Local Eats in Rome

by Cynthia Graber

 

Two words: fried artichokes.

Before my trip, I'd watched an episode of Gourmet's Diary of a Foodie, which a friend had produced in Italy. They filmed one scene at Il Giggetto, a restaurant in Rome's Jewish ghetto. Apparently one style of artichoke hails from the ghetto - even elsewhere in Rome, they'll offer artichokes "Jewish style" or "Roman style."

The television show my friend produced showed the men, whose family has owned that restaurant for three generations, preparing the flowery vegetables. In rapid-fire succession, they peel off the thick outer leaves, shave the peel from the stem, and dip the artichokes into boiling oil. The tender inner leaves fan out into the shape of a flower. Then they dip the chokes one more time, and each leaf individually browns and crisps right up.

Needless to say, I made a beeline to Il Giggetto as soon as I landed in Rome and ordered one of those artichokes. As happened in Florence (see the previous post), I was hungry and exhausted and scarfed down every last bit of tangy crunchiness before I even remembered that I had a camera with me. You'll just have to take my word that it looks like a flower, and tastes fantastic. I tried this style again at another restaurant outside the ghetto, but it wasn't nearly as good.

In Rome, I sampled the amazing, classic trattorias that everyone (appropriately) raves about. I think my favorite meal was at a restaurant near the Colosseum named La Taverna de Fori Imperiali, where I ate a simple, wonderfully fragrant pasta and bean soup, and shared a plate of different vegetables: grilled radicchio, eggplant caponata, fried artichokes. In each dish, the flavors melded perfectly. I ate there my last night, or I might have gone back for seconds.

But here's a strange place that you probably won't read about in the guide books. That's because, at least from the outside, there's no name.

 

That's what it looks like. Here's one of their display cakes.

 

Appealing? I didn't think so.

Here's how I heard about the place. My first night in Rome, I had dinner with a fellow journalist. I told her that I'd made a mad dash to ghetto for artichokes, and she mentioned a great shop down the street that everyone calls the "burnt cookie ladies." Burnt cookie ladies? I had to check this out.

So the next day, I went back to the ghetto, walked down the street, and found this little nameless bakery with burnt offerings in the window. I walked inside. There were a few women behind the counter, much ruckus in the kitchen, and a handful of Italians ordering. In the display cases were stacks and stacks and stacks of - yes - burnt cookies. Everything in the shop had this dark brown patina.

I have nothing against ugly food. I don't think pretty means it tastes better. (You should see some of the tasty messes I concoct.) But burnt? Still, I figured all the Italians couldn't be wrong, and there must be some secret tastiness hidden there.

I ordered a long baked bar, clearly one of their specialties. The woman tried to warn me about something, but I didn't understand. She called an old guy out of the kitchen. "Not soft - hard!" he admonished. I nodded, and bought it anyway.

This is what it what it looked like.

 

As you can tell, I devoured it. There was flour, and honey, and almonds, and sugar-coated almonds with a hint of orange. And what looked like burn tasted more like an intense coating of caramelization. Despite the nearly tooth-shattering texture, I couldn't stop eating it. The next day, when my friend came to town from Switzerland, I took him there. Wouldn't you take a visitor to a burnt cookie shop? That time, we got another one of the same, and a bag of little biscotti. Bizarrely, the biscotti were significantly softer, and rather cinnamon-y.

I'm dying to know the story of this little unnamed shop, but my Italian is nearly nonexistent. (And despite my previous beliefs to the contrary, the fact that I speak both Spanish and French does not mean that I can automatically make myself understood in Italy.) I did consider switching to Hebrew - the bakery is kosher, so there's a chance someone who works there speaks Hebrew. But they were all too busy, and I didn't want to be a bother.

I've asked my food contact in Florence, who's thinking of expanding her Taste Florence tours to Rome and Italy, to check it out. Who are these women? What's the story behind the burn? Did some Jewish lady 100 years ago caramelize her cookies, and despite the unappealing appearance, everyone begged her for more? And her legacy has lived on? Have you been to Rome - do you know the answer?

Comments

[Cynthia Graber]

As I received comments elsewhere, I'm going to place them here, for any future reader's enlightenment. This google search my friend did was quite enlightening - but I still want to know the story of how they came up with a burnt recipe in the first place!

From C.:

You ate...sweet hebrew pizza!

Boccioni
This is the only place in Rome to find real Roman Jewish baked goods. Get there early or order in advance if you want a challah (twisted bread) for your Friday Sabbath dinner. In additional to the traditional bread, they make an amazing Roman sweet challah with candied fruits. Also not to be missed, the ricotta or almond tortes, the honey biscotti. Sometimes called the “burnt bakery” for the sweet pizza ebraica that emerges from the oven, but it’s just as it should be with crisped raisins, nuts and fruits. The bakery is housed in the heart of Rome's former ghetto on the ground floor of a palazzo built by a wealthy merchant. If you look above the door, you can still the Latin inscription in which Manili proudly proclaims that “in the moment in which the city of Rome is being reborn, Lorenzo Manili, with love for his native land … in the year 1468 on July 22 at the age of 44 years three months and two days inscribed this." Via del Portico d’Ottavio, 1 tel. 06.687 8637
Closed Friday afternoon, Saturday and Sunday

[Cynthia Graber]

Here's another comment, from my travel partner:

The artichokes I got from Campo di Fiori (which I believe are the very ones on the picture) were absolutely delicious. I know it sounds completely decadent to fly down from Geneva to shop for greens in Rome (well we did do a little sight seeing too:-)... but this peculiar herb I got called barba di frate (friars beard I believe it is called) turned out really funky.... and yes I can witness that those burnt cookies though not appealing, were scrumptious.