Finding Maccheroni

You know that earliest part of the day when the clouds are light and pink, and the air is fresh and the wind is just enough to make your eyes bright? I don’t get to see it too often as I’m always in my bed at that time of the day… but on a trip to the truly beautiful, postcard-perfect Roma, I experienced it midday. Pure loveliness. 

I was forecasting sunshiney, gelato-friendly weather, but instead this intermedium of daybreak and dusk was following me around town – and conveniently creating an amazing backdrop for my photos. How nice.

My mission on this one-day venture was to find really tasty Italian food. Yummy pizza, amazing gelato and blogworthy pasta. No mean feat when my available time extended to an afternoon and early evening (must get back and sleep before working the flight back the next day).

I started my search, as I’m sure many do. Lonely Planet guidebook firmly grasped in one hand, map in the other, camera over one shoulder… and some sniggering locals behind the other I’ve no doubt. Laughing, and rightly so, at my comedic over-enthusiasm. I might as well have been walking around with a neon sign saying ‘TOURIST’ plastered to my head with a Big. Flashing. Arrow.

Anyway, me and Lonely Planet Guidebook (LPG), hit the streets of Roma. Wandering in amongst the beautifully architectured streets in Trastevere, down shy cobbled lanes, and past rows and rows of scooters, their slim parking spaces surrounded by decorative drapes of pretty flowers. And all the while, with this dawny-dusky sky overhead, giving the buildings a sort of burnt glow, and adding warmth to all the colours around me. It was the perfect antidote to the busy flight I’d worked just hours before.

Do I really have to leave tomorrow?

Cobbled streets, trattorias, motorbikes, really bad parking... yep, I'm definitely in Rome.

About an hour into my meandering, I gave up on LPG. 

Much as I love their handy tips, I fancied the idea of chucking the map and just taking myself wherever I felt was the right direction.

That sort of thinking obviously led me straight to a little gelateria for my sugar fix. My obsession with all things dessert-related called me in to visit Alberto Pica. That’s the name of said restaurant/gelateria, by the way. Not some handsome Roman. Just for the record.

As my good friend Laura might say, YUMOLA.

And if you’d ever like to stop by and visit Albert yourself, please do try his Ricotta e Amarena or the Crema con Fragoline di Bosco. Sitting outside at the small tables, the fresh taste of this dreamy gelato was only ever so slightly tinged by the awkward feeling of being the only single-lingual in the place. Actually, the only non-Italian in the place, which I do feel is a good sign, don’t you?

Alberto Pica Gelateria

12 Via Della Seggiola

Tel. 06 6868 405

After finishing every last icy bite of my gelato, the hunt continued for pizza or pasta (preferably both), nicely separated by a wee walk alongside the Tiber and amongst the piazza’s of central Rome (or so I thought).

But things never quite turn out exactly as you might plan, do they? And today was no exception.

After much deliberation over trattorias and ristoraziones and the like, I gave up on pizza. Not really the done thing when in Rome. But I’m fussy about pizza and after my face-stuffing episode with the gelato, pasta seemed like the best way to end the evening and go home satisfied, not sickened.

So, on my way to find pasta I…

…crossed the river, looking towards the Vatican, my eyes shaded from the afternoon sun by lazy branches, hanging thirstily over the water.

…stopped to inspect the stumpy ear on a grumpy Rome-weary street cat with piercing green eyes.

…giggled at the funny little cars that add vintage character to the sidewalks and a funny little flavour to the streets. I can’t figure out the make or model of this little box on wheels!

How do you even get in to this contraption?

…admired the pinky-blue cocktail clouds, created by the last rays of the sun, and at the same time, appreciate the beautiful weather I’ve been granted for my walk around the Italian capital. Alhamdulilah.

Three hours post-gelato, I decided it was time to find some real food. Or rather, my stomach decided such.

I found myself getting mildly irritated by the clearly tourist-focused restaurants everywhere, with prices as ridiculous as their decor… so I did what anyone would and went into an Italian bookstore. 

