Of all the roads leading to Rome, few are more rewarding than the Via Gastronomia
The migratory scribe whose primary interest is gastronomy will find that he has ample time for truant tangents in most of the Italian provinces. Beguiling as the theme of regional wine and cooking may be, he can still wander into the green pastures of history, art, and bicycle races without neglecting his epicurean duly. Not so in Rome. The subject of wining and dining in the Eternal City is so rich and so rewarding that vagrant deviations into the companion beauties of the capital are out of the question.
Unless he is to indulge in a full-length novelette, he must have the fortitude to forego the antique shops on the Via Sistina and the twinkling ankles on the Via Flaminia for the solid facts of life on the Via Gastronomia.
So, with nary a sidelong, time-consuming glance at St. Peter's or the Forum, we plunge headlong into the theme of Roman food-and come up bubbling with encouraging facts. The much quoted assertion that it is impossible to dine poorly in Rome turns out to be a glorious and gratifying truth. As do the Parisians and the Lyonnais, the Romans refuse to patronize a poor restaurant. You see one now and then tables deserted, waiters balancing forlornly on their heels, cash registers silent. A few doors away is another place absolutely choked with chattering, gregarious guests. The Roman public knows the difference, and so will the timid traveler-if he follows the crowd!
The excellence of Roman cooking runs through all categories of dining places, from the humble trattoria CO the chic casino in the park. It applies to discreet carpeted haunts of the aristocracy and noisy nightclub cellars ringing with song. Price seems to make little difference. You will find delectable Roman food in sidewalk cafes across the Tiber and in inexpensive country inns along the ancient Appian way. Only the drab and unimaginative diner who sticks close to his hotel and submits to “international” cooking should find it dull. Beyond any doubt Rome's gastronomic stature is in keeping with its historic eminence as a world capital-and that's good news.
The carta del giorno of any good Roman restaurant contains a tempting cross section of Italian cookery-Adriatic fish, Florentine beef. Bolognese pasta, Neapolitan sweets-but Rome's own specialties stand up well in comparison. Baby lamb, egg noodles and artichokes take on splendor and originality when prepared in the Roman manner, and no visiting gourmet worthy of the name would leave the city without making the seductive acquaintance of fettuccine, abbacchio and carciofi alla romana. Among many Roman dishes, we have space to dwell only upon a spectacular few.
Fettuccine alla romana: These arc thin, fresh egg noodles, served very hot with butter and finely grated Parmesan cheese. This sounds like a banal definition for a sublime dish, and so it is This is a crowning achievement in pasta, and so perfected that few outsiders can hope to achieve it. Yet its essentials are simplicity itself. The mannered flush and flourish which accompany this famous dish at Alfredo's and elsewhere happen to be essential, even if a gold fork and spoon are nor. The beautiful ribbons of golden noodles arrive at your table quite dry, and as hot as live steam. In a half minute or so your maître d'hôtel must melt an imposing block of butter in them, together with just the right amount of Parmesan or Romano cheese-ground almost to the fineness of talcum powder. It takes a lot of lightning tossing, twirling and mixing to melt both butter and cheese, and to transfer the fettuccine still steaming to your plate. Apart from crêpes Suzette, few dishes offer such a dazzling opportunity to a head waiter with exhibitionist tendencies.
Roman fettuccine is about three-eighths of an inch wide and much thinner than other egg-enriched Italian noodles, but the secret of its beauty seems to lie in its freshness. Made in the morning, and cooked only on order, the maesto fettuccine al triplo burro is a thing of rich, buttery, fattening splendor. Yet its price on a Roman menu is less than fifty cents. An abbacchio is a very young milk-fed lamb, not much bigger than a full grown hare when it is suspended in an Italian butcher shop. It can be roasted in the oven or on a spit, and is exquisitely tender and delicate. Cooked alla cacciatore in a casserole with peppers, garlic, rosemary, vinegar, spices and a suspicion of anchovy, it takes on a character all of its own. As a delicacy, abbacchio is totally satisfying except to the too-tender hearted. Of course, if you conjure up a picture of baby lambs frolicking among the bluebells and buttercups, you're not going to enjoy the dish as well. It is a shame to end their days even before their baas have changed.
