debtors and dicks.

I have spent a lot of time listening to Asa's unstoppable monologues, which are always very entertaining, except for the fact he doesn't set out to entertain anyone. Not even himself. Makes me wonder how much funny material is floating around in his head.

On this occasion, Asa has the wonderful new job of phoning a long list of people up and chasing them for money. He's new to this job. His old one was to feed the people who came into Louis. And he was given this new one because he could in his own unledger-like way, methodically keep extremely detailed historical records of what went in and out of his kitchen.

I can see the logic in the transference of skills - how he will be just as good in keeping track of these people until they paid. My personal opinion is that someone with previous experience in breaking knuckles will be a lot more effective. It's a difference in strategy : insistence vs persistence. But these are customers as much as they are debtors and we need a gentle but firm approach, I am told.

And so he tries everything to put deep fear over the other end - the policeman voice, the big words but the story over the phone is always the same...can you send a statement?....he's not here at the moment, can you call back Thursday afternoon?..etc...etc. It takes no guessing everyone plays dumb, is an ass or is simply a dumb ass. If there was a job devoid of joy, success or humour, this is one of them.

And then from across the desk and in all seriousness, I hear this, which sent Phil cracking and me in tears :

I know what I need to get. I need a noticeboard with Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday on it so when I get in and I'll know I spoke to Little Dick on Monday, need to call No Dick on Tuesday, send a statement to Dave with 3 Dicks, make Double Dick squeal on Friday. 

I am sorry to not be there the day Asa's patience runs out with these people and he defaults to his initial Al Capone "Fuck you, pay me" tactic. Not sorry because it means he has cracked. Sorry because I will miss another incredibly funny moment. 

would you like some rice in your gelato?

This is another reason why I like the Ghetto.

Right across from it is this completely unassuming and easily dismissible gelateria. There are no bright lights. No fancy signage. No modern decor. No fancy packaging. No crew of young servers in uniform. No free wifi. Nothing that shouts 'Original Italian'. No one round the corner handing out flyers. No English. Nothing to encourage a tourist to check it out. And things will not improve much in that department, I suspect. The people who seem to rush in here are the regular customers who are a little old and their pace is more of an amble.

What it does have is a few things that more than makes up for what it doesn't have. Or, depending on how you look at it, are the things that make it into such a gem of a place :

... a history of artisan gelato making tradition
... a silent wall of awards won every year
... a few unusual flavours
... incredible gelato

On my last day in the bakery, the bakers wanted me to try something different and wanted to take me there to taste the very special gelato with riso. Have you tried gelato with riso? It's very good. It's the only one in Rome. We go after we have finished. It's right here, very near the bakery. Not very far. We'll all go. Won't take long. And then we'll go home. 

At first, I stupidly thought riso gelato would taste of rice, which of course would mean that it would taste of nothing much. Instead, there are whole grains of rice in the gelato. Quite like eating a risotto, only it's cold and sweet. I tried these flavours and a few more - the rose, the pistachio, the hazelnut and they were all too good.

And this completes the trio of we're-not-flash-and-we-don't-care-places in and around the Ghetto.

The bakers Lorenzo and Renato. 

fewer pictures, more conversations.

I took far less pictures of the bread in Roscioli than anywhere else. Partly because the light in the bread section wasn't that great and also partly because things move so quickly in the tight space with 4 of us being there, there was little chance. I think the best pictures of the bread were the ones I took home for lunch.

The entirety of the bread section.

Renato.

What I did have a lot of are conversations with Renato, the head baker and taught me little things like how to stand and how to round that both saved me a lot of energy.

Me and my half Italian managed to understand quite a few things - like how he goes running after finishing an overnight 9 hour shift, his mom is Jewish and she can make torta and all the sweets just like they do in the burnt bakery, they used to live directly upstairs from it for many years, has a 4 year old daughter Nicole and is into photography. Really into photography. Taught himself how to and loves it because it fills him with positivity and sets his mind free. His words.

 

Now I just need to find a way to get him the lens he is desperately after.

It's the least I can do.

bad, famous but nice.

I could have been accused of having run away to join the circus in Kimberly before and now it looks like I've entered the world of the Italian mafia. 