Okay, so maybe not everyone would do this. 

After all, I had little old LPG in my handbag, why not pull it out and head to some eatery already tried and tested? Well, because, in my mind, I was creating a little adventure on this hunt for good pasta. I know it’s not sooo difficult to find in Italy, but if you do happen to be the unlucky one who chooses the wrong place (it happened to me in Milano), prepare for the worst ever pizza / pasta of your life. And it’s all down to expectation – if I hadn’t built myself up for the best ever pizza / pasta, I’m sure it might not be such a letdown!

Anyway, upon entering the bookstore, I suddenly doubted myself – is this really such a great idea after all? Are these lovely Italian ladies behind the cashier not going to sneer at my ridiculous quest for pasta in a city so full of it?

At that point I slapped my inner critic in the face with the best possible confidence-boosting fail-safe question – “Will you ever see these people again?”

And so I found myself at the counter asking where I should go for Really Amazing Pasta.

After much umm-ing, aah-ing, and chatter in Italian, a sensible suggestion came not from the shop assistants, but from a customer. A glamorous Italiana buying a pile of books, came out of nowhere and just said “macaroni”. Inner Critic piped up hotly, “Seriously? I come to Rome and you want me to eat macaroni? That’s what I eat in China when I don’t understand anything else on the menu!”

I decided to pry a little further, and she went on to explain that Maccheroni is actually one of Rome’s best kept not-so-secrets apparently. And the restaurant of choice for Michelle Obama apparently. And with amazing pasta apparently. Sold! Maccheroni it is – thanks lovely lady in the bookstore for helping me out.

With a just-legible ‘Maccheroni’ and ‘Piazza delle Coppelle’ scribbled on a bookstore receipt, I opened up my map again and made my best efforts not to get lost. 

For the sake of my stomach if not for my weary legs…

When I finally turned onto the small cobbled street that leads to Piazza delle Coppelle, there were tourists galore, just like me, looking for somewhere that might offer them some authentic Italian food. Good pasta. Not passing-trade pasta. Not you’re-a-tourist-you-don’t-get-the-real-thing pasta. Just yummy Italian pasta. Please?

There were many restaurants to choose from in the same little piazza as Maccheroni, and each with their own Italian rep outside trying to coax in hungry passers-by with promises of delicious Italian fare. Maccheroni didn’t go for that approach. Instead, I noticed the waiters leaning casually against the wall opposite, chatting and socialising inbetween greeting and serving the latest customers. At Maccheroni, you can choose to sit street-side at little tables lit by the piazza’s yellow-tinted lamps or inside, where tables are cosily divided into separate rooms, on different levels, allowing a more intimate experience in a deceptively large restaurant.

Fabulous, non?

After my waiter gave me the guided tour, which included the semi-open kitchen, I decided to take a spot in prime people-watching position, outside.

The view from my spot outside.

Cute details add to the charm...

Spying on the chefs at work...

Reading the menu, which was very basically translated into English, I decided on a dish that many might dismiss as too simple.

It’s basically spaghetti with the lightest of buttery cream sauces. It came in all its al dente glory and it was one of the yummiest pasta dishes I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying.

I’m no culinary expert, but I do know when pasta tastes good. And this tasted real good.

Sitting outside, enjoying my little meal, I was glad I’d avoided filling up on piazza-side pizza, and I was delighted to have found such a gem, just by taking a chance on the little bookstore. The fact that this little ristorante has served the likes of Jamie Oliver and Michelle Obama comes as a surprise, and yet not.

A surprise because you’d think that these customers would have the restaurant boasting about its paparazzi-prized clientele, and there was no such boasting to be seen. It is not such a surprise because the atmosphere, food and service here is worth hunting out. It’s Roman, the food is Roman, and it has class without having one of those are-you-sure-you’re-cool-enough-to-sit-here attitude problems.

If you’re looking for real, unfussy Italian food, in the heart of Rome and you don’t fancy one of those touristy Tony’s takeaways, step inside Maccheroni i buon appetito!

Love from al dente Dolly x