Carciofi alla romana: An unassuming member of the thistle family reaches an undreamed of pinnacle of goodness in Rome-the artichoke. How little the res: of the world seems to know about artichokes compared to the Italians! The French, with their penchant for picking vegetables young-baby carrots, infant turnips, puerile potatoes, miniscule peas, string beans of maiden slimness, -have apparently overlooked the fact that very young artichokes are equally rewarding. Other countries, our own included, seem to consider that the bigger an artichoke is the better. Nibble away at the one fragment of tenderness which lurks at the bottom of each leaf, enjoy the reward of its base, and you've had it.
How different is the Italian approach! Early in the season they snip off the smallest artichoke buds and put them up in herb-rich olive oil. When the unsnipped survivors become tender striplings, somewhat bigger than a duck's egg, they are cut with about two inches of the stalk. The hairy thistle core is removed by deft cropping, the Sharp tips of the leaves are cut back a bit, and the rest is a mango-tout, totally eatable down through the supposedly wiry stem.
Carciofi alla romana become goldengreen flowers when cooked in olive oil and while wine. Sometimes they are faintly perfumed with garlic, or again they are pointed up with vinegar and herbs only, but always their taste and texture is exquisite. They are equally good when hot, lukewarm or cold. Nobody prepares this dish quite as well as the Romans. They love them as an hors d'oeuvre, a garnish or a vegetable course and never stem to tire of them. If you can snare a dozen adolescent artichokes, here is the recipe:
Artichokes alla Romana
Remove the hard outer leaves of 12 small artichokes, trim (he points of the others, and remove the chokes, substituting minced garlic, parsley, mint, salt and pepper for the chokes. Make a bouquet of the artichokes in a terra-cotta casserole, moistening them with 4 tablespoons of oil, and cook them on a moderate fire for 10 minutes. Then add 2 cups dry white wine and ½ cup stock. Cover the casserole and let the artichokes cook until the sauce is almost reduced.
Gnocchi alla romana: There are two variations of this celebrated dish. The best known type is made of semolina, cooked in milk and butler. It is sliced when cold, cut in squares and cooked in the oven, bathed in abundant butter, a little cream, and topped with grated Parmesan cheese. This is the type best known in foreign lands.
The other variant is made of a paste of Hour and potato, formed into cocoonshaped losenges and then boiled. It is sometimes served with a meat sauce, and liberally sprinkled with Parmesan or Roman Pecorino cheese.
Fritto alla romana: Roman cooks have an enviable reputation as deep fryers. A good mixed fry alla romana is light and delicate, containing as it does the tender spare parts from very young animals-calves brains, or the same delicacies from baby goats, sweetbreads, calves' liver, artichokes and croutons, all dipped in milk, beaten egg and flour, and fried in deep lard, not oil. In many a Roman snack bar you will see suppli, another denizen of the deep-fry. These are golden-brown rice croquettes enclosing a pungent meat-and-sauce center almost as exciting as a ramale.
Saltimbocca alla romana: This, of course, is a favorite device for adding savor to an Italian escalope of veal, often a rather flat commodity. A leaf of sage and a thin slice of ham make all the difference when sautéing the veal, and a thin topping of Mozzarella cheese adds even more taste. Some of the subtler surgeons manage to make a pocket out of the thin slice of veal, and to stuff it with the ham, cheese and herbs, a refinement which deserves, and receives, quite an accolade from the public.
The Romans have their own way of serving spaghetti, alla matriciana (a savory sauce concealing onions, cheek of pork, tomatoes and peppers), and their own little tricks with suprêmes of turkey and chicken. Peas and ham cooked in a casserole are a perennial favorite. Seafood is not a specialty, but there are three noble Roman cheeses worth remembering. Pecorino Romano comes in large corded cylinders weighing as much as 25 pounds, and ages a year or more in the upper reaches of Roman food shops. Made from ewe's milk and always a little sharp, it is used as a condiment for pasta and soups. Provatura Romana is a cousin of Mozzarella, so famous in Naples. It comes from the milk of the pensive water buffalo, and appears in the shops in the form and color of an over-sized egg. Ricotta Romana is a cream cheese of many uses; fat, fragrant and delicate.
