Top 10 favorite Rome restaurants I can be spotted at

I often get asked what my favorite restaurant in Rome is, or which are in my top 3. This is very difficult to answer, obviously. Pizza, fine dining, informal trattoria-style… there are so many types of restaurants, prices and formats to choose from. I have a number of favorites for each category.

But don't be fooled into thinking that my list of usual Rome hangouts is vast and varied. To the contrary. I rely on only a handful of trusted venues. Despite the excitement surrounding new openings and the food scene in my city, I have to also take into account wallet and––well, life. Reality is not like it often appears on Instagram.

I'm an entrepreneur, journalist and television host, but the laundry's not going to hang itself. Food shopping, cleaning the house, making exciting and nutritious meals for a rugby-playing, hormone-busting boy and working three full-time jobs take time out of my restaurant reporting. Driving to and from school/work/errands takes big chunks of time out of my potential venue-scouting. Not to mention trying to find a parking spot. All this is quadrupled when it rains in Rome, or when workers go on a transportation strike. Raising a teenager as a single parent requires furthermore dedicating time and attention to sometimes small yet important things. There are times when my son needs help with homework. Sometimes he just wants to cuddle (God bless him for still having moments like that!). There are other times when he needs me to just listen.

There are days when I fall asleep in my clothes on the sofa at 8 pm. I have to put alerts in my phone to remind myself to drink water, take a bathroom break, go out for a walk. Trying to squeeze in press events at new restaurants and staying out after 11 pm on a school night can be overwhelming if not downright impossible. And what if the place turns out to be disappointing? All that precious time I could have spent with family gets wasted on bad finger food and watered down Spritz.

And that's why I'm a creature of habit. That's why when I actually do carve out a night to dine out with girlfriends, or when my son and I manage to peel ourselves off the floor on Fridays, we tend to not stray from the well-known, from the comforting welcome we're reserved at those places where we’re considered regulars.

These are my tried and true places, the ones where I feel welcome. Where it's OK to occasionally drop in without a reservation, or where I am perfectly comfortable eating at a table for one.

What follows is a list of the 10 restaurants in Rome, divided by category, where I can be most often be found at, enjoying favorite seasonal dishes, or trying out new menu suggestions, alone or in the company of someone special.

Bistro-style dining

Salumeria Roscioli
I love sitting at either the bar counter or the small tables set up against the cheese counter, with prosciutto legs jutting over my head. This is a place where I feel at home. I always order the same thing: burrata with semi-dried tomatoes, a plate of pata negra Joselito 5 Jotas, and chef Nabil Hadj Hassen's stellar carbonara. I wipe out the entire bread basket (baked at the forno around the corner) and I finish off with un caffè at the owner's coffee bar next door.

Proloco DOL
This Centocelle deli-meets-restaurant is the brainchild of Vincenzo Mancino, an epicure who has made it his mission to scout out the region’s best ingredients. This means that the front of the shop sells prime quality cured meats, cheeses, bottled sauces and canned goods, wine, craft beer, bread, pickles and jams, organic eggs and flour: all from Lazio. The the dining room adjacent to the shop is a superb restaurant whose menu changes with the seasons. I always order a plate of pasta (the amatriciana is out of this world, as are the ravioli, sourced at Pastificio Secondi) but meals here always open with a ridiculous charcuterie board, considering how Vincenzo knows what I like, and indulges me (be sure to ask for the homemade mortadella). In the evening I always have one of Simoneìs pizza in teglia, that is baked in tin pans and served sliced.

Fine dining

Marzapane
Young Spanish chef Alba Esteve Ruiz has fully immersed herself in the flavors of Rome. Her kitchen offers both steadfast Rome tradition in beautifully presented surprises, and creative Iberian digressions. Click here to read about a recent meal I had at Marzapane.

