October 7, 2023

Nothing Profound — Just a Thought

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The thing that amazes me about the Italian way of life is this: best illustrated by their ingrained sense of leisure.

Sure, you get a kind of surly introduction to service at the restaurant or cafe. Prego, Signora. Roughly translated as “I pray you lady!!” A kind of superficial politeness. But, I wonder if this is because of what happens dopo = after.

Once you have been granted entry to their tavolo, their table – you’re solid. You’re their guest. They would not THINK of hurrying you away. They do not drop by – incessantly – to pick up your not-even-finished plate.

Dessert??? You know what I mean. Dessert, bitch?!! C’mon – there are people who want your table!!!

None of that! Even in the tourist-heavy città of Roma.

You do not leave until you pay. And you do not pay until YOU decide. It is your role to ask for the check. Il conto, per favore. The check, please. (Often communicated with the universal scribble onto your hand).

You could sit for an hour. Really!! Clearly they make this work for them.

But, ya’ know, once you’re their guest. You’re their guest, dammit!!

Basta.

 

September 30, 2023

This Changes Everything

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Market at Monteverde, Roma

So. I have just learned something amazing. As it turns out – Eataly, which has annoyed the cuh-rap out of me, started in (drum roll please)

TORINO!!

All this time – I believed the Flatiron USA supermarket ripped off the title of an Italian kids’ magazine about food. Not even sure where I got that origin story!! Of course, you can’t blame me – the American store was started by Mario Batali and Lidia “tutti a tavolo a mangiare”. Among others. The first week it opened, there were lines half-a-block long with people who went for the Food Network personalities — NOT the cavalo nero.

I’m also a big customer of what I regarded as the REAL Italian store in my nabe: Buon’Italia in Chelsea market. It felt like a betrayal to shop at Eeeeeeetaly.

It was, therefore, only natural that it annoyed me when I spotted an Eataly in Roma and even one at the Rome Airport.

I found this out in Rome from the awesome Italian chef and cooking teacher Carla Tomasi as she taught me how to make homemade orecchiette. “Oh no, Eataly è Italiano!!!”

So, it MUST be true. ‘Cause that pasta we made was fabulous.

 

September 28, 2023

Chic-Chic-Chic-ORia

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This time of year in Rome, one of the few veg (contorno) choices on the menu is cicoria. It is ofttimes described as chicory, which is true. But it’s not quite like the bitter green we eat in the USA. Well, it is. And it’s not.

The Roman preparation is simple, and delicious!! It has clearly been sautéed in olive oil with some red pepper flakes and sometimes garlic. And served room temp.

For the longest time while living here I was obsessed with finding out exactly what vegetable it was. I finally landed on dandelion greens. Not exactly like the ones we buy in the States – the ones here are more tender. Maybe young. Not sure.

And then one afternoon, as I stalked (yep – went there) the Date Lady at the Campo de’ Fiori market – waiting for my beloved nature’s candy to come in – I thought to ask “what are those greens you use to make cicoria.”

Of course, I had to buy myself a bag of this cicorietta. That afternoon as I tromped back to my appartamento in Monti – I happened by the Taverna Romana – and saw that night’s offerings on the chalkboard. At the top: Spaghetti con Cicoria e Pecorino.

Another obsession was born! I needed to make that dish. I had my greens. Now I had to have the rest of the ingredients needed to create this pasta meal at home.

Even though I walked by it every day, I somehow missed the Alimentari shop on my street, the Via del Boschetto. They might as well have called the store “everything Janet needs to cook tonight.” (Which makes total sense: alimentari means FOOD in Italian).

Anyway, they sold me precisely the amount I wanted. A small bottle of Extra Virgin, a tiny chunk of pecorino, spaghetti, a dinky pouch of peperoncini.

Even this:

TWO, yes 2! Anchovy Fillets

Who sells just two anchovy fillets? How many grotty opened cans of anchovies – with their congealed fat – lost in the nether world at the back of your frig – have you flipping tossed!!??

Not gonna lie!!

IT WAS DELISH!!!
 

September 26, 2023

This(es) and That(s)

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Twenty years ago, my zii (aunt and uncle) came to Italy to do the roots trip to Calabria – so we traveled south to Serra Pedace. On the way, we stopped at Pompeii, trolled the parking lot, and found ourselves one of those on-the-spot guides.

