Sweet relief — in the form of homemade, artisanal gelato — has just come that much closer for those sightseeing in the Colosseum area. Right across from the entrance to the Roman forum, on Via Cavour, is “Flor,” Rome’s newest gelateria.
Flor just opened in the last month, and I’ve already taken (several) tastings. The good news: It’s definitely good gelato. And it’s made fresh on-site, always a absolute must huge plus. It’s also a welcome addition to an area that previously, Sicilian pastry and ice cream shop Ciuri Ciuri aside, didn’t have very many gelato options at all, never mind artisanal ones.
That said, it’s not the best gelato I’ve ever tasted. Some of the flavors don’t have as much “kick” as I’d like, particularly the fruity ones (is pear really that hard to turn into gelato? Because time after time, I find gelaterias failing to deliver on their pear flavors). But others are definitely worth trying. My two favorites: the variegato all’amarena, a mix of creamy vanilla and cherry, and the fondente, a super-rich dark chocolate.
Even if it’s not Rome’s best gelateria, Flor is still pretty darn good. Oh, and they have 3-euro milkshakes, too. You can bet I’m going back soon to try one.
Flor. Located at the bottom of Via Cavour, just above where it meets Via dei Fori Imperiali, on the left. I’ll go back soon for the proper address, but if you head up Via Cavour from the Roman forum entrance, you can’t miss it.
Romans often say that the beaches near Rome just aren’t that nice. Maybe it’s the New Englander in me, but after visiting Santa Marinella, I beg to differ.
The beach at Santa Marinella, a seaside comune just outside the city, has a couple of things going for it. First off, it’s free. Although that might sound odd if you haven’t sunbathed in Italy before, most other beaches cost you. Stretches of sand are covered in cabanas and chairs, the use of which costs some €10 to €15 for the day — and no, you can’t just park yourself on a towel nearby the chairs and hope nobody will notice. (Che brutta figura!).
Secondly, Santa Marinella’s beach is convenient. Really convenient. You don’t need a car to get there, or to take a train and then a bus, like you do to get to the (admittedly prettier) beach of Sperlonga. Instead, you just hop on the train in Rome from Termini, Ostiense, Trastevere, or San Pietro; 45 minutes and €3.60 land you in Santa Marinella. From there, you can follow the crowds on the 5-minute walk to the beach.
All that could mean that Santa Marinella, like other city beaches, would be grungy. And it may have been, once. But now, the beach is all soft sand and clear Mediterranean water. And, aside from the odd water bottle left behind after the hordes had departed last Sunday evening, it seemed pretty clean to me.
Just keep in mind that, since the beach is so convenient to Rome, lots of locals go here. So if secluded sunbathing is what you’re after, forget about it, at least on the weekend. And bring your cutest suit — if you live in Rome, it’s all but inevitable that you’ll run into someone you know.
If you’re making a day of it, don’t miss lunch at one of Santa Marinella’s best seafood restaurants: L’Acqua Marina (above). A 10-minute walk from the beach at Piazza Trieste 8, the restaurant is elegant and lovely, the kind of place you could see Ingrid Bergman, who bought a house in town, going for lunch. It’s got plenty of indoor and outdoor seating. Sit on the patio for the view over the blue, blue Mediterranean.
While one of the seemingly-pricier eateries in town, costing about 50 euros for lunch for two (including a half-bottle of wine, the shared seafood antipasto, two primi of pasta, and water), it was worth it. And definitely cheaper than a seafood place of the same quality would be back in Rome.
Also, it was just darn good.
Santa Marinella: Weekend crowds, yes… but also seafood, sun, and sand. What more could you want within 45 minutes of Rome?
Want more local secrets on Rome’s best food, sights, and more? Check out The Revealed Rome Handbook: Tips and Tricks for Exploring the Eternal City, now available for purchase on Amazon, below, or through my site here!
I'd always wanted to try L'Asino d'Oro, the Umbrian restaurant, run by renowned chef Lucio Sforza, that had made the leap from Orvieto to Rome's Montesacro neighborhood. But, somehow, life got in the way. Before I had a chance to try it, the Rome location closed.
This past weekend, I went for the first time. And it was so good, I went back again four days later for lunch. I can't recall any other restaurant in Rome–not Le Mani in Pasta, not Palatium, not even Roma Sparita–that's made me such an addict so quickly.
