Cheddar & Ale Soup with Potatoes

Ingredients

3 slices bacon, roughly chopped
1 large onion, roughly chopped
1 12-ounce bottle of dark beer
3 yukon gold potatoes, peeled and roughly chopped
1 14-ounce can low-sodium chicken broth
1 cup water
2 ½ cups 1% milk
¼ cup all-purpose flour
1 ½ cups low-fat shredded sharp Cheddar cheese

Instructions

1.  Add the bacon to a large, heavy-bottom soup pot and cook until crispy, about 5 minutes. Add the onion and cook for another five minutes, until it is soft and translucent.
2. Pour in the beer and bring the mixture to a boil, boiling for 5 minutes. 

• Then add in the potatoes, broth and water and cover with a lid. 
• Simmer the soup for 20 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender enough to be speared with a fork. 
• Then, use a potato masher until the potatoes are broken up into very small pieces, or your desired consistency. 
• Whisk in the flour and milk and bring the mixture to a simmer and cook for another 5 minutes. 
• Stir in the cheese and serve. Or, turn off the heat and cover until the ready to serve.

MAC & CHEESE

MAC & CHEESE

Think about comfort food and you'll probably conjure up an image of a bubbling crock of mac & cheese. The problem is, short of mayo straight from the jar, you'd be hard-pressed to find a food with more calories per gram. But we believe that a creamy but relatively healthy mac & cheese is an inalienable right of every American—and we've cracked the code.

The Fix: Many restaurants use low-cost, high-calorie cheeselike substances of the Velveeta variety. Instead, swap in bechamel—an easy, creamy white sauce. Add flavor-packed sharp Cheddar, along with lower-calorie Swiss and mozzarella for more meltability. To finish, top with Parmesan and panko, and broil for a crunchy crust.

MACARONI & CHEESE
You'll need:

2 cups elbow macaroni, fusilli, or cavatappi pasta

2 Tbsp butter

2 Tbsp flour

2 cups 2% milk

1 cup shredded extra-sharp Cheddar

1/2 cup shredded mozzarella

1/2 cup grated Gruyere or other Swiss cheese

1/4 cup Greek yogurt

1/2 cup panko bread crumbs

1/4 cup grated Parmesan

Pepper to taste

How to make it:

1. Cook the pasta according to package instructions until just al dente. Drain and reserve the pasta.

2. Meanwhile, melt the butter in a saucepan over medium heat. Sprinkle in the flour and cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Gradually whisk in the milk and cook, stirring frequently, until thickened, 5 minutes. Add the Gruyere, Cheddar, and mozzarella, and stir until melted. Cut the heat, add the yogurt and cooked pasta, and toss.

3. Heat the broiler. Pour the mac & cheese mixture into an 8" square baking dish. Top with bread crumbs and Parmesan, and season with black pepper. Broil until the bread crumbs are golden brown, about 5 minutes.

(Makes four servings)

Estmated average restaurant mac & cheese
Calories: 1,380 Calories
Fat: 96 g
Sodium: 3150 mg

Our mac & cheese
Calories: 595
Fat: 28 g

Sodium: 462 mg

SAVE
Calories: 785
Fat: 68 g
Sodium: 2688 mg

Read more at Men's Health: http://www.menshealth.com/nutrition/healthier-comfort-food#ixzz2LIHRtDNk

THAI CHICKEN CURRY

INGREDIENTS:

1 Tbsp peanut oil or canola oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 tsp fresh minced ginger
1 large onion, sliced
1 Tbsp red Thai curry paste
1 cup chicken stock
1 can light coconut milk
1 large sweet potato, peeled and cut into 3/4"cubes
1/2 lb green beans, trimmed
1 lb boneless skinless chicken breast, sliced
Juice of one lime
1 Tbsp fish sauce (optional)
Fresh cilantro or basil, for garnish

MINUTES 0-8Prep seasoning base
In a large saucepan, heat the oil on medium. Add the garlic, ginger, and onion and saute until soft, about 5 minutes. Add the curry paste and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Stir in the chicken stock and coconut milk.

MINUTES 9-23
Simmer the curry

Bring the mixture to a simmer, add the sweet potato, and cook for 10 minutes. Stir in the green beans and chicken. Cook the mixture until the vegetables are just tender and the chicken is cooked through, about 5 minutes more.