He said something to us that has stuck with me. “The Italians,” he exclaimed with great gesticulation, “invented Everything!” No amount of parrying with him as we tossed out one thing after another “Money?” “Television?” “Cars?” could veer him away from his pronouncement.

Now I don’t know if that is true (really!, how could it be? Hell, even on the culture front, the Italians took a lot of their shit from the Greeks!) but they certainly have adopted some amazing quotidian practices.

In no particular order of importance. And certainly no evidence for their provenance, here are but a few things that just make my day better.

The toilets. Efficient. Little water involvement. And, no, this public restroom at Fiumicino Airport is not representative but really how can you resist that toiley for a kid!!

The water. Yes, Rome is still using its aqueducts which provide potable, cool, refreshing water to the masses. Particularly adorable are the nasonis. Singular: nasone. So called because they resemble-ish Big Noses. The uninformed wash their hands in the water. And fill their water bottles. Those in the know, however, place their finger at the end of the spout which then diverts the water into one, sometimes two, little holes at the top of the curve. E voilà, the nasone is converted to a drinking fountain. One of my absolute FAVE things in the world! Well. The world as *I* know it.

The gas. In their homes (or at least in the apartments I have stayed in) – you have to turn on a valve on the line coming in – in order to get the gas flowing. And don’t forget to turn it off before you go to sleep. I presume it is more efficient. Or, perhaps it is just one of those peculiarities of the Italians. You know, like don’t drink cappuccino after, say, 10am. But food quirks probably require their own This and That.

Much more to come. Like this little doo-hickey to bridge the gap on your gas stove.

 

September 12, 2023

A Visitor

Posted by Janet under Italy, Travel, Visitors | Tags: , , , , , |
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So I’ve been thinking about what it’s like to first encounter a particular foreign city and be baffled by its customs.

Per esempio

Parco del colle Oppio
Tables in front of tiny bar in Roman park

I am having a lazy restful day in Rome this afternoon – sitting in the shade of a tree-filled park, steps above the coliseum. It’s quiet, lovely, cool. And this little kiosk sells coffee, sodas, ice cream. Drinking my FAVORITE beverage – which I only indulge in when I visit Roma — Lemon Soda. We can get it in America. It’s a not too sweet soda with a tangy kick of lemon.

An American family of four came to one of the tables, ready to just sit and cool off. And then groused when the guy serving the drinks told them they had to buy something to stay at the table.

Judgment alert (I admit it)!!!! But, what the heck were you thinking?! There are plenty of benches in the park. To sit. For free. But for crying out loud – this is essentially an open-air cafe. Didja really think someone (who!!?!) set out nice straw chairs around little cafe tables for your enjoyment?

They bought two small bottles of “sparkling water” for the four of them. And whined the whole time. They left in about five minutes. Complaining.

Dude!! When in Rome …

 

September 10, 2023

A Small Piazza

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Bar in Trastevere
Messing Up the Language (un po)

Domenica in Rome.

After church at the English College, I walked to one of my favorite trattoria in Trastevere – and found myself there a little too early for lunch.

So I walked down Vicolo del Piede to fuel myself with un caffè and a miniature pizza pomodoro (the size of a saucer).

What I ordered was un piazzetta (a small piazza) instead of un pizzetta (a small pizza). My misplaced “A” made the staff smile.

I need and want to abandon my timidness and be willing to sound silly. Better that than order a cawfee, eggs and bacon.

Along the Vicolo del Piede
 

September 8, 2023

Farmers Market International

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I dropped by my neighborhood farmers market at Union Square in Manhattan this morning – to drop off my final load of compost before heading to Rome later today.

It struck me, as I passed the familiar booths with melon, corn on the cob, water buffalo yogurt – that in just one day – I will be walking through the Campo dei Fiori in Roma to see if my favorite date lady is still around.

I shall do my best to keep this blog up while I am away.

Date lady at the Campo dei Fiori in Roma
Farmers Market in Rome
 

October 23, 2018

Rear Window

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I am smitten with the idea of the life of the person or people behind that window across the rear courtyard here in Roma.

It caught my attention because of the candle. Plus, everything else I could see in the space below was inanimate. This promised a story.

The table was simply, but elegantly, set. It didn’t have the quotidian feel of just another dinner.

I first saw a youngish woman setting something down – maybe she had just finished setting the table. Then a man – her partner, roommate, friend? (Probably not just friend – the candlelight after all) – sat a pan down with something sizzling. Maybe it was veal scallopini – but more likely chicken breasts (unlike Jimmy Stewart – I had no binoculars plus hey!! I wasn’t spying or anything).

