Bar Latteria - Bar and "Milk Store" - What's Up?

Latteria? Having spent 2 months each year in Rome for more than 2 decades, we had seen the word hundreds of times, often in combination with Bar, as in "Bar Latteria," or with Caffè, as in "Caffè Latteria," or even, curiously, with Cocktails, as in "Cocktails Latteria," And we knew enough to know that a "latteria" meant a "milk shop" or a "milk store." OK. But one can buy milk at the supermarket or at any mini-market. So what's the deal with the "latteria"?

Through conversations with our Roman friends, we pieced together the story of the Roman latteria.  

It was the consensus that the Bar Latteria (above) located in the large via Catania public market (in the orbit of Piazza Bologna), 150 vendor stalls, was "authentic." One could downplay the "Bar" part of the name, if only because the market itself closes for the day at about 1 p.m. No late afternoon Campari Spritz to be served here, although, as the bottles on the shelf would suggest, you can still get an a.m. Scotch.

A "milk board" posted outside (photo below), listing milk products that seemed to be unusual, also lends the place an air of authenticity. Then we learned that those milk products weren't so unusual—in fact they could be purchased at any supermarket, or even down the street at the mini-market. So much for authenticity.

It was not long before the very concept of authenticity was undermined. And that brings us to the history of the Latteria, insofar as we know it. A friend and professional chauffeur, who drives us to and from the airport, grew up in the 1970s in San Lorenzo—Scalo San Lorenzo to be precise. He remembers picking up milk for the family at the neighborhood latteria—one of about 4 in San Lorenzo at the time, as he recalls. He also remembers that in those days there was a central latteria in Rome, a distribution center from which all the city's latterie (the Italian plural of latteria) were supplied. 

It's unlikely that the signage of this Bar Latteria on via dei Sabelli in today's San Lorenzo dates to the 1970s—we think the term "Snack Bar" is a more recent invention. In the mornings it's full of mothers who have dropped their kids off at the school just down the block.

The first coffee bar we tried in San Lorenzo was a traditional establishment on Piazza dei Sanniti. Later we noticed a sign on the via dei Volsci side of the caffè. Missing the "L," it reads "atteria" (below the word "BAR").We asked the barista, a man in his 70s, if the bar was a latteria. "Not for a long time," he replied. I asked how long it had been since it was, in fact, a latteria. "Cinquant'anni" was his answer—dating the end of its days as a latteria to the mid-1970s. Indeed, the city's latterias ceased to exist as legal entities in 1975.

Before 1975—how far back we don't know, yet—milk distribution in Rome (and doubtless other cities) was regulated for health purposes. Milk was available only through licensed vendors—the latterias. When it became clear that this regulatory regime was no longer necessary, the latteria as a legal entity ceased to exist. That was, as the barista—and our driver—confirmed, almost 50 years ago. The year was 1975.

Even then, latterie didn't just disappear. The "milk store" was by then a tradition, and milk stores continued to exist, and even to open anew. This latteria, on via Tiburtina in San Lorenzo, was—according to its window signage—founded in 1980, 5 years after the law changed.

In our fall, 2025 Re di Roma neighborhood, a small, old sign suggests that a coffee shop we frequent, Anima Nera (Black Soul), was once a latteria:

The latteria survives in the memories of Romans, and in the signs of an earlier era. So, stop into your local milk store—and have a Jack Daniels. 

Bill 

An Evening in Rome. Best-laid plans, and all that....

What do you do in Rome? As a friend once said, “you walk out the door.” So true, though these days we often walk out the door with a plan. Sometimes things go “according to plan” and sometimes, especially in Rome, they don’t. This is the story of one of those days—an evening, to be precise. With a “lieto” (happy) ending.

Our day began, as usual, at our coffee bar of choice, based on a couple of good experiences we had had there over the past two days, including one just the day before, when we had enjoyed a couple of Campari “Spritz” in the cool night air. The bar, on Via Pomezia at Via Cerveteri, is Bar Anima Nera (Black Soul), though we call it the "Mad Hatter," after the fine drawings that grace the inside walls. The structure in front of the bar is on most days a vegetable stand.

A chilly morning drove us inside, pleasant enough with our daily newspaper (“Il Messaggero”) but when we went to pay the new Italian guy got the price of our caffè Americani wrong (E2.50 rather than the customary E1.50), and another new Italian guy served us our cornetto with a cough. Perhaps a harbinger of things to come.