Given the restaurant's glowing reviews and the elegant crowd inside (unsurprisingly, the restaurant was completely booked up), I had high expectations on Saturday. The meal, though, beat every single one.
Dinner kicked off with two surprises: smiling servers (rare for Rome!), and a little "taste" from the kitchen, a chicory and ricotta frittata drizzled with olive oil. Then came the fettucine in a duck liver and Vin Santo sauce (€10), one of those bizarre-but-perfect pairings that you just don't find at your average trattoria, and scafata with fava beans, peas and chard (€9). Wild boar stewed in "dolceforte," a reduction of chocolate and red wine–kind of like an Umbrian version of mole (€15). And a super-tasty twist on zuppa inglese that was light, creamy and just sweet enough.
I returned that Wednesday. I had to try their lunch: €12 for an antipasto, primo, secondo, glass of wine, and water. As I suspected, it just might be the best lunch deal in town. (Four-euro pastas at the Spanish Steps aside). For starters, the patio (shown at top) is a lovely choice on a nice day. The service is just as attentive as at night. The portions are smaller, of course, but just right for a lunch that doesn't leave you reeling. (Or rolling). The menu changes daily, and it wasn't quite as creative as what we'd seen at dinner. Still, it was delicious: pumpkin soup, ravioli with ricotta (below), and lamb stewed with artichokes.
So there you are. Another top restaurant to add to your list, and a well-priced one, too. As for me, I'm just thrilled to have found a restaurant that replaces a once-upon-a-time favorite in Monti. Let's just hope L'Asino d'Oro doesn't follow the same well-trodden path.
I'm not one to get easily sick of my steady diet of pizza, pasta, and wine — but even I admit that, sometimes, the expats and long-term travelers among us need just a little taste of home. Literally.
Below, some picks for the homesick.
American-style omelettes, and atmosphere, at Mamà's. Walk into this new restaurant/enoteca in Prati (below), and you almost feel like you've walked into a brunch place in, say, San Francisco: modern lines, chill atmosphere, and people typing away on their MacBooks (when there's anybody there). They've even got free newspapers and Wi-Fi.
Their menu is a mix of American and Italian; the American-style omelettes (above) are good, although a little greasy. Another American innovation? They're open all day long — from 8am to midnight — so you can grab lunch, partake in the 10-euro aperitivo, or have dinner, too. Via Sforza Pallavicini 19, near Castel Sant'Angelo.
English/Irish breakfast at the Abbey Theatre. Okay, one clarification: Abbey Theatre food is definitely not for the foodies among us. But, let's be honest, neither is a proper Irish breakfast. Here's where to come when you're just craving an oily sausage, fried egg, and beans on toast (below). (They've also got other U.K. faves here, like Irish stew and "chips"). Or when you just don't have the energy to order in Italian — once you step within these doors, a stone's throw from Piazza Navona, it's rare that you hear that fair language. P.S.: Abbey Theatre is really an Irish pub, so you can always come back for your Guinness fill. Via del Governo Vecchio 51, near Piazza Navona.
American-style salads and sandwiches at Fa-bio. It's Rome's (brand-new) answer to Chopt: At this hole-in-the-wall a stone's throw from the Vatican museums, you can make up your own huge salad out of a loooong list of ingredients. (And no, they don't nickle-and-dime you: Whatever you want is included in the price). If you're more in the mood for a sandwich, they'll make one of those up for you, too.
The ingredients are all organic, the prices great (you can leave with a whole lunch for about 6 euros). Oh, and they do smoothies. Just give yourself some time if you're coming at lunch hour: These salads are hand-made, so there can be a little bit of a line. If you squint your eyes, between the tiny space, the sound of the Americans around you, and the bustle, you can almost imagine you're in the West Village. Via Germanico 43, near the Vatican.
Huge cups of coffee, and muffins, at Vero Food. This place just opened a few months ago, and it's already making a major splash. They've got it all: American-style sweets (including cheesecake and cinnamon rolls), sushi and salads to go, and, getting some expats most excited of all, American drip coffee. The kind you can wander around the street with in a takeaway cup, sipping as you go until it gets cold, there's just so darn much. Via Marcantonio Colonna 30, in Prati.
Cupcakes — and pancakes — at Sweety's Rome. I've already sung the praises of cupcakes from Sweety's Rome once (above). As promised in that post, though, I did go back for Sunday brunch. It was good — if, at €18 per person, not the best deal in town — but the thing that really sold me? The pancakes. (The rest of the brunch is way more Italian than American, complete with an aperitivo-like buffet). They're light, fluffy, and you get the choice of chocolate or real maple syrup with them. If you go, make sure to make reservations ahead of time; there are only two seatings, at 12:30 and at 2pm. Call 06 48913713. Via Milano 48, in Monti.