I had just finished washing my day’s undergarment- and hanging it out to dry on the little clothesline outside my kitchen window – in time to catch them eating their meal together. He seemed rapt with attention, pouring her sake – and I imagined her elusive. Like maybe they were just courting.

That’s it. I walked away from the window. Watched 007 (Sean Connery) in Italian. Then went to bed.

In the early morning hours, I peeked to see what I could see. I saw shutters. In the awake time of the day, a laptop and papers on the table.

Though it struck me that I had invaded their privacy by looking, I also considered that they could be staring at my window. And seeing my Hanky Panky® on the clothesline.

 

June 8, 2014

Pesto with Cheese

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What a difference a border makes. 

I will never EVER forget what happened to me in Rome when I requested the sandwich maker in a tiny little store put some pesto on my cheese sandwich. He gasped. Then did what ofttimes happens in Italy: refused my request. Simply, would not do it! As I wrote at the time, it was as if I had asked for a dollop of bird doo on my panino. 

At my first meal in Berlin in 2014 — a post-transcontinental-flight brekky. I got a caffe latte (or whatever they call it in German — better figure that one out sometime soon) and a “Tuscan sandwich.”  Which was a cheese sandwich on a baguette with arugula (“rocket”) and, yep, pesto. As delicious a sammy as I’d imagined it would be 13 years ago in Roma. 



 

September 25, 2013

Right Place, Right Time

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It is not entirely unusual to see a seagull in Rome. It is, after all, not that far from the coastline – and there is a river runs through it, but this fella made me laugh. He was one of two gulls sitting atop a delivery van. Look closely at the sign behind: Pescheria. Fish Store. Ha!

Definitely “Right place, right time.”

It was one of my favorite moments (among many) on this beautiful sunny fall day. Apparently there is an expression here in Italy: Roma Ottobre. Rome October. Just as we laud the beautiful autumns in New York, so, too, do the Italians their autonno.

 

April 18, 2012

Eat Your Greens

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Lest you think I only eat thinly disguised donuts that don’t seem like they’re donuts because they have names I can’t recall — here is my porta via (take out) dinner purchased at a pizza/forno (bakery) in Monti. The turisti are all out in the piazzas now, or at the wine bars, or having those little glasses of nuts and chips & plates of savories with their glasses o’ wine (read Apertivi Time in Rome). There were only Italians in this pizza joint, working folks, grabbing a little slab of pizza like me. I walked away with veggie pizza with a slice of potato tossed on — and then oh those greens!

Why are they so damn good!?! I make them at home. They dont taste like this. Granted, I don’t see those water tubs with stalky greens floating in them that seem ubiquitous in every shop or super mercado I have visited. I went with cicoria (chicory) tonight. Alas, I think the punterelle season is over.

Now, don’t get me wrong, this is not all I do while in Rome: eating. I have been museuming, churching, praying, monumenting, Pantheoning, Coliseuming. Walking, walking, walking. It’s that food as microcosm thing at play. The way a culture does their food is the way they live and think. Hey, better minds than mine have pondered this. People you might say who are higher on the food chain. But, the Italians express themselves with those plates of bitter greens yanked from the ground. And, by the way, those Roman greens are nothing like the ones in Florence. Or, Assissi.

I ran into a funny blog written by an Italian in America when looking for the name of that killer sweet I had for breakfast. The writing is in Italian, but you get the drift with the pictures. This hapless soul looked into the face of Taco Bell coffee and a Hearty Man breakfast of bacon, eggs, hash browns, pancakes and toast. When all he wanted was un caffè e un cornetto.

 

April 17, 2012

Apertivi Time in Roma

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What a day I have had.

I had my usual cornetto and caffè for breakfast. Walk walk walk. Then the most delicious lunch composed of my favorite pasta Romana: Cacio e Pepe (simply put: pasta with cheese and pepper — though believe me, there is nothing simple about this pasta) and then coniglio (rabbit) arrosto (roast), and cicoria. Incredibile! Il pranzo with my favorite priest. Of course with wine which, no excuses here, is much less alcoholic than ours in the U.S.

Walk walk walk.

I saw the Vatican. St. Peter’s. A charming little Via with antique store after antique store. The bridge of angels — Pont Sant’Angelo. Every bridge over the Tiber lined with African and Albanian immigrants who sell mini-tripods, sunglasses, costume jewelry, and these funny gel-filled soft rubbery like balls that the vendor slams into a board which makes the little squishy gel ball flatten like a puddle only to re-form as a little creature. Hard to describe. But, cool.

