More Roman Life

I have come across very few tyes of water I would constitute as being delicious, but Rome's water is delicious.  It does not matter where it comes from: the tap, bottled, or from one of these glorious structures scattered throughout the city.  The first few days we were here, I bought water.  These fountains are so amazing, I didn't even see them.  Now, I carry around an empty bottle everywhere I go and enthusiastically fill up whenever I see one.

Ariel was excited to show me what he learned from watching all the old Roman guys: if you don't have a bottle, you can plug the hole where the water comes out.  It will reroute to a hole on the top of the spout in order to take a sip; he looks like a natural.

Our neighborhood is called Trastevere, which means beyond the Tiber [river].  It was traditionally a working-class neighborhood, beginning at around 509 BC housing fishermen, sailors, and immigrants.  Today, the neighborhood is home to several unviversities, artists, foreign expats, and according to Wikipedia, famous people like it here too;) 

Wandering around in Trastevere often feels like navigating a maze.  Last night we were walking to dinner with a group, and we starategically combined my intuition with Ariel's compass; a winning combination we learned.  

I decided to dip down into this road as I walked to meet Ana at our spot which is on a pedestrian bridge above the Tiber.  I was glad I did because it made me happy to see these towels drying in the breeze.  

We've had some great meals in our home, and this soup was no exception.  Inspired by some dried Canneloni beans I found on one of my shopping excursions, this meal proved to be a comforting end of another long day in Rome.

Romans are very particular about what they injest, and when.  Morning time is a cappuccino with sugar, standing at the bar with lively conversation to start the day; breakfast is a sweet pastry.  No substantial meal happens until at least 1 pm; coffee is never served during a meal.  Dinner happens sometime after 8, but usually after 9. On Saturdays people stay out later than normal, and on Sundays the streets are sparce and most markets and shops are closed.   

Last Sunday morning, Ariel and I had planned on making an American breakfast at home, but we needed to shop for food first, so we decided to stop at a cafe instead.  People sitting around us on the patio were eating their morning snacks, along with coffee and juice; some had beer.  It was quite warm already.  Ariel and I decided to go out on a limb and order burgers with patine, a selection surprisingly found at the very top of the menu. At 12:30 PM the kitchen had not yet opened, so we were told we would have to wait a few extra minutes.  We were fine with that; we were in Rome, after all.  Turns out the patine were made with a potato similar to a Yukon Gold. They were sweet and crunchy, and everything I was missing in a fry.  

The silverware and napkin came in a paper bag, the condiments in packets. My Americano had sugar in it, without the cream I usually deam necessary.  It was the closest thing we are likely to find to an American breakfast in Rome.  It was absolutely perfect.