Metamorfosi
Rome hosts a variety of acclaimed Michelin Star restaurants. When I set budget aside in favor of a unique luxury experience, I head over to Metamorfosi. Colombian chef Roy Caceres presents an eclectic style that’s––like the name implies––in constant evolution, so the creative offer is never the same. I love to let the staff choose what I’ll be eating that day, with the exception of a handful of evergreen dishes, like the glazed eel and the mushroom and hazelnut risotto “wrapped” in a thin edible veil.

Pizza and street food

Trapizzino
I could eat Trapizzino's triangular pizza pockets filled with cucina romana every day of the week. In particular, the chicken cacciatore is my absolute favorite. Just writing about it makes me salivate. The supplì rice balls are also amazing. Remember when a decade ago Rome's best loved street food franchise offered two Trapizzino sizes? Now you can find Trapizzino in New York's Lower East Side.

Berberé
Natural "mother" starter, whole-grain stone-milled crusts, organic and strictly seasonal ingredients in the toppings, pies served sliced: a pizza format that actually revolutionized the classic pizzeria concept in many ways. Starterd in Bologna by two Calabrians, the franchise now has 8 outlets in Italy and 2 in London. I'll take their "margherita" topped with mozzarella di bufala from Caserta any day, but my heart belongs to their pie topped with 'nduja from Spilinga (spicy spreadable sausage), fiordilatte and tomato.

Wine bars with food

Beppe e i Suoi Formaggi
I like the way fourth generation cheese maker Beppe Giovale thinks: essentially, cheese needs wine and wine needs cheese. That’s why this place can’t be defined as simply a "wine bar" or a "cheese shop." It's a lot of both things, offering sensational raw milk cheeses, many of which are made by Beppe; phenomenal butter, great Piemonte products, including foie gras, hazelnuts, white truffles (in season now), cured meats, heritage breads, as well as a fine selection of wine.

Enoteca Bulzoni
My family started purchasing wine and spirits from this family wine merchant in the Sixties. I’ve watched brothers Alessandro and Riccardo raise their grandfather Emidio's legacy to what Bulzoni is today: no longer just a very well-stocked neighborhood wine shop, but a superior quality beverage resource as well as a fine dining venue. I love to walk here after work for hearty aperitivo, which––given the number of small plates served along with my glass(es) of wine––becomes early dinner by Rome standards. My go-to pintxos include crostini with smoked burrata and blistered tomatoes, and Fiocco della Tuscia cheese melted over seasonal vegetables drizzled with cooked wine must. Great wine list, notable natural labels and a fine Bulzoni brand too.

Out of town

Sora Maria e Arcangelo
I don't like the word favorite, but this is pretty much the place I could eat at every day of my life, if I could. I discovered this delightful restaurant in Olevano Romano in 2011 and have been coming here regularly since. I even filmed a Lazio episode ending of my show here. We were so relaxed and at ease after the meal we ate that we actually drank all the wine and in the episode ending you can see us all laughing, tipsy and happy. Giovanni Milana is one of the kindest, most passionate cooks I know. Aided by his mother in the kitchen, Giovanni interprets local ingredients and recipes with respect and admiration. Every time I come for lunch, I always order at least one portion of the giant signature cannelloni.

Osteria Iotto
The masterminds behind this sensational Campagnano restaurant open since 2005 are Marco Pasquali and his wine Ines Cappelli. Their own farm supplies the kitchen with fresh, seasonal ingredients, that go into simple, wholesome and delicious dishes. Always on the menu, in addition to seasonal rotations, is an excellent gricia (pasta with cured pork jowl, pecorino and pepper), lamb with roast potatoes, meatballs with a mix of veal and pork, as well as very good braised oxtail. I always have the giant fritto platter, which features potato croquettes, apple and pear fritters, potato and mortadella balls, cubed and breaded mozzarella, and the best onion rings on the planet.

If you see me in any of these restaurants, do come say hello!

Top 10 favorite Venice restaurants I can be spotted at

Italian chocolate - Naples

Some time ago I started seriously broaching my addiction problem on this site. I had made it a point to go to weekly sessions and speak openly about the special places in Italy where said addiction can be fueled. I spilled the beans (no pun intended) on Torino here. Then I told of the temptations in Modica here. I let time and work get in the way of rehab, but today I return to my Chocolate Dependency podium and I will tell you a little about Napoli, the most beautiful city in the world.


