime attractions of centuries-old revered monuments connected by twisty cobblestone walkways and animated by endless dining establishments. Mobs of milling tourists congregated around each of the featured monuments, appreciating them and each other in a timeless context.

​Italy wasn’t a single country until 1870. Until then, it was a collection of independent states with long histories and strong traditions. The vast weight of Italian history leans to the past along with centrifugal attachments to its regions. Italian culture expresses these tendencies in varied forms: language, the arts, government, economic activity, and food. Italian cuisine is regional cuisine.

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​The city of Rome is situated in the central coast Italian region of Lazio. There, the food is simple, earthy and fresh, redolant of its farms and coastal waters. Prominent dishes of la cucina romana include Porchetta di Aricia (roasted rolled pork with garlic & rosemary), Abbacchio (suckling lamb), Saltimbocca (veal wrapped in prosciutto and sage), Carciofi (artichoke) alla romana and alla giuda, and the quartet of pasta dishes that are the subject of this post (Gricia, Caccio e Pepe, Carbonara, Amatriciana).

An intriguing highlight of Rome’s cucina povera (poor cuisine) is the cucina del quinto quarto (“cooking of the fifth quarter”). The Quinto Quarto (“Fifth Quarter”) is a remnant of Roman culinary legacy that remains very present in Rome's contemporary culinary landscape. The term is a cheeky (pun intended) and intentional mathematical absurdity used to highlight the fact that (offal) parts of animals are not counted among the 4 “noble” quarters despite the fact that they equal in weight one quarter of the entire animal.

Historically, the quinto quarto was the "tail end" of a stratified social and economic system whereby meat was allocated depending on one’s status. Animals that arrived in the Testaccio mattatoio (slaughterhouse) were butchered into quarters based on quality and those quarters were distributed based on economic standing. The primo quarto of ribeye and tenderloin went to the nobility, the secondo to the clergy, the terzo to the bourgeoisie, and the quarto quarto to the military. The underclass made do with the remaining quinto quarto--the leftover bits and pieces that they struggled to improve with techniques like braising and soaking in milk.

They created dishes of nose-to-tail offal, both inside and out, that are home-based in the slaughterhouse Roman municipality of Testaccio but widely available elsewhere in Rome. One of history's ironies is that adversity fosters creativity and eventually they became fashionable bites.

​Dishes that draw on ingredients from the “Fifth Quarter” include coda alla vaccinara (braised oxtail), trippa alla romana (roman tripe), coratella (lamb heart, lungs, liver, kidney and spleen—diced and cooked with wine), and pajata/pagliata (suckling calf intestine infused by partially digested mother’s milk). The Testaccio restaurant Checchino dal 1887 has an entire menu devoted to the Quinto Quarto.

​Italian eating establishments carry several designations in order of increasing formality but there are blurred distinctions among them. The names themselves are traditional classifications and often institutions outgrow their original status. Osterias are informal places with a local orientation in their food and wine. Trattorie are family-run, middle of the road in price, service and formality and focused on local and regional offerings. Ristorante are more formal, white tablecloth establishments.

Standard menu offerings include the following headings: antipasti (before the meal), primi piatti, (pasta), secondi piatti (meat, fish or vegetable), contorni (side dishes), insalate (salads), pizza, crostini/bruschette (breads), and dolci/frutta (sweets, fruits, custards).

The normal Italian menu is à la carte. Few Roman restaurants have set fixed-price menus that are popular in France. When they do, it is called a menù prezzo fisso or menu degustazione. A typical Italian menu resembles a catalogue from which one can select portions--it’s not necessary to consume the entire show. Each menu item is individually priced and served, so while they may seem reasonable separately, they do add up for the unsuspecting diner, including a coperto (seating) charge and a separate charge for bread. However, it is common for diners to pick and choose among a limited set of courses: perhaps an antipasto followed by a primo or secondo; or a primo and insalata or contorni; such variations are at the discretion of the clientele.

