Cornerstones of any nutritious breakfast, Pt 1: Amatriciana

Like most beautiful places, Rome is often overrun by two kinds of people: those who come in droves of touristic double decker buses to take pictures of themselves in front of various well-known edifices, and those who camp out around such sites, selling all manner of junk to the tourists. Micro-machines, glow-in-the-dark hats, megaphones, and spinny tops, the latest of fake RayBan shades, roses, and yes, even parakeets--if it's crap, it can be yours just outside of that ancient ruined temple, for just three easy payments of $19.99...

In spite of the marauding droves, la cucina romana--the staples of Roman cuisine--has remained remarkably insular and untouched. If you glance at the menu of any modestly respectable trattoria, you're likely to find a handful of the same dishes: delightful fritti like filetti di baccala', suppli', and fiori di zucca; puissant primi pastas like cacio e pepe, carbonara, and amatriciana; and soul-soothing secondi of abbacchio, coda, or trippa. More on most of these in the future, but for now, let's talk about amatriciana, perhaps our favorite dish in all the world (and one which faithful readers might remember from the pizza selections at Dar Poeta).

It's really deceptively simple: a tomato-based sauce with a little heat from crushed peperoncini, thin slices of fatty guanciale (cured pig cheek) or pancetta, perhaps a dash of white wine to vaporize, and a healthy dose of finely grated pecorino romano to top it all off. L'amatriciana is usually servied over bucatini (kind of a hollow spaghetti), but sometimes with bombolotti or rigatoni. The name, in case you were wondering, comes from a nearby town Amatrice. Really I suppose the sauce is a kind of derivation of the older (pre-red sauce--thanks Americas!) pasta alla gricia, the "Larry Bird" amatriciana. But really I just got most of this history stuff from Wikipedia.it. If you're reading this, Professor Grossman, forgive us.

Of course, everyone has his or her own rendition of this classic. Violence has even been done on account of the slightest additions and subtractions. A little onion here... some garlic there... "Oh heavens, I'm out of pecorino--perhaps parmigiano will work?" These thoughts seem benign enough... until you get stabbed in the butt by an opinionated Roman. Such a fine line between innovation and blasphemy.

At any rate, we have made several attempts to recreate this splendid dish in the kitchen, often in an improvisory fashion, based on what's on hand in our currently cramped kitchen. For those interested, the best of these attempts is described below:

You will need:

• Dried pasta, preferably bucatini

• A smidgeon of olive oil
• Guanciale, or pancetta, or if you're really desperate/living in some backwoods country, esskay bacon (taste the difference quality makes) sliced in thin strips (like kids' bandaids or something)
• Tomato sauce, as plain and good as you can afford
• Good pecorino, to taste
• 1-2 little fiery peperoncini (alright, maybe just a dash of that McCormack crushed red pepper)
• A little bit of wine [Clemenza's note: and a little bit of suga']

Intructions:

1. Get some water rolling for the pasta.
2. Begin crisping up and rendering the fat from those guanciale slices in a hot skillet with a drop of olive oil.

3. When they're lookin' good n' tasty, toss in the crushed peppers and a little bit of that wine. Let it simmer for a minute, and then throw in your sauce. Simmer on low/med heat for 10-20 minutes.

4. Cook the pasta--but not very much! Al dentissimo as they say. Seriously, we give it 6 minutes or so, then drain it mostly, and add to the sauce on real low heat.
5. Let it all get sticky and nice, then toss in that luscious pecorino and see it turn a bit orange and beauteous.

Buon appetito! As you can see, we aren't really much for precise recipes.

La Scala

Picture it: Italy. 2010. Peter and Marie sitting on the steps of the fountain in the middle of Piazza del Popolo, tummies growling, unsure of what lay ahead that night. It was new teacher orientation for Marymount International School. Didn’t know the restaurant, wasn’t sure how long the walk would be, didn’t know the people that well. Despite all the “I don’t knows” and “what ifs” swirling through our minds, we knew the night would at least be memorable.

