Fun in Rome

There are lots of creative ways to ensure a lump of coal in your stocking for Christmas. For example,

1. stealing candy from a baby
2. being a lawyer for the NRA
3. cutting 200 people in line to the Vatican City
   

This weekend I was in Rome with Nancy, one of my analog circuits buddies from MIT. We got up nice and early Saturday morning to beat the inevitable queue into Vatican City. On the way there we discovered a 24 hour bakery which sold gargantuan focaccia and cream puff pastries filled with heavy cream, rum and nutmeg. That's the best pastry I've ever had. It was dusted with powdered sugar, and after I finished it I realized I looked like (rightly so) I had an addiction. We get in the already sizable line and waited, just like everyone else. After 20 minutes the line had extended behind us a long block and around a corner, which was easily 200 people. All of a sudden, a shifty little Frenchman in a sharp blue coat edged in sideways a few people up from us. Initially everyone behind him looked at one another, a universal "WTF?" Then came the hemming and hawing and throat clearing, which the stubby Frenchman ignored. Then came the outbursts in several languages (I counted English, French, Italian and Spanish at least)[on that note, I bet there are dorks who insist on "speaking" Latin when they visit] whereupon finally the stumpy Frenchman turned, issued a few self-righteous dismissive "Oui"s and didn't budge. As we rounded a corner, the Frenchman was pushed back a few places to us. I don't typically do well with these public confrontation things. Nancy though, in a stroke of brilliance and slight of hand, managed to untie the louse's shoe without him noticing. We pushed ahead of him, and a few minutes later we saw him get savagely trampled as he stooped to tie it, which was the most compelling evidence of transcendental power we saw all morning, moaning people in the Sistine Chapel included.

My MO for exploring new cities is simple. Avoid unnecessary forms of transportation, bring a dictionary, and eat indiscriminately. For better or worse the randomness of our food exploration was colored (guided) by Nancy's printouts from the New York Times, but we did decently. Aside from stumbling upon the 24 hour bakery in the morning, we had fluffy gelato from a small (but apparently NYT visited, a fact proudly displayed on a barely legible photocopy of the exact article we were carrying pasted to the window) but creative gelateria. There were also rich sweets and fresh focaccia from a bustling bakery, and a very nice dinner in the Trastevere.

An in-depth analysis of focaccia follows. To my dismay, Roman (as made in Rome) focaccia is too much like Napolean (as made in Napoli, opposed to Napoleon focaccia, the small pieces of focaccia which try and take over the bakery) pizza, in that the bread is baked a little longer until more brittle. This mitigates one of the best properties of focaccia from the north: incredible olive oil retainment. My favorite focaccia bianca is plain focaccia which is then sprinkled with rock salt and soaked in a tray of olive oil until the bubbles of the bread form a lattice of translucent threads suspended in a sea of olive goodness. A 6"x6" square can weigh 200g, and has to be eaten in a plastic bag because the oil squeezes out when you bite into it. In Rome, focaccia bianca is more like thin chewy bread brushed with olive oil right out of the oven. It's good sure, but demanding critics call for more oil.

The fountain of Trevi retains sharply in my mind. From an aesthetic perspective it's striking in a way even most of the other Roman relics can't compare, in that it is integrated into the side of a building. Rome is architecturally exciting because ancient structures and new buildings intermingle, but the fountain is carved right out of the front of a palace. Well, the real reason I remember it so well is because we walked past it four times. The first moment of our random walk, if I may. By the end of our day at midnight, or 16 hours since we started, we conservatively estimated our walking at 12 miles. Consumption between us: one giant slice of focaccia, a cream puff, a slice of tiramisu, an apple tart, two cups of gelato, four slices of thinner focaccia (two plain and two with tomatoes) two berry tart pastries, an apple strudel, and a three course dinner. Not stuffing, but satisfying.


Another great use of ancient ruins: make an abandoned KITTY shelter. Can you spot them all? Mmmmm kitty.


Rome is very pretty at night.





I feel I should clarify, for those who don't like bad humor, that the lout was not actually trampled. He buddied up with some other French folks about 10 places behind us and stayed there. Nevertheless, if He really wanted to sell the product (to borrow the words of Tom Lehrer, while introducing his modest example of modern vernacular music The Vatican Rag) I feel like we should have witnessed instantaneous, merciless punishment. Not a good sign when one can't keep his or her own house in order.