Chicken wings at The Perfect Bun. Ah, The Perfect Bun (above). Here's where the waiters all speak English and where the menu tries, so very hard, to be American. It succeeds in appearance (hello, chicken fingers, didn't know you'd made it over to Rome!); in taste, kind of (the hamburgers: meh); in price, not at all (that "meh" hamburger? It starts at €13… and runs up to €25).
The chicken wings (below), though, are like a little taste of home. The place also serves brunch, and is open till 2am, so you can fix that U.S.A. craving at any time of the day or night. Largo del Teatro Valle 4, near Piazza Navona.
Bagels at The Perfect Bun's bakery. And guacamole. And more cupcakes. When Josephine's Bakery closed last year, I was bummed. But then The Perfect Bun's bakery moved in. And it's even better. They've got it all: cupcakes, yes, but also scones, muffins, wraps, and bagels. (Bagels! I can't tell you how excited I was to see that. Pictured below). They've even, newly, opened a grocery (!?!) with such American-style staples as ketchup, BBQ sauce, and peanut butter. The prices look way better (like, €3.50 instead of something-like-€8 peanut butter) than the other expat grocery, Castroni.
To top it off, I was told by a reliable, Californian source this morning that The Perfect Bun has guacamole. From the right kinds of avocados, for which they had to find their own supplier. And made fresh every day. Incredible. Piazza del Paradiso 56, near Piazza Navona.
Burgers and beer at Open Baladin. The burger's aren't quite like what you get back home… but close. They're juicy and yummy, the buns are thick and fresh, and they even come with ketchup. (Whoa!). The handmade potato chips are great, too, and you can get them with trendy add-ons, like powdered liquorice. Wash down your taste of Italy-does-Americana with one of Open Baladin's more-than-1oo artisanal beers… all of them Italian. Unsurprisingly, this place gets packed at night. Via degli Specchi 6, near Piazza Navona.
Betty Crocker cake mix, maple syrup, and other necessities at Castroni. Okay, it looks like The Perfect Bun's new grocery store boasts much better prices than Castroni. But until the Bun expands more, Castroni's still king when it comes to getting all those bits and bobs from home — whether home is the U.S., U.K., Mexico, or Japan. They've also got lots of locations, including two in Prati and one on Via Nazionale.
Buono appetito, expats! Any other places you've come upon that taste like home? Please share in the comments! (By the way, anyone else notice how Prati seems to be Rome's new "Little America"?).
Here’s some irony for you: Easter’s the most important feast in the Christian calendar — but in the home of the Pope himself, it’s also the toughest day of the year to find food. At least in restaurants in Rome.
Ironic or not, it, well, makes sense. Most Italians are at home on Easter, chowing down that feast with family. Even restaurateurs.
Whether it’s ironic or not, though, one thing’s for sure: For travelers to Rome, it’s definitely inconvenient. So find out what’s open in advance… and, since you’ll be competing for dinner slots with lots of other hungry travelers (it’s high season now, after all!), book your meals a few days ahead of time, too. Unless you don’t mind eating microwaved spaghetti and meatballs on Tourist Alley every night.
“So then, where do I book?” you say. “Which of Rome’s great restaurants are actually open on Easter? I’m so worried I won’t experience that fantasticItalianfood I’ve heard all about!”
It wasn't until I moved to Rome that I learned something very, very important: The sign of a fresh (read: good) cannolo is that the tube is only filled with that delicious, just-cloying enough ricotta mixture when you order it. Not before.
That's just one of many things that Ciuri Ciuri, the Rome-based Sicilian pastry shop, does right.
You may have had cannoli before, but — unless you've been to Sicily — you probably haven't had cannoli like these. I once met a Sicilian girl living here who swore that Ciuri Ciuri's cannoli were the only ones she would touch between flights home. And, as a confession, I usually find Italian sweets not-quite-sweet-enough. (Hey, I'm American: More is better, baby). That's never a problem with Ciuri Ciuri. (That, combined with the fact that one of their stores is right across the street from me, makes this shop very dangerous indeed).