After all of the new teachers and some of the administrators arrived, we set off, down the Via del Corso. We walked until it was dark, for what seemed like hours. Cobblestone streets twisted and turned, stomachs churned… When would we get to the restaurant? Then finally, after walking through Popolo, the cat sanctuary, the Pantheon, and various other unidentified ancient monuments (UAMs), we arrived.

The restaurant, located in Trastevere, is called La Scala. We were led past the front patio where there are smaller tables for those who enjoy dining outside, through the main entrance, past another dining area for those who like to dine inside, and then brought to our table. It was plenty large enough for our party of twenty. There was even another long table beside it for another party of twenty or so. I haven’t quite seen that in the dining scene in Italy, so if you’re ever in town looking for a place a large group can go, this might be it.  The dining rooms were dark with brick walls (typical of what you might see in Rome) but with some more contemporary furnishings (see the big purple chairs below!).

Wine was ordered for us. There was an option of red or white. The white was good, but we don’t remember it as well as the red, a syrah made by Casale del Giglio. Apparently this winery has tons of tasty reds and whites at affordable prices. A friend of ours, also new to Rome, has told us that she’s found it at their local supermercato, but we have not been so lucky yet! Our eyes are peeled though.

Appetizers came next. The principals and headmistress decided to just order an assortment of bruschette for everyone: olive, artichoke, prosciutto, and tomato, all truly delicious. The bread used was classic Roman-style bread, with a wonderful flavor and dark, substantial crust. Both the olive and the artichoke toppings were nearly pureed to a smooth, spreadable consistency. The flavors were clean and true, with hints of fruity olive oil. The prosciutto was alone on the bread, aside from a light drizzle of oil. It was not sliced air-thin like some prosciuttos, it was slightly thicker, texturally a perfect pairing with the bread. Rustic yet refined. The tomato bruschetta was both the simplest and the best. The tomatoes were a true red, with a flavor as vibrant and fresh as their color. A simple drizzle of olive oil and sprinkling of basil was all that was needed.

The wine and appetizers might have been chosen for us, but our entrees were up to us! Peter chose ravioloni (big ravioli) filled with ricotta di bufala and topped with thinly-sliced mushrooms, speck, sage. When the plate came, the sweet scent of the cheese blending with the sage was the first thing to be noticed. There were just two ravioloni on the plate, but that ended up being plenty. The mushrooms weren't so memorable, but the speck was finely julienned, placed perfectly as both garnish and light flavor. 

Marie chose tagliolini con polpi. There was a little bit of green broth beneath the pasta, although we’re still not quite sure all of what was in it. Overall the plate was beautifully presented: yellowish pasta tossed with purple and white bits of polpo all simmering in a sweet and sea-fresh broth. The pasta was perfectly done. Unfortunately, the polpo were a bit chewy, but everything else was so good we could chalk it up to our large party.

Other people at the table had equally appealing dishes: Cathryn ordered a long pasta with shrimp (heads and eyes still on!). Marie was lucky enough to taste it—those shrimp were certainly succulent! Mark ordered a bistecca covered in pecorino, a type of "ewe’s" cheese, and Charlotte ordered a classic, thin, Roman-style margherita pizza.

While pizza is available and looked tasty, the pasta is what really stands out at La Scala. We always will prefer homemade pasta to dry, boxed pasta, but La Scala set itself apart even further. We tried to figure out how they had made it. Typically when we make pasta at home, we use a one-cup-of-flour to one-egg ratio. We figured they had used more egg yolks to get the yellowish color. All of the pastas were cooked al-dente, but made thin enough to feel smooth and easy. Additionally, these pastas were topped with choice ingredients, and mixed in interesting takes on what is considered classic.

We of course, in our celebratory mode, ended our night drunkenly in glasses of limoncello. While this drink is overall just too sweet for us, it felt appropriate at the time. We were happy to have dined here and to have made some wonderful new friends!

