Last Meal in Rome

The streets near the Trevi Fountain were crowded, the city alive with tourists and locals. We navigated back towards the hotel, stopping at a small ristorante we frequented near the Embassy. She always felt it was best to find a place away from the mobs and the pricey hotel restaurants. She wanted authentic food for the average person.

The table was small, and a bit unsteady on the cobblestone street. A simple linen cover and a single flower in a small cut glass vase. We sat on wrought metal chairs under an awning strung with yellow glowing bulbs.

The young waitress brought still water at our request. We ordered a pizza with pepperoni. We chatted and at times were silent. It was warm enough to sit in short sleeves and shorts, but not hot or humid.

The pie came to us in the appropriate amount of time- it wasn’t rushed. Cut into quarters, its thin crust was just right, with just the right amount of sauce and cheese. The pepperonis were not the small half dollar size, thick sliced ones you would find in the U.S., but bigger and thinner. It’s been a while since I have ordered pizza, and I had hesitated before deciding. 

I gave up on American pizza long ago. Its huge crusts and floppy wet slices, swimming in grease were heartburn inducers.

This flatbread Italian version was a delight, and I put away two slices easily.

Long after the meal had ended, we lingered. We were never hurried like the U.S., where waitresses bring you the check to move you along to get another customer in your seat.

In Italy, eating is a ritual as much as a business.

We called for the check and paid the bill. Leaving a few coins behind on the table, we bid our server good night, and good bye to Rome.