I am sitting backwards on a bullet train zooming from Naples to Rome at 298 kph. I’m listening to Italian composer Ludovico Einaudi on my headphones as trees and small hill towns rush by the wrong way. The song is called Time Lapse, which is perfect because I feel like I am moving through time in some kind of crazy out of control mixed up way right now.
I’m 50.
I am fucking 50 years old.
How the hell did this happen?
The music has a single note running through it, like a heartbeat. Then waves of sound come and go, evoking movement forward and backwards in time. The music is making me think about my life and the now enormous span of time. I am this 50 year old person, then I am a little kid, then I am in college. I speed through various jobs, and then I am back in Italy, then Hawai'i, then Yakima. But mostly I just think, now what? What’s next? Where do I go from here?
Should I start planning my next trip? Start focusing on my career finally? Start losing weight so I can actually have another birthday?
Now what is all I can think about as the music gets ominous and I feel this sense of existential dread. Right then everything goes black and I scream, thinking I have died of old age.
Then I realize we have just gone into a tunnel and I snort and laugh.
Wow. What a big baby. You are in Italy! Snap out the fuck out of it!
…………
I am on a British Airways 747 headed to London.
“Would you enjoy a copy of The Guardian with your champagne, sir?”
Yes I would!
“A hot towel to clean your hands after the paper, sir?”
You bet!
“More champagne or would you like to switch to the Pouilly-Fumé?”
Oh Pouilly me please!
I push a button and my seat flattens out into a bed and I watch Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters with my Pouilly and some vile albino nuts from Africa.
These nuts are so bad I write a poem about them:
Un-roast-ed
Un-salt-ed
Albino nuts from Africa
Un-lov-ed
My, how times have changed. My first three trips to Europe were to the UK while I was working for Amazon. On those trips I was always crammed back in steerage with the chickens and donkeys. It scars you, flying back there.
My later trips for fun -- Tuscany, Provence, Paris, Barcelona -- were with Air France. Their non-chicken and donkey section seats fold out into beds also, but not like this one. This one is awesome.
After the movie and a not bad for airplane food dinner I
As we approach London I can’t get that lovely Lily Allen song Chinese out of my head. It just perfectly captures what it’s like to be flying into London. In time with the music the clouds part and I get to see The Shard rising across the Thames from The City. I am so happy right now.
I have not been in Heathrow since 2006. Terminal 5 was not built yet. Terminal 5 totally does not suck. Big, bright, easy to get around in. Can this really be Heathrow?
One of my favorite things to do at the old Terminal 4 was to stop and have some champagne and caviar at this bar they had there. I see a similar bar here, but I also see the noodle place Wagamama. I am so torn. Wagamama or caviar? Wagamama or caviar? Caviar wins.
Lynnette is not amused with the prospect of eating fish eggs. She orders an icy Russian vodka and glares at us while Mark and I pound champagne, smoked salmon, pickled herring, and yummy caviar.
Soon we are on a smaller plane to Rome. This is not really business class. There is a curtain to keep the chickens out, but the seats are tiny and there is a woman in front of me who could possibly put her seat back in my face. I just can’t bear this! I can’t. I close my eyes and pray to the baby Jesus. “Oh god. If you would please just make this woman go to sleep and not put her seat back I will go to confession at the Vatican and renounce my last 49 years of sin.” The woman does go to sleep without putting her seat back. The baby Jesus is a sucker. Soon we are over France. I see a lot of nuclear cooling towers from the airplane. I fear for the cheese. And for the Pouilly.
Oh look, there are the Alps:
Now we are just south of Genoa.
Holy shit. We’ve landed. I am in Italy. I am in Rome!
………………
Last time I was “in Rome” I was not really “in Rome.” Mark and I flew into the Rome airport and attempted to get a rental car and drive up to meet our friends at this villa everyone was renting in the mountains between Umbria and Tuscany.
