The Roman Experience

It's a rainy Thursday in Rome and now that Shelby has headed for greener (and only slightly less sophisticated) pastures, I'm all alone. It's funny how the little things that you take for granted in your native country seem intimidating and nearly impossible in a new place. When I first moved to San Francisco or New York, public transportation was confusing enough in English. Obviously after spending a week on the Manhattan subway system I had it down pat, but here things are a bit harder. Dining out, too, has an entirely different etiquette, and in some ways I long for the days of Chinese takeout and late night pizza.

Before my mom left we attempted to tackle the Roman buses. No transfers, no special weekly passes - I started off nice and slow with a single ticket and 4 simple stops. Well, they WOULD have been simple if Italian buses ran with any regulation. Some guidebooks have been kind enough to take the guessing out of things by telling you the unwritten (at least, unwritten anywhere I saw) rules. You get on in back, stamp your ticket, and when crowded have to work your way forward until your stop, at which point you exit from the front door. Seems simple enough, and the many bus stops have signs listing all the stops said bus will make. However, I'm in a country that has little regard for rules, especially when it comes to traffic. I haven't read this in any guidebook, but I'm fairly certain that 'red,' 'yellow,' and 'green' are just suggestions. I get it - rules were meant to be broken - but it makes for an awful lot of confusion on a tourist's part. Somehow we managed to pick up tickets, determine a route, and wait at the appropriate place. The real fun only began 10 minutes later, when my mom was able to hop the number 64 to Chiesa Nuova...but I didn't make it in time. About 3 minutes later some other bus brought me there, but I must have looked like quite an idiot laughing by myself on the street as Shelby pulled away looking forlornly at her daughter outside. Maybe you had to be there.

Bus problems aside, we ended up having quite an experience at dinner in Trastevere. There are tourists everywhere in this city which in many ways is good for me - plenty of people speak English (though I always try to speak Italian when possible) and there are maps, street signs, and directions in English galore. But it's also Rome's downfall. Most restaurants have menus in English which takes the fun out of the guessing game, and most restaurants have Italian specialties from all over the country because it's what appeals to tourists. If you ask me, I'd rather try something truly Roman while in Rome, and save the fettuccine alfredo for American soil. Alas, there was shelter from the storm in Trastevere.

Trastevere (which means, almost literally, 'across the tiber') has some of the oldest buildings in all of Rome. It's now full of artists and bars and, from what I saw, tons of bohemians. Trastevere has a different aroma than the center of Rome, slightly sweeter. There are plenty of restaurants and I'm sure the proprietors speak English, but you get the sense that many people who live over there are true Romans. Stretching my mother's stay for all it was worth, we took the concierge's advice to try a restaurant called L'Antica Pesa.

L'Antica Pesa is run by two brothers, and before them it was run by their father. The front-of-house guy is all show - kissing everyone who comes in, showing us photographs of the many stars he's hosted (Laurence Fishburne, John Travolta, Nic Cage, and Robert DeNiro to namedrop a few), and generally keeping things convivial. The true star of the show is his chef brother, who was humble and proud of his craft and kind, and who gave us the ultimate tour. When we arrived we were lead to a beautiful outdoor garden, but they were taking professional photos for the website - they're opening an outpost in London this spring - so we were asked if we wanted to have a drink in the main dining room.

The main dining room was located a few feet below ground level, but the window height was almost on par with the ground of the garden outside. Like most things here in Rome, construction has taken place on top of other, older construction throughout the years. Which is in part why there are only 2 underground metro lines - everytime they start to dig they find new ruins. In fact, all around Rome there are large barricades set up in the middle of the sidewalk or street, marking off an ongoing archeolgical dig. But I digress...

The maitre d' proceeded to explain to us, in very rapid Italian, the walls of the dining room. Each had been painted by a different artist; the newest one was a famous NY artist (whom I'd never heard of); the lighting had been done by an artisan lamp-maker (did you even know those existed?? they do here); the back of the room paintings were actually frescoes. Although I only caught about a fifth of what he was saying, I found it fascinating.

When we went to dine in the garden we were amazed at how tranquil it was. Like the best things in life, you wouldn't know this oasis existed if you didn't have an insider tell you. And I don't mean a la La Esquina, where it's kitsch (although I did have a most excellent dining experience there). You get the impression that things like this are hidden in Rome because the Romans want to keep it sacred.

While we waited for the outdoor photo shoot to end we asked if we could take a peek into the kitchen. The chef brother proudly showed us his tiny, very hot, and very organized kitchen. He also introduced to his three line cooks. There were neat stacks of partially cooked vegetables on one cart. There was pasta water boiling on a burner. There was even a monitor that showed a private room, so the chef could speak directly with the patrons. We then got a tour of the private room and swooned over the intimacy and style of it - grey plaster walls, old archways of stone, accents in sharp chrome and white. If I stay here and marry a count wealthy enough, I'm flying you all here for my birthday next year and we'll dine there. No joke.

Finally it was time to eat. Our waiter was an older, effite man, who loved talking with his hands and had very expressive bug eyes. His grey hair was the only giveaway that perhaps he'd seen many people come and go over the years (the restaurant's been around since 1922). We tried to order typical Roman things, though the list was their version of gourmet. Shelby started with a flan of peas that had a custardy texture and (in my opinion) slightly overpowering egg-y taste. My antipasto was purely ethereal - buttery sauteed shreds of savoy cabbage, served with a slice of lardo di colonnato (basically a slab of bacon fat) and a square slab of darkly grilled farmer's cheese. The cabbage cut the bacon and cheese's saltiness and offered a little crunch. Which was necessary, since the grilled cheese sort of squeaks on the teeth - and I mean that in a good way.

For our secondo, Shelbs stuck to the simple Roman grilled lamb which was served on the bone with some greens. The meat tasted like lamb and was falling off the bone when it arrived. I, on the other hand, dove right into perfectly cooked saltimbocca, and savored the combination of herby, earthy sage and smoky, chewy prosciutto. The light lemon and white wine sauce kept any greasiness at bay, and the scaloppini were cooked enough without becoming tough. Sadly, we were so exhausted we skipped dessert, but I have no doubt the simplest things would've been mind-blowing. They most often are here.

Everyone dining around us was Italian and seeing them in all of their 'fabulousness' was what made the evening. There were kisses flying left and right, excessive gesticulating, and gorgeous clothes. There was a party having cocktails as we left and if you changed their clothes a bit and put them in Westport, CT, you would've had my parents' Jew crew from Birchwood.

When we got back to the hotel I packed up and said a sad farewell to my mom. I wanted to do everything myself but having her here made the transition much, MUCH easier. Luckily, I did make one Italian friend before she left. In the hotel lobby a young girl overheard us speaking and asked where we from - turns out she was born and bred in Rome but went to college in Texas and lived in NY for some time. She's now a tour guide here and gave me her card, noting that she'd love to hang out and had many Italian men whom she wanted me to meet. I emailed her and we're getting together this weekend, because apparently, she wrote, 'there are a ton of cute boys for me to introduce to cute American girls, but I need more girls! come out with us this weekend.' I'm a little nervous that she's boy crazy, but maybe she just assumes American girls want to have a fully Italian experience. Either that, or I've gotten myself into some sort of high-end international call girl ring. Keep your fingers crossed it's the former.

It's raining now and the streets are a mess. I'm off to attempt grocery shopping for the first time, which I'm sure will be an experience in and of itself.

Wish me luck and keep the comments coming - I'm having a great time but it's difficult being incomunicado with my close friends. Buon weekend to all and hopefully I'll have more to report Monday...unless my new pimp doesn't allow internet access.