Connoisseurs know that there is no such thing as Italian food. There are, instead, distinct regional cuisines strewn down the Italian peninsula. The differences between them can be extreme. While you can get a flavoursome Florentine steak in Sicily, or a succulent Neapolitan pizza in Milan, you will usually have your best food experiences … as anywhere … if you concentrate on the local.
In Rome, this means three things. First, offal, called the “quinto quarto” in the capital city. Second, the four Roman pastas: carbonara, cacio e pepe, amatriciana and alla gricia. Third, artichokes, or carciofi in Italian. All are humble foods of the people. Only one is seasonal. If you’re going to eat local, you’ll need to have artichokes between February and April. Of course, Roman restaurants ship the ultimate edible flower in from around the world to keep them on their menus. But if you want proper Roman artichokes, in the Roman style, you need to eat them in the spring.
Locals know this, of course, and go into a frenzy of joyous artichoke consumption in the spring. Restaurants arrange the freshly-cut flowers in arrangements outside their doors to indicate availability. There are two time-honoured ways to consume them in the Eternal City. When cooked alla Romana they’re sautéed in olive oil and herbs until soft. Go alla guidia, the style brought to the city by Jewish immigrants in ancient times and loved since, and the flower is kept whole, except for the removal of the fuzzy “choke”, pounded on a counter to open up like a sunflower and then submerged in bubbling oil to deep fry. Both are magnificent. I took advantage of the happy coincidence of seasonality and vowed to each Cynara cardunculus at every possible opportunity.
The stand-out restaurant of the trip, and the one I’ll now be booking every time I return, is Enoteca Ferrara. I do love an establishment that bears my family name, naturally, but they win even without that tenuous link. Established in 1988 and run by a pair of sisters (one’s the chef, the other the sommelier) in a warren of rooms that were once part of a convent, the restaurant presents traditional, seasonal cuisine with style that’s pushing towards fine dining but isn’t stuffy. The taverna/wine bar at the front looks resolutely old school, but once in the restaurant rooms behind you’ll find an airy space that combines the ancient and the modern … exposed beams and wooden dressers, modern art and light fixtures … that’s far more considered than your typical Roman tourist restaurant.
The wine lists are the biggest I’ve ever seen; heavy volumes for red and white, respectively, with an encyclopaedic collection of Italian vintages. We were able to treat ourselves to two old favourites: schioppetttino, a light, fruity red rarely found south of Venice, where I discovered it on an early girls’ trip, and the Eruzione 1614, a fresh, mineral-rich white discovered on the girls’ wine tour of Sicily. (And written about here) In fact, Enoteca Ferrara has all the hallmarks of a memorable girls’ trip restaurant, and I may need to throw Rome into consideration just so we can come back and eat here.
The food is in line with the restaurant’s rave reviews. I had my most sophisticated carciofi alla guidia here, served with a delicate stuffed and fried zucchini flower. The amatriciana here was the best I sampled, with the sacred trinity of tomatoes, pork cheek and pecorino combining to make something greater than its composite parts. Regular readers know that Italian is the only cuisine I measure by how it compares to what I can produce at home. I thought I made excellent zabaglione. Ferrara’s, thick and laced through with pistachio, leaves mine in the dust. My companions were equally satisfied.
Enoteca Ferrara sits at the heart of Trastevere, an area once down-at-heel and now legendary for its bars and restaurants. We came an hour early for drinks and saw how you could easily bar hop and nibble your way across the evening. It’s an area that deserves further exploration.
In second place comes Trattoria da Danilo, on a residential street that’s walkable from tourist areas but is resolutely not a tourist place. No English menu. Packed instead to fire-code endangering density with people who, given their rapport with the staff, seemed to be locals. The proprietor … one assumes he is the Danilo … welcomes people at the door and is shown in scores of photos next to prized visitors from th past. Nobody wanted to take our snap with him. The crowds and noise make this a far less comfortable dining experience than Ferrara, but it’s great fun to feel that you’ve dropped into a proper neighbourhood place.
Danilo has a simple, rather brief menu, but they’re not averse to mixing up the classics. (Something not often done in Italy.) My starter carciofi alla Romana came as the filling for a buffalo mozzarella “sandwich” … fun idea, though the cheese overpowered the artichokes … and my main was carbonara laced with pistachios … inspired, must try at home. I wouldn’t go out of my way to return, but if you’re in the neighbourhood already, it’s worth checking out.
Our hotel was around the corner from the restaurant that claims to have invented amatriciana sauce, La Matriciana, so that had to be tried. My husband and I had a split opinion on this one. I rated my food highly … amatriciana (not as good as Ferrara’s but close), saltimbocca with an artichoke alla romana on the side, a poached pear with a drizzle of chocolate sauce for dessert … but was disappointed by the perfunctory service. The decor looks like the place hasn’t changed since the ‘50s, which lends charm, and it’s right across the street from the opera house so is no doubt convenient to book ahead for outings there. But the place struck out for my husband, so we opted not to return despite its convenient location near our hotel
The lanes around the Pantheon are packed with small restaurants and it feels like you’re running the gauntlet getting through them, since each has a hawker outside enticing tourists in multiple languages. Such places are not normally a recipe for success but when you want lunch in the middle of a heavy sightseeing day you have to give something a try. My general rule of thumb: the better a view a place has of a major attraction and the closer it is, the worse the food is probably going to be. Rotunda is almost as far from the Pantheon as you can get before the continuous string of restaurants along the Via dei Pastini peters out. And its hawker was the only one to sing the praises of seasonal artichokes.
The carciofi alla guidia were probably as good here as at Ferrara’s, though far less sophisticated. Just two whole flowers fried up and served with bread. If I went back, I’d happily just have that, all to myself. Instead, we split that as a starter and when for a meat course. My ossobucco was fine but a bit fatty. My husband happily tucked into a bistecca Fiorentina big enough it probably had its own carbon emissions certificate. He was happy.
Back home, I drove up to The Italian Store in Maidenhead and made my own attempt on the artichoke front. Not as tasty, or as pretty, as the Roman restaurants, but respectable. (Shown below with burrata and fried dough balls.) When in Rome, each artichokes. And when you’re not in Rome but dreaming of Italian sun, they work as well.
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