MINUTES 24-25
Finish the dish

Add the lime juice and fish sauce (if you're using it). Serve the curry over steamed brown rice and garnish with cilantro or basil if you like. Makes 4 servings

PER SERVING: 440 calories, 31 grams (g) protein, 45 g carbohydrates (5 g fiber), 15 g fat, 660 milligrams sodium

HERBED GOAT CHEESE AND ROASTED RED PEPPER SPREAD

		HERBED GOAT CHEESE AND ROASTED RED PEPPER SPREAD HOLIDAY 1999 BY JOHANNA BURKHARD
		A tasty colourful spread to have handy in the fridge over the holidays. It's great with toasted baguette slices and pita crisps as well as vegetable dippers, such as baby peeled carrots, fennel slices and cauliflower florets. 1 red pepper 8 oz (250 g) soft goat cheese 4 oz (125 g) feta cheese, preferably goat's milk, crumbled 1/3 cup (75 mL) chopped herbs such as basil, oregano, parsley and chives Freshly ground black pepper to taste 1. Preheat broiler. 2. Place pepper on baking sheet; broil, turning often, until skin is charred. Place in a bowl covered with plastic wrap. When cool, peel and seed; cut into strips. Drain on paper towels. 3. In food processor, purée pepper and cheeses until smooth. Transfer to a bowl; stir in herbs and season with pepper. Cover and refrigerate for up to 5 days. Makes 1 1/2 cups (375 mL)

Corn, Potato and Onion Chowder

Corn, Potato and Onion Chowder
Fresh corn on the cob gives this hearty soup a delicate sweet flavour. If you plan to purée the soup for a smooth texture, don't worry about dicing and chopping the vegetables too finely.

Preparation Time: 15 Minutes
Cooking Time: 25 Minutes
Servings: 4 to 6
Ingredients:

3 slices bacon, cut into 1/2-inch (1 cm) pieces
2 Ontario Onions, finely chopped (about 3 cups/750 mL)
1 jalapeño pepper, cored, seeded and finely diced
4 cups (1 L) sodium-reduced chicken broth
5 cups (1.25 L) Ontario Corn kernels (about 4 cobs)
3 Ontario Potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2-in (1cm) cubes (about 3 cups/750 mL)
1-1/2 tsp (7 mL) chopped fresh thyme
1 Ontario Tomato, seeded and finely diced
1/4 cup (50 mL) sour cream (optional)
Preparation:

In large saucepan, cook bacon over medium heat until browned and crisp, about 5 minutes. With slotted spoon, transfer bacon to paper towel-lined plate. Pour off all but 1 tbsp (15 mL) of the bacon fat.

Add onions and jalapeño pepper to pan; cook, stirring, until onions are very tender, about 5 minutes. Add broth, corn, potatoes and thyme; bring to boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to medium-low; simmer until potatoes are tender, about 15 minutes.

For smooth texture if desired, purée with immersion blender or in food processor.

Garnish each serving with bacon, tomato and sour cream (if using).



Nutrients per serving

(when recipe serves 6)
Protein: 8.0 grams
Fat: 6.0 grams
Carbohydrates: 43.0 grams
Calories: 250
Very High Source of Fibre

A Walking Tour of Rome

Welcome to the passeggiata, the ultimate pre-­prandial Roman ritual (and, might we add, a good way to build up an appetite). Here’s the must-do route:

Giolitti Gelateria

ByJANET NEZHAD BAND

JANUARY 2012 ISSUE

RELATED

Relishing Rome

27 Rome Restaurants

A Photo Tour of Rome

Food & Drink

Rome

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Begin your prowl around 5 p.m. at the 1 Piazza Navona, where you can people-watch in front of the Bernini fountain. Stroll toward the 2 Pantheon and, after a few minutes of staring at the great domed roof, indulge in a granita di limone from Giolitti (Via Uffici del Vicario 40). Yes, it’s right before dinner, but we won’t tell.

It’s now about 6:30—time to head toward the Via del Corso. The 3 Piazza di Montecitorio is home to the Italian parliament’s Chamber of Deputies. The red-granite obelisk dates from the sixth century b.c. and was claimed by Augustus as a trophy of his victory over Mark Antony and Cleopatra. Just beyond is the
4 Piazza Colonna, named for the second-century-a.d. column commemorating Marcus Aurelius’s military victories.

