We flew into Leonardo da Vinci airport (aka Fiumicino) on the tail of a terrific thunderstorm, and arrived in the city to find shopkeepers sweeping water out of their doorways. The Coliseum was flooded, and a small, lopsided handwritten notice on the entrance declared that it was “closed, due to unforeseen circumstances”. I had a temper tantrum and felt like biffing one of the centurions hanging around the place (trying to persuade everyone to have their photos taken with one of the Ninth Legion – one had a bit of orange feather boa on top of his helmet). The Lawn Ranger was calm as always, and said it all looked in very good nick considering how old it was, and he was sure there wasn’t much inside anyway.
Fortunately for us, the apartment we had rented was on the third floor and not in a basement. Unfortunately for us, the word “apartment” was not an accurate description, as it consisted in total of an en-suite bedroom and a balcony. The “kitchen” was a fridge in a cupboard with a two-burner gas ring on top and a sink next to it. The bathroom was bizarre, almost the same size as the bedroom with a huge washbasin big enough to wash a ten-year old in, a loo and bidet, and a miniscule shower that dribbled tepid water one minute, scalding the next, and then an ice-cold jet. As it turned out, the weather was so warm that we spent most of our time there worn out from sight-seeing, and sitting on the balcony overlooking the neighbours’ gardens.
When in Rome...so we tried to do as the Romans do, eating in a local restaurant in a residential area rather than a tourist trap. As the apartment happened to be in a residential area, the one we were told was the best turned out to be literally round the corner. La Carbonara (no, not the one in Campo de’ Fiori) was tucked away on the Via Panisperna, its modest frontage belying the size of the interior, which stretched back deep inside the building. Inside it was traditional, with a lot of dark wood, and not very comfortable chairs. The walls were literally covered with handwritten comments, cartoons and signatures – a very good excuse for never decorating again. (Might try it at home, if I can ever get the anaglypta off the walls.)
After too much breakfast, we had been careful about lunch and just eaten paninis, but we failed to resist the lures of the gelateria and overdosed on triple scoops (yummy, but surprisingly filling). So neither of us could manage an antipasti. The menu featured dishes that never appear on your friendly neighbouring trattoria in Torquay, and there was no English translation. Neither was there time for speculation or, it appeared, explanation, as the staff did not regard patience as a virtue. After agonising over a whole section of apparently interesting main courses, only to discover from the stern-faced servitor from hell that they all featured tripe, we both opted for pasta.
I went for the eponymous carbonara as it seemed the obvious choice, and the Lawn Ranger went for a shape of pasta I had never seen before with a sauce of tomato, Italian sausage and peppers, which he said was delicious. In the interests of accuracy, I checked out his assessment with a forkful, and I can vouch for its veracity. The carbonara was good but not a million miles better than some I have had in the UK, which was a disappointment, but maybe I have just been eating in all the right Italian restaurants.
Couple of cowards that we were, we bottled out on the tripe and ordered scallopine with a Marsala sauce. The veal was tender enough, but its flavour was indeterminate; the lake of sauce which smothered it was over-seasoned and acidic, tasting as though white wine had been added as well as the Marsala and then not sufficiently cooked off. A shared Tiramisu (OK, a cliché but almost unavoidable in this situation) was again, perfectly acceptable, and with a good espresso kick, but was otherwise unremarkable.
Inoffensive if not memorable food, and the bill was very reasonable (for a capital city) at about 65 euros for two of us, including a bottle of Montepulciano (not the wine already place on the table, which the sommelier was trying to bully us into having). But the whole experience was let down by service that was impatient and peremptory. It was a Saturday night and the place was packed with regulars (we had booked a table the night before) so one could understand that they would want to have a second (or at this rate, even a third) sitting, but we definitely felt rushed and not particularly welcome.
The pressure to order meant that there was no chance of a leisurely aperitif, let alone a thorough study of the menu. We were in at 7 pm but out in the street well before 8.30, feeling a sense of anti-climax. A couple of Aussies at the next table (the only non-Italians in the place apart from us) were clearly terrified of the waiters, especially the dominatrix of a sommelier, and scuttled out into the night, puddingless, even earlier than we did.
Verdict: value for money 8/10 service 3/10 quality of food 7/10
La Carbonara, Via Panisperna 214, 00184 Roma.
Tel: 06 482 5176
No comments:
Post a Comment