The Pavarotti-like proprietor of La Tavernetta in Rome, showing off his porcinis.
It's been more than two weeks since I returned from Rome, and I
can't stop thinking about the food. I'd decided to divide my article
about Rome into two, one on Rome itself and another on the food, which
was almost the best part for me.
And what better way to introduce my new food blog, which I've at long last decided to split off from the main WDIK site?
Enough of the starter; let's get to the main dish:
First of all, a vegetarian has little trouble eating in Rome, and a
vegan can easily navigate from the often disgusting* animal parts on
the secondo piatto to the primo portion of the menu,
where the pasta and risotto are found. And then there's pizza, which
can be ordered without cheese—Romans aren't fond of the drippy American
style pizzas; they prefer them slim and crisp.
But I wanted something more exotic than pizza or spaghetti my first night in Rome. I headed for Africa,
an Ethiopian-Eritrian restaurant near Termini train station. Despite
getting lost on the way (we took a wrong turn from inside the station)
we were still the first to arrive at 7 p.m. when the restaurant opened.
Ordering was easy; we requested two vegetarian meals, which came with
an assortment of vegan dishes served in little piles on top of two
pieces of spongy injera bread, and a starter of falafel.
By the time we left, the restaurant was full, and so were we. Injera
is deceptively light, but the sour sponge fills up your tummy in no
time. I guess that's part of its appeal. We loved our food, although I
was slightly disappointed that for a while it seemed like I'd never
want to eat again in Rome, unless I was willing to give bulimia a go.
Amazingly, after a good night's sleep and a very forgettable
breakfast at the hotel, I was hungry again the next evening. I'd scoped
out Il Margutta,
a vegetarian restaurant I'd read about in the guidebooks and online.
Just to be sure, I walked by that afternoon and checked out the menu.
It seemed affordable to me, contrary to the warnings online, so I made
a reservation for 7:30—opening time—and we came back in the rain,
again, the first customers to arrive.
Il Margutta is located in possibly the poshest part of Rome, on Via
Margutta, a back street lined with antique shops and art galleries.
It's between the Spanish Steps and the Piazza del Popolo, a tidy walk
from our hotel, but that, I was beginning to discover, was a good thing.
Perusing the menu was like glimpsing heaven, pages and pages of vegetarian, dormouse-free delights. In addition to the a la carte starters, primo,
secundo, and desserts, there were several 5-course meals designed by
the chef. The vegan meal was only €36, while my husband's cheesier selections were around €45. Not bad for five plates of food, each of them
innovative and impeccably
prepared. Mine featured seitan kebabs—seitan so tender it melted under
my fork—floating on a shallow pool of chickpea cream. The remaining courses were also delightful, and I heard no complaints from my husband on his
side of the table.
The olive oil they served at the table deserves a special mention. I was on
a mission to find fresh-pressed olive oil, which I'd read was available in the
fall months, and at Il Margutta I was pretty sure I'd found it, so I
asked where I could purchase it. The owner, who was constantly prowling
around the main dining room, made me a deal: two bottles for ten euros
each. But by the time we were ready to leave several hours later, our
server had left and the two who replaced him were busy with the now-packed
restaurant. We had enough trouble getting our bill, much less the olive
oil I had so wanted.
Ah well. Did I mention the sorbet?
The next day I made a beeline to Campo de Fiori, the largest open air
market in Rome. My beeline included getting lost at the Presidential
Palace, a visit to Trajan's Markets, and a quick tour of Palatine Hill,
so I got there around noon-thirty—they close at 1:00, although it was
nearer to 1:30 when they started pulling down the marquees. I was on a
quest to find the elusive fresh olive oil, and fresh porcinis, which
I'd never even seen before.
Fresh porcinis are huge, a real giant of a mushroom. Not sure how
they'd make the trip back in my suitcase, I only got two. I also picked
up some squash blossoms, but they didn't survive the trip. One seller
convinced me to buy some fresh capers—much larger than their jarred
cousins, about the size of small olives. They weathered the trip just
fine, and made a fine Pasta Puttanesca when I came home.
The olive oil I found at a shop nearby, from a seller who spoke a
little English. His prices were much better than at the touristy shop
nearer the hotel, where I also stopped for Limoncello. Lugging all this
around made me very hungry, of course, so I stopped in a pastry shop on
Via Veneto, where I had some tea and some roasted almonds I'd bought on the street near the Spanish Steps. (The roasted chestnuts sold on street corners would have been a good option too.)
That night we had dinner in Frascati, a suburb of Rome, in a
restaurant with ancient wine cellars we were allowed to tour. We saw no
wine, just some puzzling signs in German that indicated you must only
drink the water. Or something like that. The meal was arranged by the
conference my husband was attending, so I didn't get much say in the
matter. Still, it was atmospheric, even if the white wine did taste
like water. (Possibly a ploy to fool the Germans.)
The last day our flight was at 9:30 p.m., which meant eating in a
normal restaurant was impossible: they all seem to open at 7:30. But
with the help of the hotel magazine, I found a place famed for the owner's resemblance to Pavarotti, as well as the fact it was open
all day, from noon.
Lovely. We headed straight to La Tavernetta Sistina, Via Sistina
147, right off Piazza Barberini. The owner was holding forth in the main
dining room, but we were led to a cozy back room, filled with Americans
who couldn't wait until a properly late hour to eat. The plate of
grilled vegetables we ordered as a starter made us forget it wasn't yet
dinner time. My fettucini with funghi was my last, adoring taste of
porcinis, a fine end to the ultimate foodie trip.
(For a more challenging foodie travelogue, you can read A Vegetarian in Paris. For more on eating in Rome, try 101 Cookbooks' recent post or Herbivoracious' report on Roman food.)
*A note of warning: Modern Romans eat much like their ancient forefathers, loathing to waste any part of the animal. And as I discovered
while waiting to board the plane, dormouse (known as glis glis in the
UK, found only in a triangle in the Chilterns after once being brought over by Roman invaders) is considered a
rare (and illegal) delicacy, so I was on my guard.
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