Cruise north on the Via del Corso, taking in the shop windows and the festive atmosphere. Romans have converged all around you, chatting on cell phones, pushing strollers, and taking the evening air. On the Via Condotti, you’ll pass Italian icons of more recent vintage—Bulgari! Ferragamo! Gucci!—on your way to the 5 Spanish Steps. Every visitor to Rome ends up in the Piazza di Spagna at some point; it was once a favorite hangout of Keats and Byron, and it’s still popular with young romantics—though these days they’re most likely to be amorous teenagers.

While away some time window-shopping the many art galleries and antiques shops that line the charming cobblestoned Via Margutta, where Fellini once lived. Take a minute to pose in front of the 6 Fontana degli Artisti, a tribute to artists and their changeable outlooks.

Continue toward the monumental 7 Piazza del Popolo, which offered ancient travelers their first view of Rome. In the center of this vast traffic-free square, you will find another of Augustus’s Egyptian trophies—as well as a phenomenal Michael Jackson impersonator. The Church of Santa Maria del Popolo has paintings by Caravaggio and the Chigi chapel, designed by Raphael.

From here, who knows? You’ll be ready to eat, at any rate. Pick a point on this map—it offers a Roman restaurant for every taste, whether you’re craving crudo or carciofi.

View Walk of Ages in a larger map

Eating Out in Rome: Where the Locals Go

Agata e Romeo was recently on everyone’s lips as the must-go restaurant. Set somewhat apart from the bustle near the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore, it has all the trappings of très haute cuisine: the dollop-and-swirls approach to plating, formal service, and tastefully small portions. Dishes range from inventive—grilled foie gras with red-onion ice cream—to the high end of ordinary (grilled salmon). Dish to get: The risotto with seafood and lemongrass sauce earned a place in Guida Gallo: 101 risotti dei migliori ristoranti del mondo—“101 risottos from the best restaurants in the world” (Via Carlo Alberto 45; 446-6115; entrées from $56; tasting menu with wine pairings, $230).

Il Pagliaccio, near the Campo dei Fiori, is the sort of establishment where your handbag gets a special stool and the menu of bottled waters takes up an entire page. The patrons are as stylish as the decor. The servings are piccolissimi by traditional Italian standards. Creative and unexpected combinations—scallops with pear cream and cashews—are handled with finesse. Dish to get: Exquisite desserts from chef Marion Lichtle include a concoction built on chestnut ice cream (Via dei Banchi Vecchi 129; 6880-9595; entrées from $56).

Trattoria, Filippo La Mantia’s first restaurant in Rome, is reached through a discreet sliding glass door that looks like the entrance to a small bank branch. Two flights up, the austere modern dining room feels light-years away from the antiquity of the Centro Storico.Dish to get: The divine caponata with pine nuts and a hint of Asian spice is an inspired tweak of a Sicilian classic. The star chef still keeps his spoon in the pan here, even though he has opened another venue—see below (Via Pozzo delle Cornacchie 25; 6830-1427; entrées from $32).

Filippo La Mantia, the chef’s gorgeous new space in the Majestic Hotel, quickly became the toast of Rome for foodies who don’t believe innovative cuisine has to be served in a minimalist setting. Here, La Mantia has continued his one-man campaign against garlic and onion (he won’t use them) and demonstrated for discerning diners how citrus accents enhance food’s natural flavors. Dish to get: The octopus salad with lemon sauce and celery (4214-4715; entrées from $56).

Quinzi e Gabrieli, convenient to parliament and the government ministries, is favored by power players in business attire. The waiter begins pouring champagne the minute you arrive at the table, ready or not, and a parade of elaborate seafood platters follows. Dish to get: The cuttlefish with crunchy artichokes is a nice alternative to the many lobster dishes (Via delle Coppelle 5; 6879-389; entrées from $50).

Glass Hostaria’s chef, Cristina Bowerman, spent 14 years in Austin before returning to Rome to earn a Michelin star. The room features a modern glass design fitted into a medieval building, and the crowd is equally modern and stylish. The menu is a list of surprising combinations, such as lamb in a coffee crust. Dish to get: Pine nut pasta buttons in pesto consommé (Vicolo del Cinque 58; 5833-5903; entrées from $35).