​​Pasta is an unleavened dough made of flour, water, and sometimes eggs (pasta all’uovo) that is fashioned into shapes. When eggs are used, they bring both water and fat to the dough. The water in the whites contributes to gluten development and the fat in the yolks contribute protein affecting flavor, richness, color and texture. Fresh egg dough is pliable and suitable for stuffed pastas like tortellini and ravioli. 

​Pasta comes both fresh and dried and each version has advocates for certain purposes but they are not interchangeable. To a great extent, they reflect geographic and agricultural differences between north and south Italy. Fresh pasta, commonly made with eggs and a different flour, is mostly a north Italian phenomenon but even there it is consumed mainly on special occasions. It requires refrigeration and cooks faster with a consistent softness that works well with rich, dairy-based sauces, but it contains less starch than necessary for emulsification. It can approach gumminess when cooked or reheated. Fresh pasta is made from soft wheat and cooks quickly so it is difficult to achieve al dente because it lacks the core of firm starch that dried pasta acquires.

​Dried pasta (pasta secca) is more commonly consumed on a daily basis throughout Italy and has the virtue of cooking gradually through progressive stages of “done-ness.” At its best, when finished in a pan with fat and slowly added starchy pasta water, its sauce emulsifies and the pasta acquires the al dente combination of "bite" and creamy chewiness that many people favor.

Manufacturing processes affect dried pasta’s qualities and particularly its starch-leaching ability. The highest quality dried pasta is made with bronze dies and is dried slowly. Traditional bronze dies create a rough sandpaper-like surface that captures sauces when cooked with the pasta. Modern, Teflon-like dies produce slick, annealed hard surfaces that sauce slides off, capturing less starch. Just as important, the roughness of bronze-extruded pasta actually creates more surface area than smooth pasta and it retains traces of flour that shed in the water when cooking.

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Drying is a component of the manufacturing process that affects quality. Industrial drying applies heat to quicken the process but fast drying only 2-3 hours at high temperatures burns sugars and changes the structure of the pasta. Slow drying up to 50 hours at ambient temperatures preserves flavors and aromas and provides a more porous texture to absorb sauce. It retains starches and sugars that are released in cooking water and can be emulsified in a sauce. In towns like Gragnano, south of Naples, pasta drying became a profession and mobile reed racks of pasta were escorted around town to find the best exposure to the sun and wind.

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​Italy leads the world in annual per capita pasta consumption at about 25 kilograms per year, about twice the US rate. It is also the world's largest producer of pasta and exports 60% of its production. Significantly, much of the durum wheat used in that production of "Made in Italy" pasta is imported from foreign sources, mostly in Europe. 

Italy has over 350 pasta shapes and likely as many sauces.  ​The wide variety of pasta shapes is sometimes due to whimsy and sometimes to calculated pairings with certain sauces. Pasta shapes do not seriously affect taste aside from their interaction with the sauce. After all, they are all made from the same dough. However, shapes do have specific retention characteristics for certain types of sauces. Different shapes also contribute an individual texture to dishes beyond their degree of “done-ness” (i.e., al dente). Some shapes have value simply because they are “cute” like “ears” (orecchiette) or “bowties” (farfalle), or even amusing like the rustic “priest-stranglers” (strozzapreti) in the shape of a twisted rope.

Pasta shapes are often categorized by length (corta or lunga). They also vary in terms of surface morphology: smooth, ribbed, twisted, hollow, or filled/stuffed. Long, smooth pastas like spaghetti play well with oil, cream-like emulsion or egg yolk-based sauces but they need to be twirled gracefully when eaten. This required the use of forks, which was limited for some time to wealthy classes. As late as the 17th century, long pasta was consumed as street food by common folk with their hands. 

​Pasta is typically cooked by boiling in salted water and then combined with a “sauce” or else baked in the oven together with the “sauce.” The term “sauce” is often misconstrued (by non-Italians) as something to be prepared separately and then placed on top or mixed in with pasta.