They are aggressive and persistent but, unlike the old toothless Roma (gypsy) ladies who don’t so much beg for money as whine, they will go away after a pitch. Or, two.

Now, though the picture doesn’t do it justice — for the price of a glass of wine, my apertivo of choice, I get a table, under an ivy-covered umbrella, as much time as I want (the Italians NEVER try to get you to leave. In fact, sometimes, you have to wave madly to get your bill, il conto, to get out of the restaurant or cafe). And all these snacks. Pretty much my dinner (leaving room, of course, for gelato). On this table I have a small cup of peanuts, another of potato chips, and a little plate with 2 tiny spinach pies, three little tomato tartlets, and 2 slices of crusty focaccia-like bread dripping with olive oil.

Oh. Oh! I just bit into what I thought was the spinach pie. Instead it is this flaky pastry triangle with anchovy paste inside.

Heaven. I’m in heaven!

 

April 16, 2012

Grappa Scura

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I am here to tell you: watch out when you’re hanging out with priests!

I had the unexpected pleasure to discover I was in Rome with one of my best friends in the world — who happens to be a priest. He was in town, staying at his Alma Mater in centro storico. We started our evening with gin and tonics on the rooftop, warm, inviting and surrounded by a stunning view of Roma. St. Peters was just behind me.

On the hour, the bells rang from every church in this city of a thousand churches. Beautiful sunset in Rome with fascinating people.

This night, we dined at a cool little ristorante near the Campo dei Fiori. I ordered pasta e patate — which is pasta with potatoes. It was tomatoey, which I did not expect. And soup-like. I wondered aloud whether it would be redundant to sop up the sauce with bread. I only asked, of course. I did it anyway. After dolce, one of our priestly party told me about a kind of “darker” grappa. The waiter, who was alternately in our face, and absent when we needed him, told us it was called, in Italiano: Grappa Scura. Less lighter fluid, more smooth brandy. Yum. Me.

 

April 15, 2012

A Spindly Green to Steal Your Heart

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In all the years that I have been coming to Italy — even with living here, I simply haven’t been here in puntarelle season!

Puntarelle (they never seem to have a singular puntarella version though it is certainly a singular green) are strictly a spring vegetable. It is a succulent curlicue green, barely bitter, served with a simple garlicky, lemony, anchovy-laden dressing. I have had it before, maybe once, but not here. Not in Rome. Not like that. This trip, I experienced it at a little ristorante in the Campo dei Fiore. Just feet away from the older Roman women who populate the market, making sure that all the goods are table ready. The greens are usually displayed in water baths. Talk about farm to table.

I am a fan of greens, despite the fact I was one of those granddaughters of Italian immigrants who was embarrassed by the fact that granny was out in the yard plucking weeds from the lawn to cook for dinner. I have asked Italians before just what puntarelle is (are?). They say it’s like dandelion (not quite) or chicory, which I find almost inedibly bitter. When in Rome, I heard the people behind me wonder what is that? But they didn’t ask me. So I did not answer.

Did I already say how succulent that salad was? I have a feeling I better order it every chance I get — it probably has a life span of a minute thirty.

Oh – techno-victory. I transferred that image of the puntarelle from my iPhone to my iPad — with a gerry-rigged setup of connectors not exactly made for that function.

I think I’m beebling.

 

April 15, 2012

What’s a Girl to Do?

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Just arrived in La Bella Città — Heading out for my first Roman meal. Just sitting here in my room, I can smell crusty bread from the forno (bakery) below my window. Caffè from the bar across the way. Some kind of sauce bubbling on someone’s stove I this apartment building. When you fly overseas, they try to occupy you with food. I did have my dinner of some kind of chicken with rice. But, after my attempt at sleeping on the plane was only marginally successfully, I resisted that which they called a breakfast to save myself for the city itself. Fear not, I shall fill you in on everything as the days go by.

Having nothing to do with eating (unless a nursing baby fits into that category) — on the flight over here, I had a funny experience. When I got to my seat, there was this fretting Italian man who, as it turned out, was attached to wife, said nursing baby and another bambina about 5 years old. It seems the man was unable to secure the entire middle bank of seats for his family. So, he wanted me to give up my aisle seat to compensate. I did not want to do that. I did make it clear that I could speak Italian and, in fact, though I’m always anxious to start using the language as soon as I embark, I resisted. As a result, hubby and Frau did not know that I could understand most everything they said as they trashed me for not moving. Throughout the entire flight, the husband crawled over me to get out. And they kept handing the baby back and forth, back and forth over me.