Specifically, I will indiscreetly reveal secret information about a sinful place called Gay-Odin. I have a long-standing relationship with the products sold within. I have spent more than I could afford in that joint. I have made up excuses for arriving late at work, so I could sample some of their fares early in the morning, as soon as the pusher opened shop. I lived in Napoli for 2 and a half years and during that time, Gay-Odin had become my obsession.

If you've visited Napoli and along with authentic pizza and seafood fare, you have not yet tasted this exquisite chocolate brand, please repair.

The Art Nuveau wood-paneled windows of Gay-Odin chocolatier boutique only allow you to glimpse at the wonders stored inside. Gay-Odin is Neapolitan history in a box of chocolates. If you could travel back in time and found yourself strolling down Napoli's elegant Via Chiaja during the late 1800s, the aroma in the air would be the first thing to strike you as unusual. The unexpected fragrance of chocolate spreading to alleys, fashion boutiques, cafes and tailor shops would guide you to Isidoro's little workshop tucked away in a small courtyard. 

Chocolatier Isidoro Odin had recently transferred his greatest passion from native Alba (Italy's chocolate epicenter, Piedmont) to Napoli taking with him his craft, his desire to create unfamiliar flavor combinations, experiment with sweetness, and mixing new ingredients.

It is thanks to the penetrating smell of his chocolate creations that Gay-Odin's history begins, it was in fact the inviting aroma that attracted a growing clientele to his tiny shop. Mostly the socialite Neapolitan glitterati, customers adopting the fashionable habit of buying chocolates at midday, when the smell of production was at its peak. Isidoro's fame grew to the point where in 1922 he was able to open his own manufacturing plant in the heart of the city: five storeys of pleasure, in the rich high class section of town. That same plant is in full function to this day, you can visit the Gay-Odin website for a virtual back in time visit of the master chocolatier's heritage. Further impulse to the growth of business was the marriage to Onorina Gay: the name Gay-Odin is born, shops multiply in town, but the couple continues to work on the artisanal path of chocolate-making. That resist to this day.

Trademark products include "naked" unwrapped pralines of all kinds sold by weight, Foresta, a Gay-Odin creation that is a flaky bar of rich chocolate that resembles rough and twisty tree bark (very similar to the British Cadbury Flake bar). The assortment of other chocolate shapes and variations include Tarallini, donut-shaped and filled with Strega liquer, Noci, walnut shaped and enclosed in a wafer-like casing and Ostriche, oyster-shaped and filled with a cream mousse. When I travel to Napoli, I always stock up on Gay-Odin's dark chocolate shot glasses for drinking liqueur and zesty limoncello, the signature pralines, truffles, tablets and block confections, an endless array of lustful bite size morsels of bliss in my otherwise empty suitcase.

Some of the molds used in the chocolate factory...

During holiday season, Neapolitan families stock up on boxes of Gay-Odin goodness to distribute to friends and relatives and in the summer, gelato flavors based on their chocolate concoctions take center stage. Though foresta bark is quite delectable, I like the Vesuvio the best. Imagine a solid block of chocolate in the shape of the Mt. Vesuvius volcano, sometimes taking on mammoth proportions...

Aerial view of the real thing

In defense of my drug problem, as a last attempt, I can suggest a few positive aspects of chocolate. It is not all bad skin and extra kilos around the midriff. Romantic lore in fact commonly identifies chocolate as an aphrodisiac. The famed sexual inspiring properties of chocolate are most often associated with the simple sensual pleasure of its consumption. It’s a fact that chocolate’s sweet and fatty nature stimulates the hypothalamus, inducing pleasureable sensations as well as affecting natural levels of cheer and serotonin. Chocolate is in effect a legal psychoactive drug, your honor.



