You’re looking at a large bowl of perfectly made carbonara, one of the four classic pastas of Rome. It was my dinner one night last November at the Osteria de Fortunata, just off the Campo Fiori. I was staying in Rome with my wife Carla’s brother, Robert, and his daughter Maya. Robert teaches architecture at the University of Washington. Serendipitously, the school has a campus—and owns a building—literally overlooking the Campo, a space that’s been a market square of some kind for over 2,000 years.
I’d been invited to do a wine training in Abruzzo in early December and took the opportunity to spend the week before, Thanksgiving week, with Robert and Maya. Usually, my wine trips involve flying somewhere and back, with little or no free time beyond the scheduled gig. To that point, I’ve seen many hotel rooms and airports in exotic locales, but rarely had free time. But the trips when I have taken some extra time have always turned out best. Such was the case with Rome.
I’ll spare you all the home movies from the trip of things like seeing the Colosseum, the Forum, the Vatican Museum, St. Peter’s, and the like. No surprise all were better than advertised. If you’re a fan of ancient history—and I am, there is no better place than Rome. After all, all roads supposedly lead to it. But more than that, Rome happens to be in Italy—the best place on planet earth to eat and drink.
Back to the bowl of pasta. Osteria Fortunata has five locations in that part of the city, all within 20-minutes of each other. You’d think that many outlets would cannibalize each other’s business. But this is Rome where the density of restaurants per city block is beyond Paris, London, or New York. Walk past any of the Fortunata stores on a typical night and it’s packed. We had dinner at two different locations, one literally on the Campo and the other two blocks away. Both times we had to wait at least 20 minutes.
Enough background. The carbonara was easily the best pasta I’ve ever had. The pasta itself is made on site at each of the restaurants. In the last few years, ownership wised up to how touristas like to see the goods being made to order. When you stand outside the entrance across the alley with aperitivo in hand waiting for your table, you can peer into the front window and watch two ladies working magic with the semolina flour, rolling out and shaping different kinds of pasta at light speed. It’s impressive.
Back home, Carla and I have tried to make carbonara over the years with mixed results. Emphasis on mixed. One has to get the ratio of liquid to egg yolks to cheese right, not to mention adding that mix to the pasta at just the right time—assuming the pasta is also cooked properly to al dente. If you get it right, it’s like alchemy. Otherwise, the results range from soupy to frittata with noodles.
I had carbonara for the first time many moons ago in Ann Arbor when I was in grad school and Carla bartended at the Earle restaurant. I was momentarily taken aback when I learned it had raw egg yolks in it. But then the small cubes of bacon, which was actually guanciale, made the magic happen. Vitamin P. To a carnivore, there are few things better in life.
The kitchen at the Earle did a credible job and the pasta was delicious. But it was nothing like my bowl of carbonara at La Fortunata that night. To begin, the restaurant’s menu featured various apps and seconds, the latter including braised rabbit, saltimbocca Roman style, braised veal breast, and more. But the main event was the fresh pastas. The place is known for it, especially the four classics of Rome. All, by the way, were priced at €18—less than $20 American.
- Cacio e Pepe: Pecorino Romano cheese, and black pepper
- Gricia: the previous with added guanciale—cured pork cheek
- Carbonara: similar to Gricia with egg yolks added to the sauce
- Amatriciana: tomatoes added to the Gricia base.
My carbonara was a big-ass bowl of pasta (as seen above), easily 30% larger than I’d ever consider eating at home. But it was beyond delicious. After taking the first bite, I sat still, stunned at how impossibly good it was. The sauce was rich, creamy, and savory, but not heavy. The cheese added just the right bite and a bit of texture. The pasta was cooked to perfection—al dente with plenty of tooth. I have never had pasta that good before.
The wine we had with dinner was a recent vintage of Fiano di Avelino made just down the road in Campania from a small producer I’d never heard of. It was €28 on the list, and easily one of the best wines of its type I’ve ever had.
As we tucked into dinner, I kept wondering why the pasta was so good. After all, pasta is just pasta, right? Mind you I’d get assaulted for saying that in front of the wrong crowd, especially in Rome. But it’s true. You can make pasta anywhere with who knows how many things. I could even make it at home with all-Italian ingredients. But the net results wouldn’t be the same. In fact, they wouldn’t even be close.
That thought took me down a rabbit hole pondering how much the pasta in my bowl was site specific, with the ingredients all germane to this specific place. Not only that, but the history, tradition, and expertise that went into making it. And the fact that the Romans—as much or more than other regions in Italy—are obsessed with pasta. They’re obsessed with all food and drink, for that matter. Witness how consistently outstanding the espresso was everywhere I ordered it. Then there’s how the wines were all literally half the cost of what we’d pay in the U.S., thanks to the curse of our three tiered system.
Dinner that night with a tip, which is a new thing, was just over €100. I couldn’t do that well at home in Albuquerque for anything even pretending to be fine dining. Otherwise, we topped things off by walking about 20 minutes over to Robert and Maya’s favorite gelato place called Gelotti. It’s not far from the Pantheon. Gelato is one of those “when in Rome” things, and not just because, like the pasta, it’s as good as it gets. Romans—and most Italians—are in to getting gelato regardless of the season, even if it’s Thanksgiving week and the temps outside are getting brisk. But that doesn’t stop the locals from crowding into their neighborhood gelaterias to order their favorite flavors. After which they stand out front eating their gelato and chatting. Talk about civilized.
That night at Gelotti I went for my two favorite flavors; nocciola (hazelnut) and dark chocolate. Actually, just calling it dark chocolate doesn’t do it justice. It was more like chocolate-flavored dark matter. After paying, we ambled over several blocks down cobblestone streets, looking in shop windows. We ended up in front of the Pantheon and finished our gelato. I marveled at the huge facade of the building, thinking that it was over 2,000 years old and some form of church the entire time.
I also thought about how the Romans were amazing engineers and builders. We have strip malls that fall apart in less than 20 years, and roads that don’t even last that long before they need repairing. And yet here was an enormous and perfectly round building inside with a large circular opening in the dome called the oculus, which lets in sunlight and occasional rain. The floor underneath was built on a slight slope to collect any rain water. Again, genius engineering. And if they can design and build a structure that can last two millennia, is it a wonder they also make the best pasta? It’s just a shame one has to travel so far to enjoy it. But maybe that’s the price one has to pay. If that’s the case, sign me up, because nobody makes better carbonara than the Romans.