PIZZA
La Montecarlo is one of the two pizzerie near the Piazza Navona that dominate everyone’s list. And it is the only one open at lunch. It’s bare-bones, with pies slapped onto dented aluminum platters, but the thin-crust pizza is outstanding. Pie to get: Squash blossoms with a white sauce (Vicolo Savelli 13; 686-1877; pizzas from $15).

Baffetto, nearby, is mentioned in the same breath, but it’s only open in the evening. Go early (before 7 p.m.) to avoid a wait. Pie to get: Mushroom, artichoke, and sausage with an egg on top (Via del Governo Vecchio 114; 686-1617; pizzas from $12).

Casina Valadier is a stately villa at the edge of the ­Borghese Gardens. A city built on hills has many good views, but this is one of Rome’s most congenial. Both the villa’s wraparound balcony and its ground-floor terrace offer a broad prospect out over the city. The Sunday lunch is old-style: two hours of seriously indulgent eating. Dish to get: Whether it’s on the menu or not, the chef’s signature beef fillet with foie gras—filetto di manzo al vino rosso con fegato grasso e pommes fondants—is always available (Piazza Bucarest; 6992-2090; entrées from $20).

La Terrazza, the restaurant and bar on the roof of the Hotel Eden, is great for cocktails and spectacular panoramic views. Dish to get: Hazelnut-crusted lamb loin with wild mushroom cream (Via Ludovisi 49; 478-891; entrées from $46).

NEIGHBORHOOD STARS

Rome’s neighborhoods have long had their own cultures and, in the past, even proprietary cuisines. Although the city’s hoods have largely lost their insular coherence, Romans still go to often-boisterous local restaurants to experience the soul of their communities. Some favorites:

CENTRO STORICO

This is the political and sightseeing heart of the city, which the restaurants clearly reflect: They’re always crowded with a lively mix of local politicians, civil servants, and urban bourgeoisie, along with visitors of every stripe. Expect menus heavy on classic favorites and lots of power lunching.

Maccheroni, a short walk from the Pantheon, serves reliably good Roman classics at a great price in mismatched rooms that look like the inside of an old Roman apartment. It’s the sort of establishment where “Mama is on vacation” suffices to explain what menu items aren’t available. Dish to get: A big, delicious bowl of tonnarelli, which is an extra-large version of spaghetti (Piazza delle Coppelle 44; 6830-7895; entrées from $14).

Armando al Pantheon may be smack in the middle of the tourist stream, but it attracts a loyal clientele of locals who are drawn to its small, wood-paneled dining room and good wine list. Dish to get: The fruit-filled torta antica roma is like a refined version of strawberry cheesecake (Salita de’ Crescenzi 31; 6880-3034; entrées from $22).

Settimio all’Arancio is a nondescript place tucked away in a residential area near the Fontanella Borghese. The crowd is largely regulars in media and the arts. Dish to get: The divinely succulent whole fish baked in salt (Via dell’Aran­cio 50; 687-6119; entrées from $22).

Trattoria Al Moro, near the Pantheon, tries to be all things to all people: a cozy insider’s spot for Rome’s movers and shakers, and an all-purpose night out for visitors. The result is that it has an endless menu. Bonus points for going with a Roman insider: If the waiters don’t know your father or your position in government, they aren’t likely to help you out. Dish to get: The seasonal specialties. Look for anything made with ovoli, a rare egg-shaped mushroom (Vicolo delle Bollette 13; 678-3495; entrées from $22).

TRASTEVERE

On the western side of the Tiber, Trastevere had its own mix of Jews, Romans, and Greeks, as well as its own dialect and flavorful cuisine. Since gentrifying in the 1970s, the old working-class area has become a chic historic neighborhood.

Enoteca Ferrara is, according to a Roman expat I know, one of the few decent restaurants left in the area. Dimly lit, it was opened in the late 1990s by a group of women who were trailblazers in modernizing the standard wine emporium. Dish to get: Gnocchi malfatti with sugo aglione, hand-shaped gnocchi with tomatoes, garlic, red pepper, and parsley (Piazza Trilussa 41; 5833-3920; entrées from $24).