La Scala’s website (http://www.ristorantelascala.it/index.php ) is a great one to look at. There are old pictures of the restaurant, an extensive menu, and, again, great music. However, it seems like they change and add onto their menu frequently (a good sign) so don’t expect to get what you see on the website at the restaurant itself. Check it out!

Dar Poeta

For our first venture here in Rome, we knew we wanted good Italian pizza.  Yet there are so many pizzerie around it can be difficult to choose.  We made our mistakes--stopping in at one or two touristic type places.  The pizza is always okay, don't get us wrong, but these places were not quite what we were looking for.  We even began to second guess the Roman restaurant scene in general.  We wondered, is it really as good as we remember it to be?  We've worked so hard on our own home cooking over the last few years, maybe it won't seem as incredible as it once was.

Then we found it: a perfect, delicious, scrumptious, beautiful, unique pizzeria.  On the Vicolo del Bologna there is a place, which winds just off of Piazza Santa Maria, a famous square in the neighborhood Trastevere.  This pizzeria is called Dar Poeta, meaning "From the Poet" in Romanesco.  Don't let its tiny street and wobbly tables on uneven cobblestones fool you, it really is some of the best pizza we've had in Italy.  And don't let that 1995 birthdate (see the photo) fool you either.  It is a relative newcomer in a city whose restaurants often boast anywhere between 50 and 150 years of family ownership and service, but it is still worth the sometimes long lines and trip into Trastevere.

We of course started with a half caraffe of the house red, costing us a mere 4 euro.  There were a lot of tempting edibles on the menu, including a long list of bruschette that we're sure we will delve into another time (a plate of moscardini fritti and an espresso each less than an hour before prevented us from trying some of the bruschette--we wanted to be sure we had room for the pizza!). 

Peter ordered the pizza amatriciana, a translation of a famous Roman pasta staple.  We had tried making this pizza back in the States on one snowy night, thought maybe we'd invented it even.  It has a base of zippy tomato sauce, pancetta, and pecorino romano.  You might think it misses the comforts of drippy mozzarella, but the pizza amatriciana is not at all lacking. 

Marie ordered the pizza Dar Poeta, specialty of the house.  It was topped with mozzarella, zucchine, garlic, spicy peperoncini, and ciauscolo.  We weren't quite sure what ciauscolo was, but found out it is a soft, pork sausage made mostly of the pork shoulder, hams, and belly, seasoned with vincotto and garlic.

We of course split the pizze and shared.  The two pizze balanced each other nicely: The amatriciana was rossa and the Dar Poeta was bianca.  As you can see from the photos and descriptions above, the toppings are clearly chosen well, but the crust is equally sublime.  It is definitely rippable (a quality we always look for in a top-notch crust), with a light saltiness that lingers on the tongue, but is not anywhere near overbearing.  It also has a light char signifying the wood-burning oven.  The crust at Dar Poeta is thicker than the typical Roman pizza, somewhere between Roman and Napolitan styles. 

So how is it that Dar Poeta's pizza is soo good?  It's more than just a wood-burning pizza oven--really that's what all true pizzerie have.  We had to do a little research to figure out some kind of an answer to this question because it just isn't enough to say, "Well it's just that damn good."  We found out that first, the Dar Poeta chefs allow their dough to rise in a fridge for a full 48 hours.  This length of maturation allows the acetic and lactic acids to reach their full potential, releasing not just agreeable aromas and flavors, but high digestibility, too.  As Tuco from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly would say, "It is very good for the digestion."  We also found that Dar Poeta's choice of ingredients makes it stand out.  There are of course, typical Italian pizze, but those more interesting like the ones we chose, too.

Or maybe it's just that damn good.


Eating at Dar Poeta was both a thrill and a relief: the pizza was delicious (have you started salivating after looking at those pizza pics?) and the Roman restaurant scene really is as good as we remember it to be! Dar Poeta truly awakened our taste buds, serving as a reminder to us that there is so much more to explore here.


Check out the website: http://www.darpoeta.com/ (Available in both Italian and English.  The song on the website really is great, too!)