But no need to stop at a cannolo (with orange slice, pistachios, or chocolate chips, as you prefer). How about something Sicilian and savory, like an arancino? Or something that looks savory but isn't… like this marzipan? (I swear the corn cob tasted like corn. No, I wasn't sure how I felt about that).
Ciuri Ciuri isn't Rome's cheapest pastry shop. A cannolo is (if I recall) €2.50, and those three chunks of marzipan above set me back some €8.
But when it comes to tasting a little slice of heaven, who's counting coins?
Ciuri Ciuri has four Rome locations: Monti (Via Leonina 18/20), Celio (Via Labicana 126/128), Largo Argentina (Largo Teatro Valle 1/2), and Trastevere (Piazza San Cosimato 49b). (Click the link for maps). And, by Rome standards, they're open strangely late — till midnight at all locations but Celio, where they're open till 11pm.
Once upon a time, I had a favorite restaurant in Rome.
This restaurant wasn't five-star. It wasn't fancy. But it was everything you'd want from a Roman trattoria: Good, fresh dishes, particularly the pastas; dad cooking in the back, kids serving out front; convenient location (a stone's-throw from the Forum!); moderate prices; checkered tablecloths.
Sadly, this is also everything tourists, understandably, would want from a Roman trattoria. And where the tourists go, the quality flees — at least here in Rome.
It's a sad story. But it's not a unique one.
In fact, you see it again and again in Rome: A place becomes a local favorite. Then someone writes it up. Then it winds up in a guidebook. Then, just as the deluge of tourists really starts, once the place has really made it, once you'd think the owners might work all the harder to maintain that success and re-invest and be creative… that's exactly when the quality slumps. The cooks change. The servers get surlier. The food gets worse. And the prices go up.
I never thought I'd say this about the restaurant that, even a year ago, made me wax poetic about truffle ragu and eggplant, the one where I took every single guest who visited, the one I could count on to be easy on the palate and (almost) as easy on the wallet. But Taverna dei Fori Imperiali has, it seems, taken the same path as countless Roman restaurants before it.
The seeds of demise probably were planted back in 2006, when Frank Bruni wrote it up in a glowing restaurant review for the New York Times. (A "real find," he wrote). The taverna started doing so well that it changed locations, moving into a tonier and bigger spot (like the old place, right across from the Forum). Other reviewers started writing it up, too, including myself — I included it as a pick for lunch my article for the Guardian last summer, "Eat Like a Local in Rome." When that article came out, the food was still great, the price still good, and the place was still packed nightly with lots of tables of Italians. (Almost always a good sign).
But over the next few months, the menu changed. The prices rose; no longer was I shelling out 25 euros for a dinner, but 30. Thirty-five. I could understand that — hey, the place was getting popular — but the pastas, usually so delicious, seemed to lack a certain something. Still, I had to give them credit: I never saw the restaurant without Dad cooking in the back, either his son and daughter serving clients themselves, just like always.
So, after a couple more mediocre meals there, I went back again last week. It was one last shot. I still felt like I could almost taste that first ragu I'd had here. Trust me when I say it was a taste worth fighting for.
It was lunchtime. There wasn't a single table of Italians. While the son was in the restaurant, we were served mainly by waiters I didn't recognize; the daughter was nowhere to be seen. And Dad? He was still there. But, in all my meals there, it was the first time I'd ever seen him in "civilian clothes," without his chef's hat. Nor did I see him enter the kitchen once throughout our entire meal.
Needless to say, not having the same cook, the one who before had seemed so proud of making his creations personally, is a big change. And, of course, chefs don't remain chefs forever. They train new cooks. They move on. They retire. It's understandable.
But here's the thing: This was a change we could taste. And it wasn't good.
My companion and I ordered a starter of liver patè. The patè was fine… the toast it was slathered on, burnt. The cost? Eight euros.
Well, on to the pastas, always Taverna's fortè. Portions seemed to have shrunk. The main menu's puttanesca (9 euros) was fine, but nothing particularly special. I had a carbonara that was served lukewarm, salty, and seemed to be swimming in liquid — uncooked egg? Fantastic. Not the worst food, or even the worst carbonara, that I've had. But definitely not great, especially for 13 euros.
The bill — which came with a receipt only when we asked, and not with a smile — with water, no wine, came to about 18 euros each. Not terrible. But not worth it.
(And let me just say it kills me to write that. Oh, Taverna! How I once loved you! How I wish I still could!)