The child was quite sweet and I thought a sport about it all. She watched me eat my apple (instead of the airline food) and kept whimpering. I am pretty sure she didn’t actually eat real food, except from Mom. But, hey, I wanted to whimper myself after 7 hours with her parents. And, no sleep on the flight over.

Now, off to the streets.

 

October 23, 2010

Yum Yum

Posted by japaist under Food, Healthful, Recipes, Rome, Weight Gain, Weight Loss | Tags: , , , , |
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So, before heading to Oregon — and just a few days after my return from Italy, I was sitting in my NYC apartment – okay still sulking a little bit about American versus Italian food.  A sulk I should reconsider.  First, I’m in the States, so get over it, dammit!  But also – I realize, no have to admit – I also ate what I damn well pleased while there.  Giving lie to my statements that

I never gain weight when I go to Italy!

Except, when I got on the scale upon my return and found out that a week of Janet Eats – Italian style – netted an extra five pounds in avoirdupois.  Oh boy.  Not bummed, mind you.  It is temporary.  And, oh so fun.

I found a quick option to my quest to eat like a Roman – but also keep fit, like most Italians.  I have always said – and this truism is, well, true.

You will not gain weight in Italy, if you eat their food in the WAY they eat their food.  You don’t, for the most part, see them walking around eating food, eating lots of desserts, eating in between meals.  Their fornos are a selected treat.  Not, as I did when I lived there for three months, a place to visit every day.  I have been happy to be vacationing a lot lately.  But, it does make it more challenging to eat healthfully.

  1. Challenge:  Away from home.
  2. Challenge: The food that is available is different, sometimes COMPLETELY different from your everyday choices.  And
  3. Challenge: Who WANTS to eat with limits and care.  It’s vacation!

So, now I face the wonderful opportunity to renew my commitment to healthful eating.  Good choices.  Veggies when I want them.  Steamed with a little olive oil.  Not at all something you even want to eat while on vacation.

You know, you gotta live.  In a way that allows for some indulgences.  If you are challenged, as I am, to eat healthfully on a regular basis (and, even at that, my friends tell me I’m pretty damn good at that) – you need to not judge yourself.  Pick on yourself.  Feel badly about yourself.  Enjoy the food that you eat when you eat it.  If that means a temporary weight gain, then just “man up” and eat the way you know is both best – AND enjoyable – for you.

And, I think I’ll try that recipe I read about from another Word Press Blogger, Iowa Girl Eats:

Baked Pumpkin Pie Oatmeal

 

September 26, 2010

Arrivederci Roma

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This morning before leaving, I spent some time speaking with the young banker who rents me a room in Rome with un bagno privato. We don’t always converse that much. She speaks virtually no English. I do all right speaking Italian with her.

Really, think about how few words we use in a conversation with someone we barely know: weather (il tempo), food (il cibo), politics (Obama. Hahaha – these conversazioni can get a little more compicato. People I know in Rome really wanted to talk about Obama and, interestingly, the Nobel Prize! which they, like most of us, did not understand. “Couldn’t he just say no to it?”)

After we completed our short chat and I packed, I proclaimed I was going to walk for awhile, then get my ultimo caffé and cornetto. Ha! My ultimo cornetto! Of course, I have the photographic evidence of my cappucino — with a heart, as in I left my heart in San Pietro — and oh that ultimo cornetto. Nothing tastes quite as sweet as that first and last taste on a foreign shore.

It was both restful and invigorating: this Roman Holiday. I am fortunata to have friends in la cittá who know all those little osteria & trattoria that cook simple Italian cuisine. I had meals in at least three restaurants — without menus. Just more places to put on that list of consiglio – advice – I insist anyone going to Roma consult!

Allora! As the receipts say: ARRIVEDERCI E GRAZIE. Goodbye and thank you.

 

September 23, 2010

La Luna Piena

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Full moon = la luna piena

On a Thursday night in Rome, I had the delight of dining at the home of a former New Yorker – a woman who has lived in Rome for some 23 years. Patricia has this fabulous house (yes house!! — it was probably a stable centuries ago) with a garden.   Beautiful,  che bella!