You will recall that I cannot drive a stick unless I am completely free of stress, have had lots of sleep, and driving someplace flat. It took us nearly 4 hours to get the rental car out of the Rome Airport parking garage, then we got lost and circled the ringed freeway around the city 9 times before we were able to take the right exit and head north.
As driver takes us into the city I actually recognize buildings from those 9 times were circled Rome in 2007. As we approach Rome proper, driver suddenly takes a right turn onto a dirt road. We seem to be in some sort of gypsy encampment with farm animals running around. We cross some rickety old bridge over a little river and then we are in some kind of overgrown deciduous forest. I know Mark and Lynnette are thinking the same thing I am. “This is just like when that cop hijacked us in Mexico! We are all going to die!” I am wondering if driver is actually some mercenary from the Vatican sent to punish me for my little fake prayer on the airplane.
Eventually driver gets us back on a proper road again. I have no idea why we took that little detour, but soon I forget as we are in Rome!
Block after block of apartment buildings, umbrella pine trees, Egyptian obelisks, scooters zipping in and out of traffic. Driver says it will be about 20 minutes until we get to our apartment.
Then we see a policeman in Armani standing in the middle of the road. He’s waving all traffic off to the left. Then we stop. There is wall to wall traffic everywhere. Total gridlock. Horns blaring. This is exactly like that scene in Fellini’s Roma. It’s awesome!
Driver turns and says it won’t be 20 minutes until we get to the flat.
About two hours later we drive right by the Spanish Steps!
We take a left onto Via della Croce, and are stopped by angry restaurant owners who have put outdoor seating all over the street. We can’t get through. We hop out and walk the final couple blocks to our apartment at Via della Croce, 50, 00187 Roma, Italy.
………………….
Our rental apartment is not the one we signed up for. The one we signed up for had three bathrooms so that we could live like civilized human beings. About a month ago we learned that that building would be having major renovations being done while we were there so we’d need to stay at a third world hell hole with only two bathrooms. Two bathrooms for three people! Can you imagine?
Actually, the apartment is great. The windows all face an inner courtyard, so the hustle and bustle from outside is all silencio.
There’s a tiny but functional kitchen, three bedrooms, a good sized living room with a dining table, satellite and local TV, Wi-Fi, and a huge outdoor deck with a dining table. And two bathrooms. For three people.
We unpack and then head back out onto cobblestoned Via della Croce. The street is really just an alley. One car could get through if the street were not covered with tables and chairs from all the restaurants. There are also some specialty stores selling meat, or cheese, or wine. And a lot of high end clothing stores.
It’s about 9:00PM and there are people out everywhere. I had asked the owner of the apartment where to eat on the first night and he suggested this place called Re degli Amic which is about 10 feet from our front door. We sit outside, on the street.
The host is funny and nice, but when we try to order some local wine he suggests chardonnay. I look up in horror and say, "Frascati o Est! Est!! Est!!! per favore?" I can tell he is like, “Well you look like fat stupid Americans, I just assumed you would want some vile fatty oak monster.” Quickly he says, “I will bring you Frascati Superiore!”
Now is probably as good a time as any to tell you the real purpose of this trip. Cacio e Pepe. Cacio e Pepe is why we came to Rome, to Italy. Cacio e Pepe is one of the most amazing things I have ever eaten. Is it up there with crab dip on Maui or magic potatoes in Provence? Yes. Oh yes.
After my first trip to Italy in 2007 I came home and read Michael Tucker’s book Living in a Foreign Language. This is where I first really learned about the food of Rome. Prior to that I thought all southern Italian food was just red sauce and meatballs. Not only is Roman food not like that at all, but really that is the food of Italian Americans in the Northeast of the US. I am against it.
Rather than plagiarize a description, I will just let you read Mr. Tucker’s description of Cacio e Pepe. Click here!
I have been making Cacio e Pepe for several years now, but I never had it made by anyone other than me. This will be a bit like teaching yourself Japanese and then going to Japan for the first time.
I quickly scan the menu. No Cacio e Pepe. But there are other authentic Roman dishes I know from Mr. Tucker, primarily Spaghetti Carbonara and Bucatini All'amatriciana.