The wines of Latium are not the best in Italy, but they have their virtues, particularly Frascati. This fresh, palatable white wine is a deplorable traveler, and rarely penetrates beyond its own province, a fact which doesn't distress the Romans in the least. They are quite willing to drink it all. Frascati is one of several wines of the Castelli Romani, a name given to the foothills of the Apennines south of Rome where togaed patricians once built their summer castles. You may find others from these slopes on the wine list-Albina, Castel Gondolfo or Genzano, and they are fair enough. A pleasant and much quoted legend has grown up around a golden wine grown on the slopes of Montefiascone, north of Rome. The German Cardinal Fugger was enough of an oenophile to take the precaution of sending his valet ahead when he traveled, so that he would be sure to stop at an inn where the wine was good. On the door of the inn the valet would chalk Est (è buono) if the wine were satisfactory and Est, Est in case it was exceptional. When the valet and his taste buds reached Montefiascone, he was so enraptured that he scrawled a vigorous Est! Est!! Est!!! on the tavern door. The Cardinal apparently agreed with the valet's judgment, for he stayed at the inn and drank such vast fiagons of the wine that he died from it. No better publicity could befall a wine in those days, and it still clings to the legendary name of Est! Est!! Est!!! This wine travels better than those grown south of Rome, and anyone wishing to verify the Cardinal's judgment, if not emulate his example, can find it on the American market.
After several weeks of foraging in Rome, we are willing to climb out on a limb once again, and to mention a group of restaurants which should please the traveling gourmet. We fondly picture this composite personality, by the way, as urbane, attractive and civilized, responsive to the good things in life (among them fine cooking, worthy wines and charming companions), but skeptical of tourist traps, contrived atmosphere and pompous maîtres d'hôtel.
With him in mind, this cross section of Roman dining embraces many types and several charming settings, some with music (it's a part of Rome) and some devoted only to pious concentration on epicurean pursuits. May we lay emphasis on the fact that the omissions are colossal. They have to be when a choice is made from thousands. No mention is made of hotels, many of which have splendid cuisines, or of a myriad of snack bars, lea shops, birrerie and rosticcerie where lighter fare can be found at odd hours. Among hundreds of worthy little trattoria, only two arcnamed. bur bear in mind the fact that it is very difficult to go astray gastronomically in Rome.
The Romans are late diners, and Mr. and Mrs. Gourmet will have ample time to reflect upon their choice of a restaurant while sitting in one of the smart cafés on the Via Veneto, Everyone seems to drift into DONEY'S, CARPANO, or ROSATI at least once during the day, and there are no better places from which to watch the well-dressed passing throng. Less obvious and far more atmospheric is the CAFE GRECO at Via Condotti, 86, an historic spot established in 1780 and long patronized by artists and writers, among them John Keats and Mark Twain. In such charming surroundings you are confronted with a cool Italian apéritif, but by no problem at all about where to dine. Only a short stroll away is-
RANIERI-Via Mario de Fiori, 26: This venerable haunt of Roman epicures is found on a side street not far from the Piazza di Spagna, known to every American who seeks a letter from Back Home. Ranieri is positively bearded with history, but rests not upon its laurels and a century of famous visitors. Today's more exacting diners will find it gratifying and reposeful. The atmosphere is definitely vieux monde. The faded velvet banquettes against the wall, the aged, courteous waiters, the courtly gentleman of the old school who owns it. all preserve the spirit of the late '90s. The restaurant is small but uncrowned, as there are small private salons upstairs to care for any overflow. Dignified, benign gentlemen sit alone with their quail or woodcock and their Burgundy. A gay little party of four orders cannelloni, scampi all'orientale and a sweet, and needs an extra bottle of Orvieto. A suave couple from England tries veddy hard to select hors-d'oeuvre without pointing. There is no music. The wine list is short but excellent. The chef is one of the best in Rome.
Originally founded in 1843 by a frenchman, the restaurant was acquired in 1861 by a Neapolitan, Guiseppe Ranieri, who had been Queen Victoria's chef and later tried to bring culinary comfort to the unhappy Emperor Maximilian in Mexico. From the day Ranieri took over, the restaurant's success as a rendezvous for epicures and celebrities. crowned and otherwise, was assured. His direct descendant now maintains the same scrupulous standard.