The city of Naples welcomed me with open arms during my time there. I overdosed on sunshine, awesome seafood, singing fishermen sailing the bay below my terrace, glimmering blue waters, trascendental pizza, gorgeous sunsets, passionate love and Gay-Odin. Despite what it did to my weight, I will forever be grateful to la mia bella Napoli...

Sempre nel mio cuore.

Italian chocolate - Modica

A week ago I posted the first "episode" of a chocolate saga. In sharing with you my total and unwavering addiction to cioccolata, my desire is to share a little about Italy's local chocolate distinctions. Today's cacao capital is Modica, a small town in the Sicilian province of Ragusa.

We are talking about one of the world's best chocolate types. The legendary cioccolato di Modica.

It is an extraordinary and unique product manufactured in the small jewel town of Modica. At the very lowest tip of the island of Sicilia, baroque Modica sits perched on a hilltop overlooking a deep gorge and boundless rural panoramas. Trivia digression: Modica was also the birth place of writer Salvatore Quasimodo, recipient of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1959.

Modica chocolate is not smooth and refined. It is on the contrary grainy, and there is no milk chocolate version, just dark and darker. Cioccolato di Modica is a divine powdery, firm and crumbly block that can only be cut by a sharp knife, scattering crumbs of chocolate like those of a crusty loaf of bread. The peculiar dry texture of this treat surprisingly melts in your mouth almost instantly.

The Aztec recipe, as handed down from Meso-American Montezuma himself to the despotic Spanish conquistadores who later controlled Sicilia between the 13th and 15th centuries, requires the crude chocolate to be initially heated to around 40-50°C. When the minimal amount of cocoa butter melts, the basic ingredient can be worked together with cinnamon (or vanilla) and sugar until it is ready to be placed in the rectangular aluminum molds that give the stocky little bars of chocolate their unique shape. Before the chocolate solidifies, these molds are lined up on a large wooden tray that is beaten relentlessly against the thick pale gray marble kitchen table top.

This extraordinary ritual makes a tremendous racket, but actually serves to expel air bubbles and leave what will become the top side of the chocolate bars satiny and smooth. I'm now going to say something which will change your life:

The near absence of cocoa butter and air, makes Modica chocolate highly digestible and less fat.

After a few seconds of eating, the whiplash of undertaste intoxicatingly sets in, especially in the spiced varieties.

Excellent eaten with tea or a tall glass of milk. After a hefty dinner, a chunk of cioccolato di Modica and a shot of red wine will send you rocketing into oblivion.

Photo©imperatoreblog.it

Since 1880 the high temple of archetypal chocolate in Modica has been the Antica Dolceria Bonajuto. An ceaseless attraction for myriad devotees, local and otherwise, this antique repository of toothsome treasures can be found on Corso Umberto I, the main drag snaking through the hillside on which the town clings like crafted coral.

Flavors range from al naturale, vanilla, cinnamon and spicy peperoncino. More modern varieties include nutmeg, coffee, ginger, sea salt and bergamot essence. Wrapped in the Modican fin de siecle trademark paper, this IGP chocolate is a rare tasting experience that will change your fancy for chocolate forever.

Italian chocolate - Torino

Susan of MY2K is one of the first blog friends and followers to visit this site. She's a loyal reader and aficionado in my little kitchen, and she posts incredibly interesting stories about Mayan glyphs and the mysterious civilization's multi-faceted culture. She and I share the fascination for all things central American, and among these, chocolate. One very interesting post of hers dealt with cacao beans used as currency. Here is an excerpt from that piece:

"For the ancient Maya, cacao beans were money. A rabbit was worth ten beans, as an example. They really did have money growing on trees. The fruit that surrounds the bitter seeds is sweet and was eaten by both monkeys and early man. Later, early civilizations discovered the seeds to be a wonderful, bitter, enticing food when roasted. The name kakawa is the original name from the Olmecs in 1000 BC. By the time of the Maya, cacao beans were even counterfeited. It was possible to remove the delicious center and substitute dirt or less valuable pieces of food before passing it off as cash."

You can read the full post HERE.

