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AP Wire |
For a truly Roman meal, do as the Romans do
ROME — I stood mesmerized in Rome’s Testaccio market, watching a signora in a blue smock peel an artichoke. She chattered away with a vendor in the next stall and without even looking down, paring knife in hand, twirled the artichoke so outer leaves fell away, transforming it within seconds into a golden- green-stemmed ball. Pungent smells of fresh herbs and winter greens swirled around me as shoppers bustled about. I was immersed in one of Rome’s most important rituals, shopping for un bel pranzo, a good lunch. I love the monuments, churches, museums and restaurants in the Eternal City. But last November, I was in search of an insider’s experience, so I joined New York Times writer Maureen Fant’s Roman Cuisine tour to “do as the Romans do.” The itinerary featured a walking tour of the Testaccio neighborhood and market, followed by a cooking class and lunch at Fant’s apartment. Fant, a Manhattan native, has lived in Rome since 1979, when she enrolled as a graduate archaeology student at the city’s Center for Intercollegiate Studies. She has authored several books, including “Women of Ancient Greece and Rome” and the recently published “Williams Sonoma: Rome.” Now married to Franco, a Roman she mentions often in her food writing, she has passionately immersed herself in the city’s culinary history and traditions. “For years, I’ve taken friends who are visiting along with me to do what I do almost every day here. Basically, you’ll be entering into my life,” was how Fant summed up her program when I spoke to her on the phone before the tour. Our starting point was Testaccio’s Piazza Emporio, which borders the Tiber River, south of the historic center. Fant, sporting an American East Coast, earthy scholar’s style — crisp pageboy haircut, wirerimmed glasses, dressed in blues and grays with a backpack slung over her shoulders — welcomed me and the two other American women who’d signed up for the adventure with, “Have a taste,” as she held out a bag of succulent cherry tomatoes. Like most tourists, I wasn’t familiar with the Testaccio neighborhood — guidebooks give it only brief mention, recommending its famous restaurant, Checchino dal 1887, and calling the area the new “in” spot for trendy bars and nightclubs. “Tourists think of Testaccio as the suburbs, but every Roman knows it as a place that’s always been associated with great food,” Fant said. She directed our attention to the Piazza Emporio’s central sculpture of amphorae, thinnecked jars used in ancient times to hold oil and wine. “The amphora is the symbol of this neighborhood,” she explained. The origins of the amphora symbol became clear to us as we walked a few blocks farther. There stood Monte Testaccio, an artificial mountain 66 feet high, made up of amphorae fragments that were piled up during Roman Empire days. Quite an artful recycling job, I thought, admiring the lush green plants that shot out between the cracks of the neatly stacked shards. “Those are nettles,” Fant said, “Great for soup.” She pointed out the restaurants surrounding the structure. Seventeenth century Romans discovered that the amphorae fragments created a perfect temperature for storing wine, so they built bars and restaurants right into the mountain. Though the restaurants have changed over the years, the wine cellars inside them remain as they were when they were created centuries ago. A sculpture of a winged angel wrestling with a bull above the facade of the slaughterhouse (which dates from the 1890s and was in use until 1975) symbolized Testaccio’s more recent history. Slaughterhouse workers lived around here and were partly paid with what the Romans call the quinto quarto, or fifth quarter — the hide, tail and innards left over after carcasses are quartered. They developed recipes for these parts, creating dishes such as oxtail stew and tripe alla Romana, which are now signature specialties of the neighborhood. A stream of natives passing by, all toting bags of fresh produce, signaled that we were nearing our destination: the Testaccio market. “Whatever we buy to cook for lunch, it must be Roman and it must be in season,” was Fant’s only rule of the day. The stalls in the large roofed market overflowed with a bounty of choices: tempting greens including chicory, fennel, chard, spinach, broccoli and lettuces, along with shiny apples and persimmons. Nibbling on pizza bianca, a salty flatbread we bought at a stand to take the edge off our late-morning hunger, we followed Fant to the best of the market’s vendors — cheerful, dark-eyed workers who greeted her with affectionate “buon giornos” and took pride in showing off their fresh offerings. Our group agreed we wanted a lunch that would include ingredients we couldn’t get back in the States. We stocked up on puntarelle, a chicory found only around Rome that we’d use for salad. “And we’ll need mentuccia,” Fant said, filling a bag with a mild mint we’d chop up with garlic and stuff into artichokes to make the Roman specialty carciofi alla romana. We couldn’t resist buying fish from the ruddy-faced seller who filleted a glistening pile of anchovies and wrapped them up for us with a generous bouquet of parsley. “Cheese is always in season,” Fant said as we rounded the corner to Volpetti, a shop gourmets consider Rome’s finest. Here counters displayed a dizzying variety of delicacies — cheeses, olives, proscuitto, breads, truffles and caviar. Thanks to Fant’s regular- customer status, workers in crisp, white jackets gave us special treatment, offering tastes of aged pecorino and spicy salamis. Now in full native mode, we boarded a city tram for a short ride back to Fant’s apartment, right around the corner from the Colosseum. Four flights of circular winding marble steps brought us to her bilevel, newly renovated home, jampacked with great books and photographs, a dark, polished wood table already set with linen place mats and napkins for our lunch, and a galley kitchen where we squeezed in to unpack the goodies and get to work. “The first thing you do for a meal in a Roman kitchen is boil water for pasta,” Fant said, throwing a generous scoop of sea salt into the pot. She poured glasses of Castelli Romano wine and set out plates of olives and salami for us to munch on as she led our cooking lesson. Keeping loyal to local tradition, the dishes we prepared were simple, using only a few ingredients. No written recipes were necessary as Fant talked us through basic steps, stressing, “Don’t be fastidious.” We mashed up anchovies for a dressing on the puntarelle salad, warmed peppercorns in a skillet for spaghetti cacio e pepe (a sauce of pecorino cheese and black pepper) and sprinkled bread crumbs and parsley on the fish for baking. As the stove warmed up the room, sharp, mouthwatering smells filled the air. I took on the challenge of peeling an artichoke as I’d seen the signora in the market do so effortlessly. My beginner’s attempt was far from perfect. I ended up with what looked more like a chewed-up ball than the signora’s smooth globe. Fant did repairs on it, laughing off my failure with a shrug, “Yeah, it takes practice.” Finally, with a sigh of accomplishment, we took our places at the table, gave a toast and began to enjoy the fruits of our labor. “Romans don’t mix their foods,” Fant said as she served one dish at a time. “Each should be enjoyed fully on its own.” “And no hands in laps, ladies,” she admonished us. “That’s considered bad manners in Rome. They think you’re doing something sneaky under the table.” So with hands visible, we savored each delicious flavor, echoing what was going on in kitchens all over the city: enjoying a humble celebration of la dolce vita, just as the Romans do.
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