Destination: Rome

I leave Rome more enamored with the Eternal City than ever. Tourism inundates Florence and Venice. But in Rome, while there’s plenty of tourism, the city is big enough that, culturally, we hit it like a bug hits a windshield on the freeway — bouncing off with almost no impact. The cultural juggernaut of Rome continues undaunted…and on its own terms.

And when it comes to organization, it’s not your father’s Eternal City. Traffic is sane. Smart cars (the “VW Beetles” of our generation) park as if they’re motorcycles, nosing head-first up to the curb. Taxis now have a strict and enforced €40 rate to and from the airport (no extra fees).

A restaurateur told me that, while a generation ago, wine was all different grapes fermented into a punch called Chianti, today it’s much better. “Super Tuscan” wines are among the best in the world. Each region takes pride in excellent wines. I just drank an unforgettable wine called Montiano from Lazio (the district around Rome). “Osteria” once meant a cheap and rustic eatery (back in the days when they advertised half-servings to people who couldn’t afford much). With Italy’s new affluence, “osteria” now means quality…but not necessarily cheap.

But the new affluence isn’t changing everything. For instance, eateries around markets that traditionally and creatively cooked up the bits of meat no one would buy, still do — to the delight of discerning eaters who know their tripe. A fine example is Trattoria da Oio a Casa Mia, in Rome’s colorful Testaccio district, historic home of the city’s slaughterhouses. Its menu — with specialties like its unforgettable Pajata sauce, made with baby lamb intestines — is a minefield of soft meats.

Anywhere in Europe, I find that the most colorful eateries with the freshest ingredients and best prices are often at or near the thriving outdoor produce markets.

In responding to my blog, someone commented that I’m forgetting the value of finding cheap eateries. Not really, but I am reconsidering the wisdom of going into a good restaurant uptight (with a $30 limit) when you can trust the chef for $50 and have a grand evening. This assumes you’re finding a small and honest place with an ethic of serving a good value…rather than ripping off the tourist. That’s the challenge for the savvy traveler (and guidebook researcher). With $90 to spend for three meals, I’d rather have one $50 blowout and two $20 dinners than three $30 dinners. My challenge as I research is to find the personality-driven restaurant where you’ll celebrate that $50 check.

Because of my research schedule (visit lots of restaurants while they are busy with diners, from 7:30-10:00 p.m.), I’ve been eating late — after 10 p.m. While this is tough for American tourists, it is clear to me that restaurants often have a touristy ambience from 7 to 9 and a more elegant, local ambience from 9 to 11. Trying — and generally failing — to turn down the chef’s favorite dessert at 11 p.m., I realize why breakfast is such a small affair for many Europeans. Hardworking restaurateurs are thankful for tourists eating early because that lets them turn the tables once over the course of the evening when, without tourists, they’d just serve one late sitting.

And language skills have little to do with the quality of the restaurant. In fact, last night my waiter declared, “The cook is in the chicken.” Later, when I ordered a tonic water, he asked me, “You want lice?”

My Rome guidebook is joy to update. While Rome used to be a jungle, now it’s a forest. In fact, if Paris is a formal urban garden, Rome is a fertile forest rewarding countless cultural truffles to those who know where to sniff.

Enjoying the new and strikingly modern building housing the Ara Pacis (Altar of Peace), I pondered the grand monument that kicked off the Roman Empire’s best two hundred years — the Pax Romana, or “Roman Peace.” They had what they wanted. Now, on their terms, there would be peace in the land. They were so dominant, with a military so huge, that — short of pesky little acts of terrorism on the fringes of its empire — there was no way for what it considered the barbarian world (anyone beyond its borders) to even quibble with dictates from Rome.

This Altar of Peace museum is so striking because it is literally the first building in the old center of Rome built after 1938 (when Mussolini shifted focus from construction to destruction). For the rest of my visit, the architectural charm of Rome was more clear — a city with no new buildings (and no electric lines, since everything is underground), coursing with people living well.

The city is infused with money. Things are actually working now: A fleet of new topless hop-on, hop-off tour buses (#110) is capped with a layer of wide-eyed tourists enjoying taped tours as they glide through the city; Lazio wine (from the region of Rome) is served with pride — I loved the Montiano; and the Termini train station is a sleek mall with everything you might want, and only a shadow of the rough edges that once made it the scariest station in Europe.

While not wanting to be ageist, I try to avoid old-school guides in my work. Too often, old-timers were trained by rote: “Loooook. Dees is dee Victor Emmanuel Monument. We no like…but eeees here. Loooook. Now you a see de beeeeeeautiful Trevi Fountain.”

Younger guides, on the other hand, venture away from the tour company scripts to explain today’s Rome. For instance, they explain that many politicians are corrupt, enriching themselves with their power. When some Romans vote, they actually slip a slice of salami into their paper ballot, check the box, and say, “Eat this, too.”

Rome epitomizes the male-dominated Mediterranean world. Going to dinner with Chiara, a Roman guide and friend of mine who’s petite, blonde, and with a thin (almost cartoony) voice, I learned a lot. Chiara explained, “Italian men just can’t take a blonde seriously — especially one with a thin voice.” In fact, she refuses to guide Italian groups now that she knows American groups take her seriously.

Our target for dinner: Restaurant Fortunato, the kind of place with photos on the walls of the owner posing with fat and happy customers like Condi Rice, Tarik Aziz, Bill Clinton, and Ronald Reagan. Sitting down, we were immediately cased out by the businessmen and politicians who seemed to fill the place. I didn’t notice until Chiara explained. “About 20 percent of Roman women are blonde like me, but we’re still considered exotic.” When Chiara’s father takes her to dinner here, she enjoys the strange looks as other men fantasize about their relationship.

I wanted Signor Fortunato to understand that Chiara was much more than a good-looking blonde. I pointed to her head and said, “Fifty percent of my Rome guidebook came from this beautiful head.” He looked past her at me and said, “Bene, 15%.” It’s a man’s world in Rome.

Despite the lack of respect for women, the food was great. Chiara insisted on vignarola: artichoke, peas, and fava beans with bacon. It’s only available during a perfect storm of seasonality, with everything bursting with flavor. Vignarola is on the menu early this year. In fact, this year’s early spring is bringing confusion in Rome…old timers can’t remember ever seeing vignarola on the menu before Easter.

Chiara shared her thoughts on dining in the USA: “American food has to travel, look good, and be available all year. Italian food does none of that…just taste good. We Italians have never seen apples with wax. I even saw waxed lemons — shiny only in the USA. For Italians, your lemons are too uniform.”

Another Chiara observation: “An American can’t wait in a restaurant. They eat bread dipped in oil before the meal comes…as if to escape the actual meal. Talk, sip your wine, relax…the real food is coming…and worth the wait.” At Fortunato, that’s especially true.