The word "chocolate" in fact comes from the Aztecs of Mexico, and is derived from the term xocolatl which is a combination of words meaning 'bitter waters.' Indeed, the unsweetened hot, frothy beverage with stimulant properties the Aztecs made of pounded cacao beans and spices was probably extremely bitter. Chocolate was reserved for warriors, nobility and priests. The Aztecs esteemed its reputed ability to confer wisdom and vitality. Taken fermented as a drink, chocolate was also used in religious ceremonies. Between a bloody game of pelota and a savage human scarifice, a nice cup of steaming xocolatl was the best way to replete. Bitterness notwithstanding, the Aztec king Montezuma so believed that chocolate was an aphrodisiac that he purportedly drank 50 golden goblets of it each day (I can see where the legendary namesake revenge comes from).

To quote Susan, from one of our droolsome chocolate-induced conversations, "Aztecs, Olmecs, Maya, Spanish, English - they fought with each other but they kept the name for chocolate intact!" And we thank them on behalf of humanity.

How bland can a day be without a triangle of honey flavored Swiss Toblerone? What's the use of getting out of bed if there are no chocolate shavings in your cappuccino? If you know me a little by now, you'll comprehend how I cannot resist the temptation of Nutella. Can you recall the excitement upon walking in your first chocolatier? I purposely got lost during a guided tour of one of Torino's most famous chocolate factories just to manage a second go at the sample table.

It's my addiction. I'm not a dessert person, but chocolate is my weakness. Blissful is the midnight snack that begins with a chunk of glossy brown heaven wedged between my teeth and a salty crust of bread to go with it.

Italy competes with France and Switzerland for the best European chocolate. In the region of Piemonte alone, there are more master chocolatiers than in Belgium and France combined. In Tuscany, there is such a concentration of fine chocolate makers, that journalists have dubbed the area between Florence and Pisa the Chocolate Valley.

In the course of the weeks to follow I will set an appointment with you. Once a week, I will illustrate examples of the many Italian chocolate excellencies that dot our Peninsula. Let me begin this choco-monograph by telling you of one very chocolaty city in particular.

TORINO, the Gianduja capital of the world
Can you even begin to imagine a city where a special type of milk chocolate first prepared in 1852 by Pierre Paul Caffarel has inspired a famous praline, a Commedia dell'Arte character mask and self-appointed nickname? This decadent preparation of chocolate containing about 50% hazelnut and almond paste, is the symbol of the most epicurean Italian city of them all. The Napoleonic gem, Torino.


Caffrel's invention of Gianduja chocolate was out of necessity. Due to the long Napoleonic Wars, the transport of spices, coffee and cacao beans across the Atlantic was severely curtailed, and Europe began to experience unacceptable chocolate shortages. To extend their meager supplies of cocoa, Caffarel began blending ground hazelnuts into their cacao. The result was a creamy, flavorful delight, and it became an instant success.

Gianduja is a Carnival and Commedia dell'Arte marionette character who represents the archetypal Piemontese: sweet, guileful and overly polite. During the 1865 carnival celebrations in Torino, masked Gianduja began handing out a new chocolate truffle, the gianduiotto.

Gianduiotti are now the specialty of Torino, bite-size chocolate mouthfuls whose shape is similar to an upturned canoe. Gianduiotti are individually wrapped in gold-colored tin foil, and melt in your mouth leaving you inevitably addicted for more. Like it is said of cherries, uno tira l'altro, or "one pulls the next [into the mouth]".

Trivia Note: Asti-born writer and broadcaster, Bruno Gambarotta, wrote a comic gastro-thriller entitled "Il codice Gianduiotto" (English: The Gianduiotto Code). The novel is a parody of the Dan Brown bestseller and centers on the mysteries of the secret formula for the perfect Gianduiotto.

Espresso coffee

We Italians, and especially Neapolitans, who are Italy's most famed coffee fundamentalists, pay special attention to the preparation, the selection of the blends and the use of accessories, that are all part of a special culture focused on the dark and mysterious drink.