It's a sad tale. But I share it because it's also a cautionary tale. And I think we can all learn from what it tells us: If you're visiting Rome and trying to figure out the best local places to eat, don't rely on TripAdvisor, don't rely on guidebooks, and don't even rely on articles written more than 6 months ago. As even Anthony Bourdain said in his "No Reservations" Rome episode, to "out" a restaurant as being good, to expose its brilliance to the masses, is to kill it.
And in Rome, that happens quickly. So quickly that you have to let go of that memory of aromatic, delicious, heartstrings-pulling ragu… and go in search of a new favorite restaurant to replace it.
Italian American food can be delicious. It can also be extremely confusing for travelers to Italy. That’s because it’s different — often very different — from Italian food.
And that adds confusion on top of confusion, because food culture in Italy already is extraordinarily regional. So, particularly at local, non-touristy restaurants, you won’t find the same cuisine in Rome that you would in Bologna, Florence, or Venice. In Rome — or at least at Roman restaurants — you won’t find risotto (Milan and the north) or thick-crust pizza (Naples and the south), for example. (Yes, that means that pizza as good as the one in the picture above won’t exist just anywhere in Italy!).
But on top of that, there are some foods that you could comb all of Italy for and still not find. Except, of course, in the kinds of restaurants that dish up mediocre, microwaved food at inflated prices… to tourists and tourists alone.
Why? Because these foods aren’t Italian. They’re Italian-American.
(By the way, if you’re interested in learning more about how Italian food took over the world — and how Italian immigrants created some of our favorite dishes — the book Delizia!: The Epic History of the Italians and Their Foodis a must-read.)
What dishes do I mean? Here’s a list of five dishes that people expect, but will find much more easily in Chicago or New York than Italy — because they’re Italian American food, not Italian food.
Italian American food #1: Lobster fra’ diavolo
Lobster fra’ diavolo was served for the first time in New York City in 1908 — and using Maine lobsters! Don’t expect to find the dish, which features lobster in a red sauce (sometimes spicy, sometimes not), while you’re in Italy.
Like hot pepper? Don’t worry: There’s no end of ways to make your eyes stream in Italian cuisine.
Instead try: pastaall’arrabbiata, pasta with a Roman sauce of tomatoes and red chili peppers that make it “angry” (hence the name arrabbiata).
Italian American food #2: Chicken (or veal) parmesan
Nope, not Italian. What is Italian, or at least southern Italian, is melanzane alla parmigiana, or what we know (roughly) as “eggplant parm” — eggplant fried and layered with tomato sauce, mozzarella, and parmesan, then baked. Using meat instead, and throwing it on top of pasta, was an invention of Italian immigrants in the United States and Canada.
As with most Italian-American cuisine, chicken and veal parm probably came about as a way to show how much more Italian immigrants could suddenly afford in the New Country. Back home, most subsisted on cheap foods like polenta and black bread in brine. (Have you seen that at your local Olive Garden? Didn’t think so.)
After all, meat and pasta were expensive. But now, with their newfound American wealth, these same peasants and laborers could write back home and say Hey, guess what we cooked, parmigiana made with veal! And served with pasta! Thus, chicken and veal “parmesan” — and lots of other meat-and-pasta dishes besides — were born.
Instead try: If you’re in Sicily or the south, melanzane alla parmigiana.
Italian American food #3: Spaghetti and meatballs
This, of course, is the Big Daddy of all Italian-American dishes. It comes from the same idea you saw with chicken parm: two symbols of prosperity, together in one dish. This was also a dish that, as early as the 1920s, was specifically — and erroneously — marketed to Americans as Italian. (So if you thought it was authentic Italian, you’re in good company!)
Warning: In Italy, this (delicious!) dish is probably as close as you’ll get to spaghetti and meatballs.
Instead try:Hitting your meat and pasta notes separately, such as by ordering a pasta all’amatriciana (a Roman pasta with a red sauce of tomatoes and guanciale) and, if you can find them, separate polpettine di carne (meatballs).
Bent on combining lots of meat with lots of pasta? Your best bet will be a Tuscan or Umbrian ragù — but, with very little or no tomato and lots of minced-up meat, onion, celery, and carrot, it’s not the sauce you’re probably thinking of! If you’re in Bologna, definitely try pasta alla bolognese.But steel yourself here, too: It may be redder than an Umbrian ragù, but still uses lots of meat and only a little bit of tomato paste. (In other words, it ain’t like the bolognese back home).