This is Pierluigi. He is 3 times the size of me and is covered in more tattoos than my facebook friends. He owns and runs the very successful and well known Roscioli Bakery and Restaurant. His pizza bianca, spaghetti carbonara, stock of Italian cheese and wine are just some of the regular staples featured by all kinds of reviews. And he is buds with Anthony Bourdain. 

...Except I didn't know all of these when I met him...I just wandered in off the streets. In retrospect, my ignorance landed me a great opportunity. Had I known how famous he was, I would have convinced myself that there'd be no chance and walked on by.



I suspect the reason why he was approached to be on No Reservations was not entirely due to the success of his bakery, restaurant or his taste of excellent Italian food. I suspect it also has something to do with the fact that his bad boy image matched the irreverence of Anthony Bourdain.

Either there is absolutely nothing bad with this baddie or I have been, again, incredibly lucky. Every time I made a request and expected Pierluigi to say no and put an end to my jolly adventures, he responds by giving me nothing short of full access. And I mean INSTANT FULL ACCESS TO EVERYTHING, ANYTIME.


This was the entire conversation we had when I first met him :
Hello. I've been visiting bakeries in Europe learning how to make real artisan bread. Can I come and have a look at your bakery? 
When? 
Er...I'm in Rome for only a week, so...tomorrow? 
Unfortunately the bakers work at night. 
(Shit, this means no.)
But you can come tomorrow at 6:30 in the morning. 
Really?! For how long? 
For as long as you want, until you are tired. 


When the bread section finished its work by 10:30, I asked if I could hang by the pasticceria, to look at how the nice torte and biscuits got made and this was how it went : 
Sure, have a look. Paolo! Fabrizio! (pastry chefs rush out). This is Ai Ming. She wants to have a look. Vai! Vai!


When the pastry bakers were done for the day, I decided to go for broke and hit him with a multi-day pass, I thought this must be pushing it. Again, all he said was : 
Sure, you can come back any time and whenever you want. 

And on my last day, when I said farewell, he ended it with : 
When you are in Rome again, you can come back any time you want. This is your home. 


If his tattoos didn't have the mirror effect of making me feel tough and hard, I am certain I would have hugged him and cried. And for a moment I think, this is the closest I'll ever come to to being completely taken by a bad boy.

it's not what's above the door; it's what's on it.

Lorenzo waiting outside Sora Margherita.

Sora Margherita. Another institution in the Ghetto, along side the Burnt Bakery.

So old and so good that they don't care to put a name out front. All the front door has is at least two dozens of 'Best Rated...' stickers going back to God knows when. They've been around for so long (Renato, the head baker at Roscioli, said his mom cooked for them for over 30 years), they don't make any effort to make a name for themselves. There are lots of other people who are more than happy to do it for them and in a reversal of roles, want their names to be on their door.

Finding it requires some homework searching for it on the net and then some legwork finding it because when it is closed and the chairs and the little chalkboard outside are packed away, there is little clue of what a lies behind the door. 

Once again, there is nothing fancy inside the restaurant. It is small and cram and the noise of all the ordering, serving and eating bounce off the walls continuously. If you want to be in close quarters with the locals, watch how they enjoy their food, listen to their chatter, then this is the place to be...in addition to the food, of course. To just focus on how good the food was seems to do it some injustice. The intended or unintended preservation of the place is half the magic.

Highly recommended for those in Rome and without any Italian friends. Walk in feeling like a tourist and for the next hour or so, it will feel like spending time in someone's home having a nice homecooked meal. Eat here and it will feel like you have been to Italy more than a picture in front of the Spanish Steps does. Almost guaranteed you will walk out feeling a little more Italian.

Battered Cod.

Jewish Artichoke.

Deep fried twice over, everything can be eaten.

Normal side up.

Grilled lamb.

Tripe.

merely giving the write response.

Made me laugh.

a rather sweet experience.

Ricotta and Artichoke Torta.

Apple strudel.

Some of the pastries and cookies I managed to make and take pictures of before they went into the oven or went out into the shop.

sold.

If these look really good to you, then you'd understand what I was sold on when I came across the
Roscioli Bakery.

When I saw everything else in the shop, it was pretty much a done deal.