Le Mani in Pasta, a traditional neighborhood joint, has a loyal citywide following. We enjoyed a great seafood platter, a memorable fresh artichoke and Parmesan salad, and an epiphanic Gorgonzola ice cream. The place is tiny, so book in advance and request a table upstairs or you’ll be shunted to the smoking room in the basement. Dish to get: Tuna in a pistachio crust (Via dei Genovesi 37; 581-6017; entrées from $35).

MONTI

Around three of the Roman hills, the city’s oldest and largest neighborhood remains hyper-urban, intensely multicultural, and increasingly interesting for its numerous shops and galleries, nightlife, and superb ethnic restaurants.

La Taverna dei Fori Imperiali is the kind of homey place where a local dispenses with the menu and takes the daily special, a perfectly executed version of an Italian standard: filetto di manzo, saltimbocca, spaghetti all’amatriciana. Dish to get: Whatever the kitchen is recommending (Via della Madonna dei Monti 9; 679-8643; entrées from $18).

Urbana 47, one of a new breed of Roman restaurants committed to locavore values, has the names of its suppliers written right on the seasonal menu. Dish to get: In winter, the savory pumpkin ravioli. In early spring, fresh pecorino. The cocktail hour buffet is a good way to sample the wares (Via Urbana 47; 4788-4006; entrées from $20).

Relishing Rome

As with love, the Romans have their own attitude toward gastronomy. It’s not just the food—it’s the company, the conversation, the conviviality of a meal taken as part of the pageant of life. LEE AITKEN table-hops in the Eternal City

Urbana 47, open in Monti since 2008, stands at the forefront of the locavore movement, using only ingredients from the Lazio region. Here, an appetizer of grilled buffalo mozzarella with crispy spinach and orange marmalade.

ByLEE AITKEN

MIKKEL VANG

JANUARY 2012 ISSUE

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27 Roman Restaurants

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In a city like Rome, nearly every restaurant has a story, and the one I like best from a recent eating tour involves Al Moro, in the Centro Storico. I first heard about this popular spot from an Italian diplomat when I asked him to name his favorite. (He then, very diplomatically, asked to remain anonymous.) I did some homework and learned that it’s one of those places to see and be seen for politicians and local power brokers—and woe to the outsider who expects a warm welcome or a good table. So I put off booking there, hoping to find a well-connected dinner companion who would save me from Siberia. And I did, eventually, find the perfect person, but too late: It was my last night in Rome when, after much text-tag, I met Andrea Purgatorio, an award-winning journalist and screenwriter and quintessential city insider.

At one point in our long, dishy dinner at Settimio all’Arancio—one of Andrea’s favorites—I bemoaned the fact that I had run out of time to visit Al Moro, which particularly pained me once I learned that spaghetti alla carbonara is a house specialty. (This dish is the Holy Grail that I’m forever seeking, fixated as I am on the version I ate every night at a four-table hole-in-the-wall when I worked at the Rome Daily American many decades ago.) Andrea, who clearly has put in his time there, told me that Federico Fellini—who often cast his movies off the street—had asked Al Moro’s owner to play the part of Trimalchio, an aging voluptuary, in Satyricon. The man agreed, but when he arrived on the set, he hadn’t learned his lines. Just count out loud, Fellini said, and we’ll dub it later. (Italy is famous for its dubbing skill, the result of a Mussolini-era law, never repealed, that all films and programs must be presented in Italian.) But the man felt silly doing that.

Exasperated, Fellini asked, “Okay, what can you say?” “The menu,” he replied. “So give me the menu!” Fellini shot back. As the camera rolled, Trimalchio recited: “bucatini all’amatriciana . . . spaghetti alle vongole . . . pollo arrosto . . . ,” and his dialogue was added later. (He has since died, and the restaurant passed to his son.)

Andrea knew the backstory of every government scandal (that stroke which sidelined a party bigwig? Brought on by mixing Viagra and cocaine), and he could parse the politics of every transaction in town—because politics always enter into it. At one point, I mentioned a conversation I’d just had with a non-Italian who married into one of the country’s prominent political families. I was gushing to her about how seamlessly Rome seems to have integrated modern architecture, contemporary cuisine, and cool Web guides into its historic fabric. But she cautioned me not to be misled by Rome’s veneer of twenty-first-century trendiness: Italians remain so traditional that they go not only to the same beach town and the same beach over the course of a lifetime but to the same beach umbrella.