​In practice, most pasta (especially dried) is best when cooked in water well short of al dente and then “finished” in the pan with the sauce. The gradual inclusion of starchy pasta water and fat “marries” it all together in an emulsion process named mantecatura. There are few more annoying (or wasteful) things than ending a pasta dish with excess and runny “sauce” remaining on the plate. The cooking technique and the overall ratio of sauce to pasta in the final product are key elements. The latter is a subtle but important matter of proportion. For many Italians, the pasta remains the primary component since sauces originated historically as mere condiments to accompany pasta.

The mantecatura process resembles the “risotto” or “evaporation” method of creating an emulsion between oil or cheese, starch and water. Oil and water don't normally blend and starch provides a stabilizer that holds things together. The word itself (the verb is mantecare) comes from the Spanish word for butter or lard (manteca), which is added towards the end of cooking risotto. It is just as relevant for pasta which follows an analogous protocol. Curiously, the word itself has never received a definitive English translation, though "saucing" seems more straightforward than common alternatives like "creaming" or "emulsifying."

As much art as it is science, mantecatura hinges heavily on manual dexterity and technique, timing, temperature control and the starch component of the pasta water or rice. The specific steps and their sequence vary with the nature of the dish and the ingredients. It is especially challenging with cacio e pepe, where cheese is the only available ingredient that has fat to blend with pasta water. It is also complicated in carbonara's inclusion of egg. In these cases, clumping or separating of cheese and curdling of eggs are unwelcome but common outcomes.  

For all of the dishes, therefore, temperature control is a vital element of the process. Cheeses have different melting points because of their moisture and fat content, age and acidity. Low moisture, aged cheeses like pecorino have a relatively high ideal “saucing” range between 145F when its protein matrix loosens enough to incorporate water and 180F when it separates into a greasy mess. The boiling point of pasta’s cooking water is 212F. This means there is a delicate dance between the temperature of the pasta, the reserved pasta water, and the cheese during the limited window of time when they are combined. Eggs in carbonara complicate the process even further and require tempering and a gradual application of heat. If the pasta is finished in a skillet, there must be a pregnant, cooling pause before the addition of cheese or egg.

Mantecatura is therefore a delicate and error-prone process. Consequently, it is one of the most "eyes-on" techniques of Italian cuisine. It requires saving 1-2 cups of starchy pasta water and removing the pasta from its cooking water 3-4 minutes early. The pasta is transferred to a skillet containing either a prepared sauce or simply pasta water.  If there is prepared sauce, then reserved pasta water is gradually introduced after the pasta. In either case, the reduced quantity of liquid augments the starch ratio during the remainder of cooking. Cooking continues with constant agitation of the pasta which ensures even cooking and accelerated evaporation of the water. When the pasta is done to satisfaction, either the heat is lowered or the skillet is removed from the heat. At this juncture, temperature control is critical. In the absence of pre-existing fat in a sauce, some fat is gradually added in the form of finely grated cheese, oil, or butter while continuously agitating the pasta to evaporate water and create an emulsion binding the normally antagonistic oil and water.

When it comes to "agitating" the pasta in the skillet, it can be folded or flipped. Folding typically uses a spatula or tongs to move and fold the pasta in the pan. Flipping is a move with acquired skill that tosses the pasta in the air and catches it back into the pan. This requires a wok-like saltapasta skillet that is lightweight with sloped high walls that act as a "ski jump" for the food on its takeoff. The flip is quicker and more dramatic than the fold and creates a dynamic admixture of ingredients, but it is potentially messy and requires practice. Lest the process intimidate neophytes, it is worth noting that a similar “pan flip” maneuver is commonly used in diners to flip pancakes and omelettes. Caution recommends, though, using the right kind of pan and practicing the motion first with solid, dry material in the pan like beans, rice, popcorn or cheerios.

Certain sauces almost demand a specific type of pasta. A hearty ragù sauce like Bolognese from the Emilia-Romagna region almost always accompanies a substantial wide, egg-based flat pasta like tagliatelle, fettucine or pappardelle. These noodles have the resilience and surface area to retain and balance the robust bolognese which is primarily a meat-based sauce. The Italian name ragù comes from the French ragoût which colloquially means “stew” and derives literally from ra-goûter ("revive appetite"). It is a slow-cooked, meat-and-vegetable based stew that Napoleon’s soldiers brought to Italy during their 1796 invasion. It apparently nourished French troops well as they quickly established control over north and central Italy. Italian chef Alberto Alvisi adopted the recipe for the Cardinal of Imola and it spread throughout Italy both as a stew and a condiment for pasta.