PASSETTO-Via Zanardelli, 14: One of the more recent and fashionable of Roman restaurants, Passetto is set on a broad avenue leading across the Tiber, within walking distance of St. Peter's. Popular with discriminating Latins and Anglo-Saxons alike, its star is rising rapidly. Beyond its glittering revolving door are two long, high-ceilinged rooms, with a simple but sweeping decor and soft lights. The banquettes are as comfortable as armchairs, the service most attentive. The menu, which has an English edition, is truly imposing, especially in the realm of fowl and game. Our exploratory trio hesitated a bit until the hors-d'oeuvre were wheeled by-then there was no other choice. They are just about the best in Rome, richly varied but not too heavy or too weighted down with oil. After these, and a cool Frascati, we split into divergent camps -cinghiale all'agro dolce, wild boar with a superlative sour-sweet sauce, a regal roast pheasant with an orange-flavored sauce, and a tender half chicken alla diavolo. A sturdy red Valpolicella served as a companion piece left us bathed in contentment. We were faintly alarmed at a theatrical orange dessert in which Passetto takes particular pride, and settled for ebony cups of caffè espresso and a spot of Strega. Prices at Fassetto are a little above normal, perhaps, but quite justified.
FAGIANO-Piazza Colonna, 363: The clamorous heart of Rome is brightened by a carved marble column built in 175 A.D. to honor Emperor Marcus Aurelius. More important, in view of present-day problems, a large square surrounds the column. It provides parking space, at 100 lire each, for the automobiles which are choking the city, including those of its most exacting gastronomes. Fagiano (The Pheasant), a conventional Roman restaurant in the top tradition, glitters at one corner of the Piazza Colonna. Its lights shine brightly in high ceilings, its linen is glaring white. Thoroughly “professional,” it has been for decades an outstanding, ultrarespectable citadel of fine Roman food. Chances for disappointment are almost nil at Fagiano. and there is no better place to savor the classic abbacchio, a supreme of turkey with artichokes or a partridge en cocotte with mushrooms, The chef tosses truffles around quite recklessly, and caviar, foie gras and lobster are waiting for the more luxurious diplomats and the fast, older hunting set. For the mere pedestrian tourist, the prices are entirely reasonable and the service, from the bowing maître d'hôtel to the bus boy, is deft and deferential. A fitting motto, “Vita, vinum est” is set in the wall, and the wines are appropriately good. There is a gay little tavern with music and frescoes downstairs, in case Fagiano creates an evening too good to end early-which will probably be the case.
TRE SCALINI-Piazza Navona, 30: On a warm summer evening few places have the setting and the romance of the restaurant of the Three Steps, basking squarely in the middle of one of Rome's most beautiful squares. Bernini's three buoyantly baroque fountains spout and spatter in the long Piazza Navona, but everything else is quiet, except for a few children playing and the staccato sputter of a stray scooter. This is a sidewalk restaurant with superlative dishes to match its privileged stage set. On our first visit we were urged to try its three outstanding specialties, cannelloni (wonderful ones with a monumental sauce), bauletto con fungi (a savory veal bird) and gelato tartufo, a chocolate dessert that seemed a trifle heavy. But we were content, since a noble Barolo kept us company. On a subsequent visit we did even better, sticking to Roman artichokes, saltimbocca alla romana with sylphlike string beans, iced strawberries, coffee and a generous tulip glass of that joyous Italian liqueur. Allium. In the winter months the Tre Scalini must abandon its terrace for a scries of cheerful modern salons, but it abandons none of its high culinary standards in the process. It provides one of the most pleasant dining experiences in the city.
CAPRICCIO Via Lombardia, 29: Strangely enough, the winding Via Veneto, most fashionable of Roman boulevards. has no outstanding restaurant, although it is studded with the top hotels and cafés. If you are sitting in Doney's or Rosati's, contemplating two empty vermouth glasses and wondering whereto dine nearby, the best answer, as hundreds have found, is near at hand on the Via Lombardia. Capriccio is an established favorite with hotel dwellers in the Via Veneto belt, including a generous sprinkling of theatrical and movie people. Its atmosphere is restrained and sophisticated, its lights are keyed mercifully low, and one gets the general impression of a top notch New York establishment. It isn't all illusion, for more than a snatch of the American idiom filters through the air, and the menu is bilingual. The cuisine couldn't be more Italian, however, and the prices ate surprisingly reasonable. Don't miss their cannelloni. “Divine” is the word for them, but I refuse to use it. Noble steaks, chops and cutlets emerge from their charcoal grill, and we tasted a scampi all'americana which is a distinct compliment to Uncle Samuele. Capriccio is very popular, and it is prudent to make a reservation or to arrive early.