Andrea immediately revealed the number of his own parasol station, which he’s had for decades at L’Ultima Spiaggia, in Capalbio. Your designated spot is handed down like a “noble title,” he explained, even though this specific beach, it should be noted, is favored by Rome’s left-of-center elite—politicians, writers, media figures. In Italy, even the sand is political.

And politics, sometimes, can be the making of a new chef. Andrea also told me the story of Filippo La Mantia, a Sicilian who was working as a photojournalist when he was framed for abetting the Mafia’s murder of a policeman. By the time Giovanni Falcone, the crusading prosecutor who was later murdered, secured his release from Palermo’s notorious prison, La Mantia had developed a passion for cooking. In 2003, he opened a restaurant in Rome called simply Trattoria—“punto e basta,” as the Romans say—and became a culinary star, famous for updating Sicilian classics while disdaining onion and garlic (he prefers citrus accents). Trattoria set Rome atwitter because its minimalist wood, stone, and rope decor brought the kitchen into the dining room, the two separated only by a glass wall. Before long, this architectural affirmation of the social ingredient in a good Italian meal was being copied all over town. Now it is quite common not only to see the food being made but to have an eagle-eyed chef come out to greet an enthusiastic diner or chide a picky one. We were warned that this might happen at Le Mani in Pasta, in Trastevere, a neighborhood spot with a citywide following, so we were careful to do justice to an elaborate platter of lobster and seafood.

This is the sort of lore I gathered over ten marvelous days in Rome, as the weather seesawed between warm sun and chilling showers and Italian women put off the day they would have to hang up their boots—the go-to fashion accent that season—for the summer. I hadn’t been back for several years, so I eagerly accepted the assignment to find the city’s best eating, all along the price scale. But of course, when I began gathering recommendations, I discovered a good deal of disagreement among my sources: diplomats, lifelong Romans, seasoned expats, food and wine experts, and world travelers. And surely that can be explained in part by the social aspect of eating in Italy. In contrast to the French, who approach restaurant dining with a detached “show me” discernment, Italians like to “talk the food onto the table,” as my friend, the writer Chris Dickey, explained. They salute the chef, banter with the staff, discuss high and low points of the day’s marketing, offer up a few suggestions and personal preferences, and generally feel as if they’ve participated in orchestrating the fine meal that follows—often without a single glance at the menu.

My dinner with Andrea was a perfect example of this process. He greeted the Settimio waiters and many of the patrons by name. After a brief conversation about the day’s catch, he settled on a whole fish, baked in a mound of salt to indescribable succulence, then threw in a few stuffed squash blossoms—just coming into season. For wine, he requested “that stuff I had when I was sitting over in the corner last week,” which—alas—was not enough “talk” to guide the waiter to exactly the same vintage. But no matter, it was a deliciously memorable dinner.

That evening stood in stark contrast to an earlier outing to Agata e Romeo, which several sources touted as Rome’s premier restaurant of the moment. Located a bit out of the center, near the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore, it is a difficult reservation and a heart-stopping expense. Yet the atmosphere, when we arrived on a Tuesday night, was eerily subdued in the manner of a traditional French temple to gastronomy. Most tables were occupied by diners scanning the room self-consciously—not a crowd that would suggest some variations to the kitchen, which remained out of view. But I was dining with two lively fellow journalists, and by the end of the meal—which was only occasionally spectacular—our animated chatter had broken through the fourth wall of formality that had the other patrons listening in polite silence to the waiter’s intricate explanation of each dish. Romeo, who acts as maître d’, came over to talk, and then pulled his wife, Agata, the chef, out of the kitchen to give us some family lore. Suddenly, the convivial spirit of her parents’ day, when the restaurant evolved out of a modest inn, cut through the reverential hush of haute cuisine.

SLIDESHOW

Where to Eat, Stay, and Take in the Views in the Eternal City

The food, hotels, piazzas, and people of Rome

I rented an apartment near the Pantheon, where my daughter joined me for a few days. Until we conquered jet lag, it was shamefully easy just to tumble out the door and wander the narrow streets of the Centro Storico, occasionally getting pressed to the wall by a flash flood of tourists following their guide’s uplifted umbrella. It’s a miracle, really, that Rome can absorb nine million visitors a year without becoming a thoroughly commercialized self-parody. But it does, and I suspect that in some obscure church on a small piazza hidden down a tiny vicolo, there’s a patron saint of la dolce vita. Over the years, she has done a good job of helping this glorious city shoulder the burden of history without becoming a fossilized relic, like the pinkie of Saint John.

