Sunday in Rome

If you follow this blog, you may very well know that each day I try to order two cappuccinos across the street in Italian. My goal is for no English to be spoken. In Italy, it is sometimes difficult to know if you should pay first or order first. Ask an Italian. It's a crapshoot. So I figured today I would just walk over to the bar, order the cappuccinos, then walk to the register and pay for them. Well, another employee other than the cashier I usually converse with asked me something in Italian, and at that point, I had nothing. I said, "Yeah, so I already ordered them over at the bar and now I have to pay." Fail.

Walking back on this sunny day, cool enough for a couple light layers, it was blatantly obvious that Sunday in Trastevere is straight up magic. There are groups of college students sitting in packs in outside establishments having lunch under plastic awnings and heaters. People, motorbikes, and cars fill the streets. And a strange new sight: elderly people who actually look like they belong here, chatting with each other, and walking back from church. There is no doubt about it. Rome is bustling and vibrant, and it's hard not to fall in love.

This next part is pretty boring. We did some planning, chores, and attempted for the 437th time to fix the Internet so Bug could do her job. Progress is being made. Success is out of reach. Screw this, it's time for lunch.

Once again, we set out into the winding, graffitied, cobblestone streets of our neighborhood. And once again, we had no plan. But the food gods of Roma were shining on us, as well as the sun, on this beautiful Sunday. We walked down a narrow crooked street lined on both sides with small tables placed (very) closely together. People, both young and old, are eating, drinking, smoking...yes, there is a lot of smoking here, mostly outside. We passed several places, turned around, and felt pulled to a place called Cacio e Pepe. This happens to be the name of a typical Roman dish (spaghetti or spaghettini, pecorino romano, and black pepper).

As we stand there deciding, a young(er than us) server in a black t-shirt, black sweatpants, and black shoes immediately comes up, says, "Oh, table for 2?," and calls out to his co-worker, "Due prosecco! Tavolo 7, adesso!" He was nice, helpful, and cracking jokes with anyone and everyone. It is common in Tras for many restaurants to have interiors on both sides of the street. As he is crossing, he cuts between passersby, poking them, laughing, eliciting laughs and confusion, tossing around jokes in Italian we cannot, yet, understand. As the people (especially 3 young, cute Spanish girls) who did not want to eat kept down the street, he continues to call out after them, as they turn and giggle and laugh. We wanted to know the joke. He was on a mission. He was a riot.

Once seated we ordered a plate of fried Roman treats: supplí (traditional with tomato sauce, and cacio e pepe), which is a fried rice ball traditionally eaten on the go; fried squash blossom with cheese and an anchovy inside, there are a lot of anchovies in Roma; and a baccalá, which is a dried and salted cod, reconstituted and fried "fish and chip" style. All very good. Next came the bucatini amatriciana, tomato sauce with pecorino romano and guanciale. So good. So hearty and way too filling. The third dish was another very hearty one: ossobucco. This was like comforting Sunday roast, with an Italian twist. Don't forget the bread for the scarpetta. This is a lovely tradition of sopping up any leftover sauce or juices from a meal with bread. Yum. At this point, it was time to jet.

After lunch we started walking and followed our ears just around the corner to Piazza Trilussa where we were immediately struck with the sights and sounds of an Italian cowboy singing Wonderwall. We had to stay. There was a crowd singing along (mostly). He then busted into Don't Worry Be Happy that segued into "4 Non Blondes" What's Up. Eventually Country Road.

We could hear other music just in front of us, on the bridge, once more. Well, we came upon Funkallisto, again. And, well, they started playing Cissy Strut. We were very excited and cheered at the end of the song: "Wooohooo! Cissy Strut! Yea Meters!!" This fell on American-funk-ignorant ears, unfortunately. We cared not. An Italian funk band was playing The Meters on a bridge over the Tiber at sunset on a Sunday. It was a good day.

Now is the time to pass all of the party-goers and retreat to our apartment in the heart of Trastevere. We truly cannot wait to see what tomorrow holds. Buonasera amici e famiglia!