ALFREDO ALLA SCROFA-Via della Scrofa, 104: Many years ago. when our own Doug and Mary (Fairbanks and Pick ford. that is), enraptured by the ceremony and the taste of Roman egg noodles, presented a gold mixing fork and spoon to Alfredo the Alfredo mind you, the King of fettuccine-they set off quite unwittingly a barrage of culinary hocus-pocus which can only be rivaled by the numbered ducks at the Tour d'Argent. The pompous theatrics of mixing these innocent, delectable fettuccine, turned the dish into a vaudeville head liner and packed in the customers. Now there are three Alfredo's, two of them deadly rivals. Each displays a wall packed with autographed pictures of the stars, crested testimonials from the nobility and a five-foot shelf of autograph books. Vaudeville isn't dead, and the fettuccine ceremony is definitely worth seeing. But we certainly aren't going to send you to all three Alfredos! Faced with a choice, we prefer Alfredo alla Scrofa, whose proprietor is an ex-waiter of the exalted original. The place is not pretentious; it is pleasant and the service is good. The fettuccine is superb and the turkey breast with truffles, another classic specialty, is flawless. We have a genuine fondness for the place, in spite of the overhead lights, which are bright enough for an operating room, and a sallow, lugubrious string trio.
CASINA VALADIER Pincio: Paris may have its chic restaurants set in theBois de Boulogne or framed in the verdure of the Champs-Elysées, but Rome has the same thing plus a superlative view. For decides the classic old Casina Valadier, perched at the edge of the lofty Pincio Gardens, has provided discriminating guests (among them Nathaniel Hawthorne) with a charming setting, commendable food and wine, and a thrilling panorama of the city, dominated by the dome of St. Peter's. Newcomers to Rome owe it to themselves to sit under the awnings of this long established casino-in-the-park at least once. The atmosphere is gay. the people are attractive, and the cooking is on a lofty level, with prices only a little above the average. And maybe you'll sit next to Shelley Winters, as we did.
BIBLIOTECA DEL VALLE-Largo Teatro Valle, 7: Most present-day Romans prefer a gay evening to a solemn gastronomic ritual. Music of some sort, from a lone guitar to a six-piece orchestra, will await you in many Roman restaurants. Sometimes it is so deafening that it kills the appetite and makes a shambles of conversation. Other times it is discreet and pleasant. The Biblioteca del Valle falls in between these extremes, and you'll probably enjoy it. It is a Bohemian sort of place, in a basement in the heart of the theatre district. The name, of course, means library, and the “books” consist of bottles of wine standing behind none too robust iron bars. The sommelier is not in the least concerned about the fact that they should be lying on their sides in less tumultuous surroundings. It's a gag, and a pleasant one, and the Roman cosmopolites have been sampling volumes from these walls for decades. They arrive late, sing later, and dance after that. A glistening cocktail and apéritif wagon starts them off, and a very special white wine. Acqua di Trevi, cakes over when a thin-faced mariner comes by with a tray of sea food-lobsters, oysters and clams. By the time the cannelloni appears in the company of a fiasco of Chianti the air is thick with smoke and song, and everybody's happy. For a festive evening and not too disconcerting a check, the Biblioteca has much to offer. The food? Oh yes, it's remarkably good.
NINO-Via Borgognona, 11: Carnivorous man has his innings in this shrine of Tuscan beef, not far from the Piazza di Spagna. Nino is famous for its steaks, and those who crave a monumental bistecca alla fiorentina, beautifully grilled over charcoal, could find no better place in Rome. The size of the larger steaks is strictly up to the customer-they charge by the kilo. Those who order the largest one would do well to bring Primo Camera along as a guest. Needless to say, he has been there often, There are daily specials chez Nino, from osso buco on Monday to chicken croquettes on Sunday, and the Chianti is superb, as might be expected in a Tuscan establishment. The “atmosphere” in Nino's is nearly non-existent high vaulted ceilings, no décor, no music, nothing to detract from the solitary splendor of that gorgeous steak.