In the Centro, this means that no amount of huckstering can diminish an irresistible sense of real life well-lived. Although the city’s famous piazzas are crammed with sketch artists, rent-a-gladiators, trinket hawkers, and—my personal favorite—a guy who whittles exquisite hummingbirds from carrots and parsnips, the Centro is also the seat of government. Purposeful parliamentarians and ministry staff in impeccable suits share the cobblestoned streets and the sidewalk tables with day-trippers in a form of parallel play—not interacting, exactly, but partaking of the same pleasures: the beautiful buildings, the splashing fountains, the sunshine. On the streets around the parliament, fleets of identical government-issue Alfa Romeos stand ready, all painted what an old family friend from Calabria called “pezza novante azzurro” (roughly translated, from the Sicilian reference to gun caliber, as “big-shot blue”).

The privileged passengers in those cars are among Rome’s most discerning diners, so it was no surprise that a half dozen of the restaurants recommended to me could have been hit by a well-flung tennis ball from our apartment, tucked among the postcard shops and budget pizza joints. Two of them, in fact, sat just outside our back entrance, and our meals there perfectly summed up the diversity of the city center. At Maccheroni, which makes nearly everyone’s best list, we selected thick-as-worms tonnarelli from the menu of hearty, inexpensive Roman classics and sat at a rickety table right in the street, with a good view of a sword swallower. The next day, a few yards away, we joined the patrons of Quinzi e Gabrieli’s on the enclosed outdoor patio and sipped champagne during an elegant meal of cuttlefish and crispy artichokes that cost three times as much.

Rome reveals its true self only on the second, third, or umpteenth visit, once you begin to wander without a destination. And these revelations often happen when you least expect them; you’ll turn a corner and find yourself in an exquisite little piazza unchanged since the Rinascimento, spy a gorgeous courtyard through a briefly opened door, or look up to see an expanse of terra-cotta roofs and towering umbrella pines that takes your breath away. Still, I was surprised to discover an entire neighborhood I never knew existed—one rich in these stunning visual moments and in a genuine sense of city life.

Monti is a small global village tucked between the train station and the Colosseum, and from its labyrinth of small streets and stairways, you catch glimpses of the surrounding city like pictures in a frame. The dome of Santa Maria Maggiore looms at the top of the Via Panisperna, where a curtain of ivy, trained onto the streetlight cable, hangs across the street; the tops of two massive Corinthian columns fill the entire view at the end of the Via Baccina, and once you reach them for a closer look, the vista opens out across the Foro di Augusto to a Baroque dome and a Romanesque bell tower half a mile away. As it descends from the Via Nazionale, the Via dei Serpenti, the main street in Monti, perfectly frames the Colosseum at the bottom of the hill—a beautiful effect after dark, when the monument is illuminated.

I first heard about Monti over a meal, of course—this one a mission to check out Il Margutta, one of the few purely vegetarian venues in a city so carnivorous that it proudly serves calf entrails and goat brains, the odd bits of anatomy shunned in other cultures. My guest, Elisabetta Povoledo, is a correspondent for the International Herald Tribune and the New York Times. So she was eager to provide a sharp, if depressing, assessment of Italian culture in the scandal-plagued reign of then prime minister Silvio Berlusconi, who had populated both his government and his media properties with bodacious babes and right-wing nostrums. Indeed, before he was forced to resign in November, he had blithely dismissed concerns about Italy’s economic health with the declaration, “The restaurants are full.”

Asked about popular neighborhoods, Povoledo steered me to her friend Elizabeth Minchilli, a writer whose books celebrate the glories of Italian life and who blogs about food and her two homes—one in Monti and the other in Todi, a town in Umbria. I arranged another meal.

