Thoughts of Rome from Home

Chilly winds are at play with my thoughts these March days.  Disturbing them like dry pine needles that gather in piles on our roof until they set sailing on blustery days, bound for sunlit places that inhabit the geography of my mind.  Dropping me in the heart of Imperial Rome, into an ancient stone arena guarded by feral cats. 

These days the Colosseum, constructed by Emperor Vespasian in 72 AD, is “that noble wreck in ruinous perfection,” inhabited by shadowy cats and tourists who wander its timeworn passageways. From deep within its interior shell, ghostly echoes play with the imagination like dust devils trapped in an ancient quarry.  High above random piles of quarried stone, an elevated stage was once constructed for an open-air concert by the great tenor, Pavarotti. I close my eyes and wait until the air is filled with the romantic arias of Puccini and Verdi.  The moon rises full above the stage and from their stony perches, the cats of Rome’s most noble ruin purr in feline concert.

Seen from atop the Colosseum, the fields beyond the ancient city were once a vast silver-green sea that went on for miles.  These were fields where artichokes were discovered by asses grazing amongst thistles.  When the tender, sweet artichokes became a passion of the Roman senators, commoners were forbidden to eat them.  Sautéed until golden brown in olive oil and seasoned with garlic, mint, and lemon juice, artichokes are heavenly as antipasti and with potatoes and mint make an exotic addition to a pizza.

With these delicious thoughts in mind, I am reminded of a magic evening with Kit in Rome a quarter of a century ago.  The streets near our hotel were filled with small pizzerias, but I had brought along a list of neighborhood favorites compiled by our good friend Suzanne Dunaway—author of “No Need to Knead: Handmade Italian Breads in 90 Minutes” and “Rome, At Home:  The Spirit of la cucina romana in Your Own Kitchen.”  

Suzanne and her husband Don live in Southwest France most of the year but consider Rome their second home. After reading her notes, I chose Ristorante La Buca di Ripetta, took out my map of Rome, and searched until I found Via di Ripetta near Piazza di Popolo.  With sautéed artichokes, grilled lamb, and roasted potatoes on my mind, we were off in a cab for unknown parts of the city and a dining experience that was to be our most memorable of the entire trip.

In my earlier travel journal, I had noted that reservations were “definitely recommended.”  We had none that evening, but as geographers were confident that we would find the ristorante and it would be wonderful beyond words.  As our taxi wove through the Villa Borghese gardens toward a distant quadrant of the city, stopping finally down a narrow side street devoid of any pedestrian traffic, I remained confident.  We had arrived at Via di Ripetta, 36, and it was early by European dinner hour standards. 

Inside, we found two waiters making a last-minute inspection of the small room’s limited number of tables.  “Reservations?” Enzo, our waiter, asked.  “No,” Kit replied.  “Hmmm,” Enzo responded, dragging out the drama long enough to make us enormously grateful when he finally pulled out a chair for me at a small table in a corner where we could take in the scene throughout the evening.  Once seated, I looked around the empty room.  “Hmmm,” I wondered aloud.  Had I made a terrible mistake in dragging Kit halfway across Rome on an empty stomach, to a place that had probably been an artichoke field outside of ancient Rome?  When the menus arrived and I found neither grilled lamb nor roasted potatoes, I was ready to bolt.

Just then a wine list arrived, and a bottle was selected.  “It’s fine,” Kit said.  And with that, the door opened and every table was filled in a matter of minutes.  In the middle of the room, a “family table” with chairs for six was reserved for locals who dine solo. The remainder of the tables was a mixture of Italians and a few other Americans who like us had heard of La Buca by word of mouth. 

For three hours, theater was provided by Enzo, our spirited waiter, and his more serious, mustachioed counterpart. I ordered veal.  Enzo replied, “No.  You want lamb and potatoes.”  From then on, we turned decisions over to him, sat back, and had the dining experience to end them all.

Full of delicious food and memories, the two of us walked for an hour along urban gardens and broad avenues in the direction of the Colosseum, finally winding northward to our hotel near Termini Train Station.  Two happy geographers afoot in Rome, filled with tastes and images as old as the city itself.  

Back at home from my musings on Rome and dinner at La Buca, I head to the kitchen with Suzanne’s cookbook “Rome, at Home.”  Browsing the index, I find her recipe for Patata Arroste con Rosmarino—potatoes diced, tossed with olive oil, salt and pepper, rosemary and sage, then roasted for 45 minutes at 400º F until very crispy and brown.

As our waiter Enzo at La Buca would say, “Perfetto!”