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​Linguine is often a preferred pasta shape for seafood dishes (frutti di mare or vongole). Linguini is a lissome pasta that is long, flat, thin and slightly curved, giving it good absorptive qualities for thin but tasty seafood sauces. Its texture is delicately unobtrusive, allowing the seafood combination to shine. Linguini pasta originated in the northwest Italian coastal region of Liguria and its name means "little tongues," a shape that its curved flatness resembles. Besides seafood, it is often paired with pesto, another product from the region, and simple aglio e olio ("garlic and oil).

​Like a  Bach fugue of musical variations on a theme, the “Pasta Quartet” consists of 4 classic Roman pasta dishes with simple, overlapping ingredients that require adept technique (mantecatura) and balance among the ingredients to achieve effective sauce emulsion and flavor. These dishes are Gricia, Cacio e Pepe, Carbonara, and Amatriciana. They are stalwarts of the Roman culinary republic. The short list of ingredients resembles musical notes that rise and fall in each preparation when paired with an appropriate pasta and the orchestration of mantecatura.

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​Pecorino romano (sheep) cheese weaves through all of them and marries its sharp, earthy taste and good melting qualities (when aged and freshly and finely grated) with starchy pasta water in the blending of sauce. Pepper that is toasted and ground reaches a high note with its solo performance in Cacio e Pepe and strikes a more modest pose in Gricia, Amatriciana and Carbonara as well. Guanciale,  cured and aged with warm spices, expresses base tones throughout all dishes except cacio e pepe, where it stands aside to let pecorino, water and pepe shine. Amatriciana summons tomato for an acid note. Carbonara tones things down with its silken egg-yolk texture and soothing duet of sheep's sharp pecorino and mellow (cow's milk) parmiggiano-reggiano cheese. Varied pasta shapes compete to don these sauces and showcase their particular attributes. High quality throughout is assured with slow-dried, bronze-extruded pasta.

Cacio e Pepe, the lean "mother" dish of them all combines  pecorino romano and toasted black pepper with starchy pasta water and pasta for an unexpectedly creamy sauce.  The word cacio is a central Italian synonym for formaggio and derives from the Latin word for cheese, "caseus." The sauce in C&P nicely drapes toothy strands of tonnarelli (alla chitarra), spaghetti or similar pasta. ​

​Pasta alla Gricia introduces luscious, crispy guanciale (pork jowl) fat rendered and emulsified with starchy pasta water, with a dusting of pecorino romano cheese and bloomed pepper. Gricia clothes the ribs of rigatoni pasta that catch the sauce and crispy chunks of guanciale nestle inside its hollow tubes.  

Despite the ostensible simplicity and excellence of the Roman Pasta Quartet, issues remain that continue to animate the airwaves. In terms of ingredients, these include: substitutions of pancetta or bacon for guanciale; replacement some or all pecorino romano cheese by parmigiano-reggiano; and, use of whole eggs, only yolks or a combination. To some extent, views on these issues reflect ages-old philosophical differences between purists who disapprove adjustments to traditional formulae and experimenters who relish new paths. Lacking copyright or trademark protection, the culinary arts are rich with experimentation.

There are also innate differences of taste among parties. Some people find pecorino too sharp. Others find that only yolks in carbonara is cloying. Such taste variations are largely immune to argument. Practicality also enters the picture. Guanciale may not be easy to find. Separating yolks from whites is inconvenient. There are also different perspectives about techniques like pasta water reduction and egg tempering, which have a practical dimension. In such a context, the primary motive for continued discussion is understanding, not acceptance. That is a topic for another blog. So, for the present,

Pizza does not grow on trees. Its emergence as a food category occurred gradually over centuries with the fortuitous combination of water, salt, yeast, flour, tomatoes, cheese and other ingredients, each of which has its own complicated history. The very name “pizza” is suggestive concerning its origin, since the word comes from the Latin pinsere which means “squash,” “pound,” or “beat.” That is basically how unleavened bread was prepared on hot stones when Arab traders brought it to Sicily in the 12th century.

