Vicolo del Gallo in the morning is very silent considering its proximity to Campo de' Fiori, one of the city's trendiest open air farmer's and flower markets.
There, in the 'rooster's alley,' as the small street name translates, further beyond the nobility of Palazzo Farnese and the mundane piazza where Giordano Bruno was burned to the stake, the atmosphere returns to its genuine traditional self again. Here, pilgrims and time travelers will immediately perceive the authentic Roman centro storico feel: folkloristic, busy, aged. It's like turning a corner and bumping into Rome's unmade face, crow feet and marionette lines showing, frayed hair and parched lips. No glamour, no historic ruins or rich churches here to admire, only truth. People. Faces. Aromas. And a small crumbly monument whose entrance is well hidden.
The paint on the wooden frame of the glass paned doorway is chipped. Inside, the senescent universe of the Latteria - one of the last in existence here in Rome - survives the lures of modern design, the newfangled habit of having breakfast on the run, the Anglo Saxon brunch, or the popular fashion of consuming industrial aromatised brews. Latteria means dairy store, and in this specific sense, it is a place where people go to simply have breakfast, shop for cartons of milk, and pass the time.
The tables in the Latteria are the same shaky ones from sixty years ago. The wooden chairs are the osteria-type with sturdy legs and woven straw seats; the sink is an old stained marble basin. This is because the venue is 100 years old, give or take a decade. Walking in the Latteria equals to diving head first in the breakfasts of my Italian childhood. A gift from days past, hanging suspended in an imaginary time, populated by young students skipping the first school bell; workers and artisans on their mid-morning coffee break; '68 revolt activists secretly meeting over a bowl of caffellatte (in the Latteria, magnum cappuccinos are consumed in large cereal bowls). What has remained unchanged over the years is the smile on the elderly signora behind the counter. It still shines the same way today.
The characteristic furnishings are so out of date to have become actual modern art pieces, appreciated for their dusty, vintage look. The nearby second hand clothing stores match the Latteria style to perfection, as does another one of my favorite Roman places: Anticaja e Petrella, a snaking tunnel of antique furniture and old trinkets for sale, at the far end of which a bar gathers people who meet to watch football matches on the communal TV set.
Folks take their time at the Latteria. Patrons remain well over the hour, often not doing much. Staying enough time to quietly study the details layered about, day after day, cappuccino after cappuccino. Sitting at one of the tables by the large steam-operated coffee machine, one's eye wanders on the mural of theater billboards coating the walls; the glance glides over to the old humming refrigerators, the piled biscotti boxes, the 10,000 packets of sugar. Behind the counter, rows and rows of stacked soda cans line the back panel, creating a continuous yellowed tin surface. At the very end, the back door opens to a small outdoor courtyard leading to an outhouse, its skeleton key dangling from a darkened keyhole.
The Latteria's caffellatte costs a bit more than at your regular cafe. It is best enjoyed in the above mentioned bowl rather than the usual cup or stout mug. Only in this way will you be able to indulge in the complex croissant-dipping manoeuvre. Anywhere else public, this sacred morning ritual is regarded as a wrong to etiquette and table manners. But this is la Latteria, and within these walls, this little sin is forgiven. Rather more, encouraged.
The best thing to do here is stay a little while longer than your schedule allows. Read the complimentary newspaper, chat with the smiling signora, play pinball. Or simply stare at the history peeling off the walls before you, as you slowly wait for your second steaming bowl of caffellatte to cool.
Antica Latteria
Vicolo del Gallo, 4
00186 Roma
Tel. +39 06 6865091
There, in the 'rooster's alley,' as the small street name translates, further beyond the nobility of Palazzo Farnese and the mundane piazza where Giordano Bruno was burned to the stake, the atmosphere returns to its genuine traditional self again. Here, pilgrims and time travelers will immediately perceive the authentic Roman centro storico feel: folkloristic, busy, aged. It's like turning a corner and bumping into Rome's unmade face, crow feet and marionette lines showing, frayed hair and parched lips. No glamour, no historic ruins or rich churches here to admire, only truth. People. Faces. Aromas. And a small crumbly monument whose entrance is well hidden.The paint on the wooden frame of the glass paned doorway is chipped. Inside, the senescent universe of the Latteria - one of the last in existence here in Rome - survives the lures of modern design, the newfangled habit of having breakfast on the run, the Anglo Saxon brunch, or the popular fashion of consuming industrial aromatised brews. Latteria means dairy store, and in this specific sense, it is a place where people go to simply have breakfast, shop for cartons of milk, and pass the time.
The tables in the Latteria are the same shaky ones from sixty years ago. The wooden chairs are the osteria-type with sturdy legs and woven straw seats; the sink is an old stained marble basin. This is because the venue is 100 years old, give or take a decade. Walking in the Latteria equals to diving head first in the breakfasts of my Italian childhood. A gift from days past, hanging suspended in an imaginary time, populated by young students skipping the first school bell; workers and artisans on their mid-morning coffee break; '68 revolt activists secretly meeting over a bowl of caffellatte (in the Latteria, magnum cappuccinos are consumed in large cereal bowls). What has remained unchanged over the years is the smile on the elderly signora behind the counter. It still shines the same way today.
The characteristic furnishings are so out of date to have become actual modern art pieces, appreciated for their dusty, vintage look. The nearby second hand clothing stores match the Latteria style to perfection, as does another one of my favorite Roman places: Anticaja e Petrella, a snaking tunnel of antique furniture and old trinkets for sale, at the far end of which a bar gathers people who meet to watch football matches on the communal TV set.
Folks take their time at the Latteria. Patrons remain well over the hour, often not doing much. Staying enough time to quietly study the details layered about, day after day, cappuccino after cappuccino. Sitting at one of the tables by the large steam-operated coffee machine, one's eye wanders on the mural of theater billboards coating the walls; the glance glides over to the old humming refrigerators, the piled biscotti boxes, the 10,000 packets of sugar. Behind the counter, rows and rows of stacked soda cans line the back panel, creating a continuous yellowed tin surface. At the very end, the back door opens to a small outdoor courtyard leading to an outhouse, its skeleton key dangling from a darkened keyhole.
The Latteria's caffellatte costs a bit more than at your regular cafe. It is best enjoyed in the above mentioned bowl rather than the usual cup or stout mug. Only in this way will you be able to indulge in the complex croissant-dipping manoeuvre. Anywhere else public, this sacred morning ritual is regarded as a wrong to etiquette and table manners. But this is la Latteria, and within these walls, this little sin is forgiven. Rather more, encouraged.
The best thing to do here is stay a little while longer than your schedule allows. Read the complimentary newspaper, chat with the smiling signora, play pinball. Or simply stare at the history peeling off the walls before you, as you slowly wait for your second steaming bowl of caffellatte to cool.
Antica Latteria
Vicolo del Gallo, 4
00186 Roma
Tel. +39 06 6865091
