Minchilli - Eating Rome : living the good life in the Eternal City

elizabeth minchilli

EATING ROME

living the good life in the eternal city

St. Martins Griffin New York

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For Sophie and Emma, my Roman daughters

It is hard to thank an entire city, but I would like to say mille grazie to the men and women who own and work in the restaurants, bars, markets, gelaterie, bakeries, and other places that feed my family in Rome on a daily basis and who have taught me so much.

While I love the world of social media, and have many virtual friends out there who inspire and encourage me daily, I also have close friends here in Rome who have been my partners in crime as I try out new restaurants, test new cocktails, and generally use them as guinea pigs for recipes. Thank you, Jane Wietsma Gudgeon and Gillian Longworth McGuire. I know youve often sacrificed your slim figures for my benefit, and I thank you.

An extra-special thanks to author, chef, radio host extraordinaire, and sister Evan Kleiman, whom I have been cooking, eating, and traveling with for almost two decades. You have taught me more than you know.

Without my blog, this book would not have happened. And without my loyal readers, the blog would not exist. So mega thanks to all of you for being so supportive from the very beginning. While it may be my life here in Rome that Im writing about, it is your comments, suggestions, and kind words that not only keep it going, but keep it growing.

One reader gets an extra-special mention: my editor at St. Martins, Michael Flamini. Thank you, Michael, not only for being a loyal fan but for having the fantastic idea of turning my blog into this book. You are the best!

Working with St. Martins has been a dream. Rarely have I felt so loved and appreciated while working on a project. Thank you to everyone, especially Olga Grlic for the beautiful cover design. Vicki Lame wrangled my disparate mix of chapters, lists, photographs, and bits and pieces, and she managed to log them in and pass them along to the powers that be. The beautiful interior design is thanks to James Sinclair and Ralph Fowler. Additional thanks to Adriana Coada, Emily Walters, Kathryn Hough, Karlyn Hixson, Laura Clark, and the rest of the St. Martins Press team.

Thank you to my agent, Elizabeth Kaplan, whose balance of sane advice and boundless enthusiasm is just what I need.

As ever, my family gets the biggest thanks of all. First and foremost to my parents, Joseph Helman and Barbara Wood. How on earth you had the courage to pick up your three children and move halfway across the world to Rome, Ill never understand. But I am very glad you did. Thanks to my other parents, Ursula Helman and Roger Wood, for their love and support. And to my sisters, Robin Helman Whitney and Jodi Helman Multer: Im glad you were part of this delicious adventure from the very beginning. Although most people complain about their mothers-in-law, mine has not only been an inspiration, but has generously passed along her knowledge, from her kitchen to mine. Thank you, Rosa.

Finally to Domenico, Sophie, and Emma. You are the main subject of my blog, my book, and my life. Im not sure you signed up for this, but I hope youre enjoying it as much as I am. Mille baci.

When I was twelve years old, I decided I wanted to go away to camp. Im not quite sure where this desire came from, since I was far from sporty. I was definitely the one who was picked last for soccer and the entire idea of dodgeball still gives me nightmares. So it couldnt have been the lure of water-skiing or canoeing that made me think Id like to spend two months by a cold lake in Wisconsin. I think I must have been more attracted to the idea of smores by the campfire and perfecting the baked beans I had learned how to make at a Girl Scout cookout.

Once I got to camp I soon realized my mistake. After failing to ever stand up on my water skis and downright refusing to go for any frigid 6:00 a.m. wake-up swims, I tried to stay in the craft house, working on my ceramic and weaving skills while counting the days until I could finally return home and get back to the life I knew and loved in St. Louis.

While I was away at camp my parents decided to go on their version of camp as well. A three-week trip to Europe for the first time took them to Venice, Florence, and Rome. It was 1972 and Italy must have appeared to be almost like a different planet from suburban St. Louis. The language, the food, the life was like nothing they had ever seen. Rather than take home simple souvenirs of their time in Italy, they took home a plan, which they shared with me on my first day back at home from camp.

As I was happily unpacking my trunk, my mother came in to tell me that Id soon be packing it again. Were moving to Italy, she said. My father had sold his business, an art gallery, to our next-door neighbor, and the house where I had grown up was already rented to another family. They were arriving on September 1. And we were leaving.

How they had the courage to pick up three young children and move to a country where they didnt speak the language and knew no one is beyond me. I am pretty sure my grandparents thought they were insane. I know I did.

I was aghast. My school, my friends, my Barbies! Everything that I knew, and that I had desperately missed over the two months spent at camp, was being ripped away from me. But as I dried my tears and packed my Barbies (there was at least that small comfort) I got ready for what was to be one of the most important events in my life.

While there were the usual hiccups of moving to any new citymissing the school bus on the first day; making new friendsI soon shed the fears and misgivings that any twelve-year-old would have, and traded them in for a head-over-heels, lifelong love affair with this ancient city. Although we only spent two years living in Rome, they were impressionable ones. Many of the strongest memories I have from my childhood date from this time, andnot surprisinglymost of them have to do with food. The discovery of