Cheese arose thousands of years ago with the practice of animal husbandry and milk storage in animal stomachs containing rennet that unexpectedly but serendipitously separated curds and whey. The domestication and cultivation of grains was likewise an early form of human activity. Flatbreads crowned with garlic, salt, lard and cheese were a first step on the road to pizza.

The first recorded Neapolitan pizza around 1600 was mastunicola cooked in a wood oven and seasoned with lard, basil and cheese like the one above. Olive oil gradually replaced lard and tomatoes finally arrived in Italy from Peru in the 16th century via Spain, thanks to Spanish Conquistador expeditions in South America.

Widespread adoption of tomatoes took some time since they were initially thought to be poisonous as a member of the nightshade family. Not only that, but tomato juice spilled over the pewter dishes of the wealthy, its acid leaching the plates and killing them. The downtrodden peasantry fared better with their clay and wooden dishes, if they could afford tomatoes. Consequently, it was only in 1692 that Antonio Latini made the first reference to tomato sauce in his cookbook Lo Scalco alla Moderna (The Modern Steward).

Although both water and yeast occur naturally and were used for leavening bread in ancient Egypt, Louis Pasteur scientifically demonstrated yeast’s role in bread leavening only in the mid-1800s. 

Traditional Neapolitan pizza is more strictly codified than Roman pizza so it forms an “archetype” with which Roman pizza can be compared. It has even achieved UNESCO recognition for its Intangible Cultural Heritage. The Neapolitan “accreditation” agency called Associazione Verace Pizza Napoletana (AVPN) codifies rules regarding pizza ingredients and techniques (26 pages of them), offers training, and certifies members of Vera Pizza Napolitana (VPN).

All pizza consists of dough and toppings. Neapolitan pizza dough is “lean.” It includes only 4 ingredients: 00 (doppio zero, very fine grind on a 00-2 scale) semolina (durum) wheat flour, water (60-70% hydration), salt, and yeast (brewer’s, dry or sourdough). No fat or sugar. The 00 semolina (durum) wheat has a high protein content (11.5-13%) that encourages gluten development. Gluten is a protein network that underlies dough’s structure and texture (elasticity/extensibility) and it arises from the flour's protein content, hydration, temperature, and mixing/kneading dynamics. Yeast helps the dough rise and contributes flavor development. There is an inverse relationship between the amount of yeast used and the time and water/air temperature needed for fermentation. Kneading also shows an inverse relationship with fermentation time.

The process of mixing (by hand or mixer) and kneading dough is called impastimento and it creates structure, texture and flavor by encouraging gluten development. In sequence, salt and yeast are added to the water and the flour gradually introduced and kneaded, then rested and fermented for 12-24 hours.

Neapolitan pizza dough is stretched by hand into its final round shape with a small diameter (22-35cm) and a high, raised cornice/edge (cornicione) that results from pushing the air bubbles from the center to the perimeter. Tomato (fresh, crushed or pureed plum—not pre-cooked) is distributed on the flat surface inside the cornicione. Beyond tomato, specific toppings depend on the variety of pizza as explained below. Neapolitan pizza is cooked in wood-fired ovens with specified dimensions at very high temperatures (480C or 900F) for no longer than 90 seconds.

The result is a soft, fluffy, chewy/floppy pie center with blisters of scorched and crunchy crust on the perimeter. Individual pies are served for immediate, sit-down consumption. The classic Neapolitan pie comes in two versions that vary in their sauce: marinara and margherita. Chef Vincenzo Corrado described the first of these in 1773 in his book of haute cuisine titled Il Cuoco Galante (“The Galant Chef”). However, marinara sauce was first used on pasta and other foods. When topping pizza, it includes tomato (generally crushed, peeled San Marzano tomatoes), thinly sliced garlic, oregano and olive oil sprinkled over the top in a spiral movement resembling the number six (6). While the name marinara suggests that it contains seafood, actually it is a simple and thin sauce with nothing but tomato, olive oil, garlic and herbs. In days before refrigeration, it was an appropriate food for sailors (marinari) when they were out at sea or returning home from the sea. In Italy, it is commonly referred to simply as alla pomodoro (tomato sauce).

