A Top 5 List of Roman Food Moments

What I love: Food, lists, Rome.  Hence, a Top 5 list of the little food moments that made our Rome weekend so perfect:

5. Ketchup flavored potato chips: What can I say, they had a "smashing taste."

4. Conviviality: As a tourist, one too often feels like waiters and restaurant owners are begrudging in their treatment, if not completely indifferent or worse.  Thus the exceptions are all the more appreciated. I had low expectations heading into Miscellanea, a restaurant in the shadow of the Parthenon pitched in the guide books as cheap student fare, but it was one of our most memorable meals - mostly thanks to the setting and the service. No free table on the crowded sidewalk? No problem - another table was whisked outside and squeezed between two Italian couples. Enjoyed your meal? We're so glad you did, and here are two glasses of fruity fizzy dessert wine to celebrate. The food-to-price ratio was more than decent, and the people watching superb. We left feeling as friendly as our hosts. 

Jeff at the Spanish Steps, pepped and ready to go

3. Coffee bars: Gotta love a country that regulates the price of a cappuccino. Our first morning in a neighborhood coffee bar near the Spanish Steps: a short, plump gray-haired man with glasses sat on a stool behind the cash register, munching on his banana with one hand while accepting change and handing out receipts with the other. Behind the glass counter on the other side of the store, three middle-aged men in white aprons efficiently worked the machines and served up pastries. We set our receipt down (1 euro each), got our excellent cappuccinos, knocked them back, and left (very) small coins on our saucers. Shoulder to shoulder with average-looking Romans, able to master with confidence the basic Italian required ("Due cappuccino, per favore. Grazie! Ciao!"), we left feeling empowered to conquer the rest of the city. Or maybe that was just the coffee talking.

2. Giolitti's: This popular ice cream shop was so busy, I abandoned Jeff to tackle on his own the mob-like crowd around the counter. As Jeff elbowed his way through a sea of patrons, I watched from the comfort of the street as happy customers flowed out onto the sidewalk. I wish I had a picture of this; it was like every child's fantasy come true. Giant glass sundae dishes overflowing with mounds of gelato topped with whipped cream and cookies and cherries; petite gray-haired Italian ladies in tidy suits working their way around triple-decker cones (they didn't come any smaller); kids wide-eyed over cones grasped with both hands but precariously tipping anyway. Ah, the gluttony of a sunny Sunday afternoon.

The guy on the left is actively shaving the ice.

1. Italian shaved ice: Someone was complaining to me once that the "Italian shaved ice" we were eating (at the time of this conversation) was not "real" because it was not hand-shaved. What difference could hand-shaved ice make? I don't know scientifically, but once I had the "real" thing, it made a difference to me. After a hot afternoon of walking around Trastevere, we stopped along the river for freshly shaved ice with cherry syrup, canned cherries, and chunks of fresh coconut. Heaven.