The whole idea of smothering bread in either olive oil or butter with lots of garlic was invented in the U.S. in the 1940s, if not before. A similar version is known in Europe, too… in Romania.
Instead try: bruschetta al pomodoro, toasted bread, often rubbed with a bit of garlic (but not nearly what you see with garlic bread!), then piled with tomatoes and some extra virgin olive oil.
Italian American food #5: Penne alla vodka
You’ll be hard-pressed to find cream sauces far south of Milan, including in Rome. So if you’re looking for a dish like penne alla vodka — which includes a heavy cream sauce — at a Roman trattoria, you’re already off-base. But add vodka on top of that, and many Italians will think you’re frankly off your head (unless, that is, they’re aware of the American dish).
It’s true that some histories of the dish claim it was first invented in Italy before becoming popular in the US. I’m very skeptical. Regardless, it remains difficult to find at authentic restaurants in Italy today.
Instead try: a simple pasta al pomodoro — it’s basically all the good bits of penne alla vodka (namely, the pasta and tomatoes), minus the cream and vodka. Want to pay it a little more of an homage? Finish it up with a grappa after your meal (particularly when in the north), a popular (and very strong) clear digestivo.
If you liked this post, you’ll love The Revealed Rome Handbook: Tips and Tricks for Exploring the Eternal City, available for purchase on Amazon or through my site here! I’m also free for one-on-one consulting sessions to help plan your Italy trip.
Rome has no end of farmers' markets. But for one of its best, you have to head to the covered food market at Circus Maximus, held every Saturday and Sunday. Bonus: It's great for gifts for friends and family back home, too.
Run by Campagna Amica, the market offers only local produce. Even at my neighborhood's fruit and vegetable stand, I can buy apples from New Zealand. Not here. Instead, all the farmers who sell their products at Campagna Amica have to adhere to the "0 km" rule — as in, they're all from Lazio. Not quite 0 km, sure, but way better than the 1,600 km that your average piece of produce takes to get from its harvest to your kitchen. And, of course, that means that the produce you buy is all fresh and seasonal — something that, in turn, helps the environment, economy, and local culture.
Plus, of course, the market's just plain fun. With everything from super-fresh ricotta to jars of delicacies (like a porcini mushroom and black truffle sauce that set me back €7, but was worth every penny), it's a great taste — literally — of all of the foods that Rome and Lazio have to offer. And there are plenty of good gift options to bring back home, from olive oil to biscotti to traditional sauces and dips.
The Circo Massimo market is located at Via San Teodoro 74. It runs every Saturday and Sunday from 10:30am-7pm.
Want to find out about Rome's other hidden gems? Check out The Revealed Rome Handbook: Tips and Tricks for Exploring the Eternal City, available for purchase on Amazon, below, or through my site here!
It might surprise you if I told you you could get a heaping bowl of fresh-made pasta, plus as much water and house wine as you want, for 4 measly euros.
It might surprise you even more if I told you where you could get it: in the overpriced and often-touristy Spanish Steps neighborhood.
But that's where the pastificio is.
From 1pm-2pm (that means "1pm" Italian time, so if you get there at 1pm sharp, be prepared to wait a few minutes for the first batch of pasta!), the pastificio has a "tasting." Its pasta of the day (there are usually two options, but if you come too late, you might be stuck with just one choice), wine and water cost, yep, just €4.
If you're looking for fancy ambience, this is not the place. As the price range, of €4 to €4, should tell you already. Forks, cups and bowls are plastic. Elbow-room is impossible, seating scarce. And don't dilly-dally over your choice between the gnocchi or the spaghetti alla carbonara: Rushed Italians, from schoolkids to businessmen, are lined up behind you, anxious to get one of those bowls before it all runs out.
But for a fun, big, quick, and, yes, yummy pasta lunch, the unnamed panificio is your best bet in the Spanish Steps. Or, probably, anywhere in the center.
Just don't tell anyone. Because as soon as you do, that €4 price tag is sure to vanish. So, shhhh. Keep your mouth closed. Unless you're shoveling steaming amatriciana inside.
This guy agrees.
Unnamed pastificio. Via della Croce 8. I'm not giving you a map, because you should have to sing at least a tiny bit for your supper. Or lunch. Whatever.
Want to find out about Rome's other hidden gems? Check out The Revealed Rome Handbook: Tips and Tricks for Exploring the Eternal City, available for purchase on Amazon, below, or through my site here!
is a must-read.)