Many years later, Neapolitan chef Raffaele Esposito purportedly named the Margherita pizza in 1889 in honor of Queen Margherita, leading to a royal endorsement that accelerated its widespread adoption in Italy and abroad. This pizza makes subtle artistic allusions both to the Italian national flag and to the queen herself. Its 3 colors (red, green and white) herald the tricolored Italian flag with the tomato, basil, and cheese (either cow’s milk fior-di-latte or buffalo mozzarella). In reference to the queen’s name (margherita is Italian for “daisy”), the mozzarella cheese rounds were arranged in a daisy pattern as seen below.

Despite the persistence of these two ideal types of pizza, most pizzerias of Neapolitan persuasion push the envelope of toppings to include popular variations like cappriciosa, quattro stagione, calzone and others.

Roman pizza does not have strict prescriptions like Naples. That liberalism makes it harder to define, but somewhat easier to make and more prone to innovations. However, it does have hallmarks that constitute a commonality: Roman pizza is light, thin, crisp, and varied in its toppings. The dough is high-protein and includes oil as an ingredient that provides the elasticity to be stretched or rolled very thin. It is more hydrated (70-80%) than Neapolitan dough (therefore stickier) and long-fermented. When formed, it is thin. As seen above, it lacks the high outer cornice of Neapolitan pizza. Roman pizza can be rossa or bianca. The toppings are light on sauce and cheese, but varied in other ingredients that may include ham, egg, mushrooms, olives, zucchini flowers, and more. It is cooked longer at lower temperature (220C or 430F) in electric or gas ovens though nothing prevents wood-fired. The rigid platform is affectionately named “the crunchy one” (scrocchiarella) since it is crisp rather than chewy and allows portability and supports the toppings.

While Roman pizza is commonly fabricated into round individual pies (pizza tonda) for sit-down consumption in restaurants, other versions are widely made with longer-fermented, higher-hydration dough (75%+) in large rectangular sheet pans (in teglia) or on wooden paddles (alla pala) that are cooked in electric ovens and sold in bakeries or streetcorner shops. Toppings are varied. These can be re-heated and sold fast-food style for take-away by the slice (al taglio) at prices based on weight.

Having walked through the weeds of their construction, differences between Neapolitan and Roman pizza are perhaps best understood by the symbolism of their tools: the rolling pin (mattarello) in Rome, the long-handled pizza peel (palino) and the wood-fired oven in Naples. A round (tonda) Roman pizza is commonly made thin so it cooks crispy. A rolling pin makes this easier although it is not necessary or even desirable [rolling excessively can make tough dough by forcing out the air/gas]. 

​Besides the two main families of pizza, Roman pizza in particular includes spinoffs and fusions of both ancient and modern heritage. Pinsa romana is a modern interpretation of an ancient variety that includes oval or rectangular shapes and uses varied flours (wheat, rice, soy, sourdough) for dough that is “pounded” or “stamped” (pinsere) like its flatbread forebears. Trapizzino is an inventive modern triangle of dough folded into a cone and filled with exotic toppings. Pizza bianca, as the name suggests, omits tomato from the topping. Pizza fritta is a historic Neapolitan deep-fried street-food. Sicilian pizza (sfincione) has thick, sponge-like crust with toppings of tomato, anchovy, and sheep cheese.

This multiplicity of pies often stimulates discussion about which is “best.” Of course, each type of pizza has many variations that depend on the pizzeria, its region and personnel. Personal tastes and preferences of the consumer also play a major role. Circumstances can shift the context of factors that weigh on appreciation. In such situations, most pleasure arises from enjoying the competition itself and sampling its offers.  Consequently, it is generally “best” to adopt the reliable Latin maxim: “de gustibus non disputandum est” (“there is no disputing taste”).