Janet Eats

Interesting conversation with Pietro, the custodian at the St. Peter-in-Chains Church (San Pietro in Vincoli) where tourists — and one presumes pilgrims — come to see Michelangelo’s Moses in Chains.

While generally overlooking the actual relic of the chains that imprisoned Peter.

“They treat this as a museum. Coming to see the art and ignoring the chains,” Pietro told me.

I admit I was at the church myself to see the Michelangelo. It’s stunning. And then I spotted the chains.

THIS:

THAT:

I have just had what is probably Rome’s version of a great diner meal. Great “home-cooked” food, surrounded by locals. On my left: an adorable trio of young Japanese men, one of whom speaks impeccable and admirable Italian to the staff who apparently know him well. Like – on a first-name basis with the awesome woman who is taking care of about a dozen tables outside – feeding over twenty people. On my other side: a young soon-to-be mother and her doting husband. Maybe American, maybe not.

The food was guh-reat. Not write-home-about great. More like the best-meal-your-gramma-whips-up-for-Sunday-supper great.

I have finished my handmade Gnocchi with Gorgonzola and Arugula. The server knows I’m done (she took my plate because I placed it on the other side of my “un tavolo per uno!” )

And yet. And yet. And yet! No hurry. No rush. No “dolce, signora?” Cue to get me the hell up and outta here.

There is even a line building up. Meaningful, because we are at the point between six kids at a table lingering over a bottle of wine, and the real dinner time. That is: it’s nearly 8 o’clock.

While I sit. Enough time to write this entire post. And still the server is not insisting on giving me “Il conto, per favore?!”

This is a life to strive for. And, I think I should utter those closing words: “the check, please!” and head home.

Well, maybe a piccola coppetta di gelato and THEN home.

When you’ve had a big lunch of cacio e pepe along with un quartino di vino bianco AND carciofo alla giudia – when it comes time for dinner – all you really want is just a little sumpin’!

Ladies and gentlemen: meet apertivi time. A glass (or two) of wine that sometimes comes with a small dish of tartalli. Gratuito – that is, free. Or you can spend a few Lira (okay Euro!! But I miss paying thousands of a currency for a meal. Another time. Another story).

As usual, I digress. In the Roman neighborhood of Monti where I usually stay – or any Italian neighborhood really – you look for a trattoria or wine bar that serves up superb appetizers. And great wine.

Such is the case on this September 11 in the year 2023. A visit to al vino al vino on Via dei Serpenti for a homemade caponata on crusty bread. And a bracing glass of white wine from Abruzzo.

This is one happy camper.

Meanwhile…

So, I promised the story of my history with this exquisite pasta dish cacio e pepe.

Here it is.

On my very first visit to Rome, I headed to the Jewish Quarter looking for this tiny little place called Sora Margherita.

Once you sat at a table (“un tavolo per uno, per favore” you were asked to fill out a card with your name and contact info. This apparently made you an official member of the restaurant. I suspect it had something to do with taxes. Never found out for sure. That ended years ago.

Anyway, I was so busy being cool that when I saw these steaming plates of pasta heaped with what I thought was parmigiano (it was not – it was pecorino Romano) I knew I had to have that dish! Rather than just point at it and say “questo”!!! That!!! I asked for parmigiano.

What came out from the cook was this inscrutable dish that was clearly NOT that pasta but instead what I *think* was probably eggplant parmigiana.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!

I learned quickly that you should make a tiny fool of yourself, and go ahead and appear ignorant. And fucking ask!!!

CACIO E PEPE. Say it out loud. Cacio (cheese) e (and) Pepe (pepper). That’s it. Add a little pasta water and you get an out-of-this-world pasta dish. Do NOT be fooled by those American restaurants that start tossing in olive oil. Or butter. Or God knows what else.

This is my Cacio e Pepe story. And I’m sticking to it!!

I am staying in one of my favorite Roman neighborhoods, Monti — arriving several hours late after a serious t’storm threatened to keep us aground in Newark.

My first meal was this: an artichoke pizza and a Fanta. You gotta love a dish that is baked in a loooooong rectangle, and sold by the customer exclaiming più (more) or meno (less).

First bite revealed a healthy sprinkling of anchovy.

Benritornata a Roma, Janetaccia!