We order some antipasti – salumi and grilled vegetables – which are amazing.
Then I get my first taste of real Roman Carbonara.
Awesome.
After dinner we walk a few block over to the Spanish Steps. It’s probably 11:00 PM but the place is packed with people from all over the world.
As I am thinking about this I remember music playing. Did my subconscious add this is later or was there music playing? Odd.
It's warm out, everyone is happy, and I am in Rome.
……………
I am awoken to the sound of a pterodactyl screaming. It could be some other type of flying dinosaur, but there is definitely something large and reptilian in the inner courtyard of this building and it is screaming. I look out the window, expecting to see some yellow eyes staring back at me, but I see nothing. I go out onto the deck, but again I see nothing. I go back to bed. I fall asleep for a moment and then I hear church bells. Oh yes, I am in Rome and it is Sunday. I guess there could be worse things.
We have no food here, so I make Mark get up and we go to find a grocery store. Google Maps take us on a bit of a wild goose chase. After several miles of going the wrong way we finally find a little grocery store just around the corner from our apartment. We get stuff to make breakfast and learn they eat kittens in salsa here.
Of course we forget to get coffee. There are a couple of those little Italian stove top coffee makers in the kitchen, but the only coffee in the house is decaf!
It’s raining out, but it’s warm and we are in Rome.
After the Florence thunderstorm debacle of ’07 we are well prepared with umbrellas. We head out to walk over to the Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II.
Victor was the guy who unified Italy in the 1800’s. I had no idea this giant thing was built to celebrate Italian unification. I had always thought it was built by Mussolini and was a monument to Fascism.
I am so glad we went here first. There are great views of the city:
The Vatican:
The Coliseum:
The Forum:
The Pantheon:
And other things:
We go to a nearby church to check things out and I nearly fall and kill myself while stepping on the crypt of some old knight. Lynnette swears she saw a ghostly hand reach up and grab me. I blame the Vatican.
We head towards the Pantheon, but stop for pizza first. Roman pizza. Pizza Bianca. No tomato sauce.
Awesome.
…………..
I am so glad it's raining. I always wondered what they do about rain falling through the hole in the top of the Pantheon. Well, they have drains in the floor.
I can’t really believe I am here. Pictures are better than words.
Awesome.
Then we head over to the nearby Piazza Navona where they have fountains with nipples and such.
Dinner tonight is at some fancy place right next to the Spanish Steps. We don’t have reservations, but they fit us in.
Part of the restaurant is a large separate space where they are filming some kind of Top Chef Italy Gelato Challenge. I am not making this up.
We start off with some Negronis to drink, because why not?
Then we order some yummy Soave and some prosciutto and melon. That pig, the one in the prosciutto, was dead before I got to Italy and someone else would have eaten it if I didn't, so shut up.
They do have Cacio e Pepe on the menu. My hands shake as I order it as a primi. I am freaking out. What is it going to be like? I bet that they use way less pepper than I do! Oh god! What if I have been over peppering my Cacio e Pepe for years and I never knew! Oh god! Will it the pecorino taste way better that what I use? Oh god!
It arrives.
It has tomatoes in it.
My heart sinks.
This is a sin against humanity. A hate crime. I can’t tell how much pepper is in here. I can’t taste the pecorino. I can only taste tomatoes. I take a big gulp of Soave and cry into my wine glass.
For secondi Lynnette ordered a butchered baby lamb, I ordered whole Bronzino with its head still on and eyes intact, and Mark ordered Florentine Steak which is basically most of a dead cow.
This is meant to be shared by three or four people, and actually eaten in Tuscany where it came from, but Mark feels confident he can handle it and will suffer no ill effects even though he has not eaten beef in over three years.
Heading home, drunk and full of food we slowly and carefully climb down the Spanish Steps. Still packed with people and music is playing.
Of course we stop for gelato.
I have pistachio, because it is the best*.
Tomorrow, cooking lessons!
*Not my photo. I forgot to take one!
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