Monti gets a smattering of foreign visitors who have wandered off piste from the archaeological sites or been drawn by its affordable small hotels and cozy restaurants. But they come in pairs, not large groups, and barely dilute the impression of Monti as a calm and congenial residential neighborhood with both a wonderful old-world patina and a muted cutting-edge vibe. The nexus of local street life is the small piazza about halfway along the Via dei Serpenti, where the fountain serves as a gathering place for mothers and toddlers during the day and anchors a lively cocktail hour on weekend nights, when young Romans who have aged out of the nightclub scene in Testaccio and settled into their first jobs overflow the piazza’s two cafés. In the surrounding streets, trendy fashion and home furnishing shops stand side by side with the area’s original artisans, who make iron railings or shutters or leaded glass. There are even a few places to get your brakes fixed or buy a plunger. Although the area is increasingly chic, I’m told the butcher upholds its proletarian pedigree by dispensing the best cuts to people of the left. (The president of Italy, a former Communist party leader, Giorgio Napolitano, also lives in Monti, and probably eats very well.)

Monti has plenty of good restaurants, including an unusually high concentration of Indian, Thai, Japanese, and Chinese places. Elizabeth directed us first to Urbana 47, which is noteworthy for its locavore values; it uses only ingredients produced in Lazio, the region surrounding Rome. The menu, which lists the restaurant’s suppliers (including a Trappist monastery), is inventive, short, and tailored to the season. Pressed to take me to her true neighborhood favorite, however, Elizabeth chose the more traditional fare at La Taverna dei Fori Imperiali, where we were greeted as family and served the world’s best caponata, with chunks of succulent eggplant the size of dominoes. We also made a number of impromptu visits along the street, stopping in to see someone’s new puppy and to pick up some items from a local artist. It was relaxed and intimate in a way that reminded me of Trastevere back when students could cadge a meal for less than two dollars, and stout nonne with swollen ankles lowered a basket to the street to do their marketing and exchange the latest gossip with the vendors.

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I made a quick trip back to Italy a few months later to catch up on a film project being hatched from Angel Face, a book I had edited about the murder trial of American student Amanda Knox. I met up with some of the Knox media posse in Rome and invited them to dine at—finally!—Al Moro.

The experience at the restaurant was not my most simpatico Italian meal. Al Moro’s mimeographed menu was endless, which made me nervous, having quickly grown accustomed to having only a few well-chosen things on offer, not all of them written down. And the waiter didn’t seem inclined to help us navigate the more than thirty piatti del giorno, twenty-three fish dishes, and long lists of contorni. Instead, we used the signposts of a dish prepared “al moro” and confirmed that the house specialties were the better choices—although the al moro variation on alla carbonara was not, alas, the dish of my memories.

An even better strategy would have been to scrutinize additions that had been newly typed onto the crowded list of dishes. It was only by chance that we got to sample a rare seasonal delicacy, notice of which had been squeezed onto the menu, inexplicably, next to the veal tonnato rather than with the other funghi dishes. Credit Elizabeth Minchilli, a true aficionado of Italian produce, with teaching me about ovoli, rare egg-shaped mushrooms with a short season in the fall. Sliced paper thin and sautéed, they have a subtle, buttery flavor and a distinctive yellow color, which I noted in a dish being delivered to another guest. Although we were already finishing up our entrées, I ordered a single serving, at forty dollars, for the table, and it elevated an evening of Italian standards to a higher gastronomic plane. The ovoli were exquisite, and chances are I’ll never eat them again.

Okay, so Al Moro didn’t welcome us into the intimate pas de deux of a great Roman meal. No one greeted us with “Buonasera, dottore, let me tell you about the wonderful ovoli we just got in today.” But the spigola al moro, a succulent sea bass, was delicious, and I wouldn’t even have felt the slight without all the lively give-and-take of earlier dinners. Consider, too, that Italians were not in the best of humor about Americans just then because of the recently released film Eat Pray Love.

That may seem odd, considering the movie was meant to be a valentine to Italian food. But as La Repubblica noted, bemoaning the movie’s stereotypes, the film “rains spaghetti, the Italians are always gesticulating and following foreign girls shouting vulgarities, but then getting engaged to a nice housewife to please their domineering mothers, all this under the sign of ‘dolce far niente.’ ”

Italians know their relationship with food to be a dynamic social adventure, not shtick—think of the avid and imaginative ways Romans have embraced raw fish in recent years. But what I remember striking me about the movie’s breakthrough scene, when Roberts shows she has learned to order a meal in Italian, is that she sticks to the menu and uses the waiter as a messenger, not a co-conspirator and guide. That showed me she still had a way to go before she fully understood the T-shirt slogan I saw on a small boy in Monti: life is too short not to be italian.