We sat outside in the garden listening to Miles Davis and some kind of Hungarian tango music under an avocado tree — all illuminated by the full moon.   La Luna Piena.

The evening was organized by Patricia and my closest friend in Rome:  Nina, a lovely Finnish woman with a wicked sense of humor.  Patricia fixed us aperitivi of olives,  a Parmigiano-like cheese from the Castello,  grapes and Italian bread sticks to dip a soft cheese she mixed with a culinary concoction invented by her daughter’s boyfriend.  Sidebar note:  HE was described as a young man who could both build a house and invent a mix of eggplant and garlic that would replace aphrodisia for the gods.

You know how you can fill up on “starters” only to have the cook announce “dinner is ready”?  Oh, dear.  The wine flowed as we made our way from the garden to the dinner table inside.  The meal of braised chicken thighs with shallots and peppers over a bed of couscous with sultanas garnered a culinary standing ovation.  Limoncello and biscotti for dessert.  Are you kidding?   Burp.

The entire meal experience in a private Roman home was a highlight!

I followed the meal with a long passeggiata.  While on this stroll, I took a picture under the sienna moonlight, and wondered at the romantic street names.  In NYC its 13th Street.  Or, Fifth Avenue.  Here: Via del Neofiti and Via del Madonna dei Monti — hanging vines and all!

 

September 22, 2010

The Campo

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On a crystal-clear,  sunny morning,  I headed once again to one of my favorite spots in Rome:  the Campo dei Fiori.  Though it has all the characteristics of a piazza, it doesn’t have that name because it was once the spot where they executed infidels and the like.  I recall reading once it couldn’t be called a piazza because executions weren’t allowed in a piazza.  Sounds a little bit like a myth.  I’ll have to research that one and get back to you.

Anyway.  Campo means “field” as in field of flowers — oh and right in the middle of the square is the statue of some guy who was executed in that “field” not piazza “of flowers.”

The Campo is now home to all manner of vegetation besides flowers.  It is the site 6 days a week (taking a rest on Sunday) to a wonderful farmers market.  Filled with familiar and not so familiar veggies.  All sorts of curious greens.  And industrious vendors.  I saw a man today patiently cutting the ends off green beans — about 4 at a time — and tossing them into a bowl of water.  Dinner for some busy Roman mama who doesn’t have the time to string her own.

I picked up my breakfast at the Forno Campo dei Fiori: pizza bianca, and walked one square over to the Piazza Farnese.  You mght recall my story of the sudden rainfall (down a little bit from this post).  It was in Farnese.  On this day,  I sat with my pizza on the benches of the Palazzo Farnese,  watching the Italian mamas and their little ones nibbling on THEIR Bianca with a flock of birds flying in a wild formation, and nuns scuttling through the square.  In the background I heard someone yelling “Guido. Guido”.

Yes,  it’s true — open up your eyes, ears and heart a little in Roma, and you too will find yourself in a Fellini-film moment.  True magic!

 

September 19, 2010

Rainy Day in Roma

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It was what one could only call a romantic moment in Rome.  And I guess it raises the question whether you have to know the person(s) you share that moment with.  I didn’t.  Know them.  But,  it was a shared moment that turned strangers into intimates.

I had just arrived that morning.  An overnight flight with very little sleep.  I exercised my “get-rid-of-jetlag technique”: stay outside, never stop moving and stay awake until “their” bedtime.

I mixed that with my favorite foods: lots of caffé, un gelato (tre gusti — 3 flavors: panna cotta [obvious taste],  Baci [like the Italian chocolate candy] and a wonderful flavor called Nonna’s choice [unique combo of rich vanilla, orange & pine nuts]).  A small rectangle of pizza with zucchini flowers and cherry tomatoes (circles are left for personal pies — otherwise pizza here comes in slabs and you gesture when the pizza man gets the right measure of pezzo di pizza).

On about the 7th hour of constant walking,  I decided to head to the Piazza Farnese — a charming piazza — and order a glass of vino bianco.   In Italy,  cocktail hour comes with at least 2 plates of snacks: chips, nuts, olives, bruschetta — house choice.

Suddenly, the sound of the water from the fountains in the Piazza Farnese was amplified,  four-fold.

It was pouring down rain!  A storm as sudden as the velocamente patter of the children in the square.

And here I sat — in the perfect place under the cafe umbrella.  Just a misty hint of the storm on my face when the wind shifted.   It was magical. And, yes, just a little romantic.

Benvenuta a Roma.  Welcome to Rome!