In this excerpt from the Eduardo De Filippo theater play Questi Fantasmi, Professor Pasquale Lojacono - played by De Filippo himself - discloses the secrets to making the perfect demitasse of coffee with the trademark Napoletana drip brew coffee pot.
I have followed his instructions in this step-by-step Napoletana tutorial.

The venue where Italians drink coffee is called a bar, which is a coffee bar that also serves cocktails and spirits, but also sandwiches and croissants. So in a bar you can drink coffee beverages, fruit juices, alcoholic drinks and also eat pastries, panini, gelato, etc. (with many possible variations). Sometimes you can even gamble with a slot machine. Some bars are only a counter and a cash register with no bar stools, others may have tables and serve a warm meal for lunch.

But mainly, the bar, to be called one, has to brew coffee. Il caffè is normally enjoyed at the bar, and either with friends or alone, or chatting with the barista (Italian for barman), and it implies asking for an espresso. Espresso is always served with a saucer and demitasse spoon, and sometimes with a complimentary wrapped chocolate and a tall glass of cold tap water. While caffè espresso is normally drunken quickly, often standing up and on a rushed break, Napoli tradition imposes the strict rule to drink your espresso seated to fully enjoy its pang.

Here in Italy, you will not be able to replicate your experience of ordering and consuming a coffee beverage as you would, say in an American coffee shop. In Italy, each beverage comes in a predefined size (an espresso cup or a cappuccino cup) and with a standard type of milk (usually pasteurized whole milk). Concepts like medium, large, tall, fat, slim and non-fat are foreign to us. Decaf is (barely) accepted. You may be able to obtain soy milk in some establishments, but you’ll be looked upon with suspicion.

In Italy we don't walk around drinking coffee, so the concept of "to go" is quite foreign. Because we do not routinely use disposable coffee cups, we don’t see the need to bring our own to reduce waste. We also don’t feel compelled to fill containers to the brim. In fact, in some cases, that is a veritable no-no. For example, a shot of espresso will never fill the cup. If it does, the coffee is considered annacquato, watered down, thus denoting inferior quality.In Italy we drink un caffè for the pleasure of tasting an intensely aromatic nectar that leaves behind a heavenly aftertaste. Water makes us skeptical. "Acqua fa ruggine", my old nanny used to say. Water generates rust.

Most Italians do not have an espresso machine at home: they use a stovetop coffee brewer pot called moka. In 1933 Alfonso Bialetti revolutionized home coffee-brewing in Italy with the introduction of the Moka Express aluminum stovetop brewer. This simple, reliable machine became a design icon of the 20th century and even today can be found in nearly 90% of Italian households.

I think if I were a woman I’d wear coffee as a perfume. 

~John Van Druten

A song about Venice

It's been 3 years since my last time with old Venice. It's time to go back.

Venice is like an aging prostitute. The kajal around her eyes is bleeding and her dress is tattered, but her sensuality and bohemian manner are intoxicating still. I am a slave to her hypnotic charms. Getting lost in Venezia's sage-green fog, winding calle alleys and mysterious secrets is exhilarating.

Venice is a reward for the senses. Her beauty is breathtaking, decadent and Byzantine. And then there is that smell. The smell of Venice is like no other place in the world. One needs to get used to it, then it becomes a drug. The best season in the most beautiful city made by man is winter. No crowds, no tourists, no noise. Just the sound of languid canal water lapping the sides of the gondola, the distant wailing horn that announces high tide and the mystique hidden inside the fascinating buildings lined in frayed rich damask brocades.

A brisk morning walk across the Accademia Bridge, a long glance from la Salute, taking in the lagoon and a few minutes spent watching a man repair a boat on the side of a hidden canal are enough to replete lost bliss. All I want is simply walk and walk, lose my direction and then relax with a couple of ombre (shot-sized stem glasses of chilled dry, white wine) in anticipation of one of the day’s multiple delicious meals. The most common feeling in Venice is that of a mild inebriation: a full scale city-induced Stendhal Syndrome. Too much beauty can do that.