ROMA-Piazza Poli, 38: This is very much in the tradition of an old Continental restaurant conventional, quiet, spotless, and patronized utmost exclusively by discriminating Romans. It dates from the late '90s, to judge by the decor. There is not the slightest hint of music. The service is particularly attentive, Two skilled restaurateurs in pinstriped suits took wonderful care of us, and everybody else. We tried a risotto alla fregoli, a soul-warming prelude, followed by a handsome sôle meunière and a filetto alla rossini, both beyond reproach. The Ristorante Roma produces a thriving, shaded sidewalk terrace during the summer months. For a highly civilized dinner at reasonable prices, and in a central location (just off the busy Via Tritone) this is one of the best.
AL RE DEGLI AMICI-Via della Crocc, 33h: The King of Friends offers a striking contrast to the conventional Roman restaurant. There is atmosphere galore in the succession of small, intimate rooms which make up this place, although it is hardly more than skin deep. Widely known as a Bohemian rendezvous, its colorful interior is a bit too contrived to be convincing. Artists of varied merit have contributed canvases in exchange for meals, and luminaries from the literary and theatrical world have been invited to paint their names on wall panels. The antipasto wagon here is awe inspiring, but even more impressive are the pizze. The famous Neapolitan specialty appears in delicious guises here, and you should try one of them. The menu is trilingual, and so are several of the waiters. On two occasions. however, we found the latter to be discourteous. Al Re Degli Amici is worth a visit in spite of them.
GALEASSI Piazza Santa Maria in Trastevere, 3: Across the Tiber are any number of charming small restaurants, and it is with great difficulty that we have limited our favorites to three. Galeassi Spreads its broad awning on one of the loveliest of Roman squares. A fountain bubbles in the middle, and the polychromatic church of Santa Maria in Trastevere looms majestically in one corner. This restaurant is simple an unpretentious-but there is an artist in the kitchen, as our polio toscano alla diavolo proved. We have tried gnocchi fettuccine, abbacchio, golden brown filet of turkey and a simple steak at Galeassi, and found them unfailingly good. In fact, we've gone back there four times. It is inexpensive, unhurried and hospitable. The Frascati is cool, the grissiui (bread sticks) are crisp, and the clamor of the city seems far, far away.
ROMOLO-Porta Settimiana: This one is a little difficult to find, but it is worth the effort. Just inside the ancient Roman walls, it is a venerable trattoria with low, beamed ceilings and dim lights. An atmosphere of genuine antiquity hovers over the place, and one is no: surprised to learn that Margherita Luti, Raphael's beautiful mistress, once lived there. We were only surprised to find that Raphael had a mistress. Romolo is quiet, discreet and inviting just the place to go after the impact of too much Italian traffic. It specializes in Roman dishes, and we've never tasted better carciofi alla romana or saltimbocca than in these time-tinted surroundings.
LA CISTERNA Via della Cisterna, 10-14: You must be a dedicated devotee of song and festivity to get the most out of La Cisterna. Half hidden in a side street near Santa Maria in Trastevere, it is an ancient inn dating back three centuries and more. Its walls are gay with frisky frescoes, and its waiters wear the costumes of another age short breeches, white cotton stockings, colored jackets. The food is good; the wine is hearty and copious, but these hardly count. People come here primarily, we have decided, to burst into joyous song in company with a tenor, a guitarist and a violinist.
There you have it-fourteen Roman establishments from the austere to the hilarious, all of them insistent upon a fine cuisine. The list could be carried much farther-to the plush and romantic HOSTARIA DELL'ORSO, where Dante, Rabelais and Goethe once put up, and where Rome's smartest night club now scintillates; to TOR FIORENZA, a cozy, inviting spot in the chic Parioli district; to PIAZZI, a fantastic splash of modern decoration installed in what was once Mussolini's love nest.
Then there are those dependable little Roman trattorie. They are everywhere, and almost invariably good. Among scores of them, it seems almost too partial to cite two of our favorites, but here they are: SALVAGGI, Via Quint inn Sella, 1, and ANDREA, Via Sardegna 2628, just off the Via Veneto.