Our mid-day adventure—a Metro A excursion to Aurelia and Prati to see a couple of closed edicole (newsstands) worked out fine. After doing some work at home in our rented apartment at Piazza dei Re di Roma, our plan was to take the Metro to Piazza Repubblica and a 64 (or 40) bus to Chiesa Nuova for an opening at Maja Arte Contemporanea, via di Monserrato 20, then tack to nearby Bar Peru, a favorite of ours in years past, for an aperitivo and cena—apericena, a one-price drink and plate of good food selected from a variety of prepared dishes available at the bar.

The opening was well attended and the wine (a Ribolla Gialla) was nice, but the art, while colorful and organic in a Victorian sort of way, was not of the sort to invite our serious consideration.

After a few minutes, we departed for Bar Peru.

Lo and behold, Bar Peru had, so it seemed, changed hands and look. The stools on the street were gone (maybe the police objected), replaced by tables across the street in the piazza. Inside, there was no apericena to be had.

We ordered two Campari “Spritz,” took a raised table inside, and lamented the changes. The new ownership appeared to be Asian.

The Spritz were excellent (the bar is amply supplied with Campari), the bartender terrific, and we enjoyed the chips and the peanuts in a Depero Campari & soda bottle. But what to do now, early in the evening. Via Giulia was just a block away, toward the Tevere, and we headed there, not knowing what we’d find. The street was dark and mostly quiet. The Accademia of Hungary in Rome, in a palazzo designed by Borromini mid-17th century and one of our favorite places, was open, and a sign mentioned a concert of piano, violin and flute. “First floor,” said the bored attendant, and up the stone stairs we went, just as the flautist was wrapping up the first performance. We took seats and for 45 minutes were thoroughly entertained by a remarkable 24-year-old woman violinist (Ludovica Mastrostefano) and her equally compelling piano accompanist (Sara Damiani). Popular Romanian tunes by Béla Bartók; Sonata n.3 by Edvard Grieg. Delightful!

So far so good. Afterwards, Dianne wanted to eat, Bill to drink, and we settled on Il Goccetto, our favorite wine bar (on nearby via dei Banchi Vecchi), which has both. It was absolutely full, spilling out onto the street (as it usually does). Disappointed, we left. Checked some other places, then decided (it was about 8:30) to head home. Caught the 64 bus (the "watch your wallet" bus) on Corso Vittorio Emanuele II. A man on the bus warned a tourist with luggage that a sciopero (a strike) of some transport services had already begun. Rumor was that the subway wouldn’t run after 9 p.m. We thought he was wrong. We ended up near the controversial Pope John Paul II statue/sculpture in Piazza dei Cinquecento, where a small ProPal (pro-Palestinian) protest was going on. 

Walked toward the lit-up Termini station, avoiding the buses. Found 5 clustered Carabinieri (state police) just outside the station, and we inquired, in Italian, if there was a strike going on at that moment. Yes, said one of them, a woman, authoritatively. The Metro (the subway), she added, was not running.

What to do? Dianne’s app said it was a 40-minute walk to our Re di Roma digs, and, having done the walk just the other day, we headed off on foot, down Via Cavour and into the piazza behind Santa Maria Maggiore, soon coming upon a Metro entrance. The electronic signed warned that service was "non garantite," but people were entering, and so we did.

Below, at the turnstiles of the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele stop, we asked a woman employee if there was service in our direction. Before she could answer she scurried away to deter several people whom she deemed not to have paid. We decided to give it a try. The train came. We took it. Finally secure at home, and having reached 19,000 steps (about 8 miles) for the day, we relished a plate of cold cuts and cheeses and a bottle of Circeo doc, as Bill called it, in our cozy living room, excited at having “sopravissuti” (survived) and had such an exhilarating time doing it. What do you do in Rome? Walk out the door!

Bill

PS from Dianne: Sometimes you get what you need.

Enjoying Rome--with a Campari Spritz

We arrived in Rome in mid-April ready to imbibe (no doubt from the Latin for "drink"—bibere) a lot of Campari,  the somewhat bitter liqueur that we had first experienced decades ago, and immediately disliked. The bars in San Lorenzo, Piazza Bologna, and elsewhere in the city were ready to oblige the evolution in our tastebuds. The Campari Spritz (Campari and Prosecco with a twist of orange peel) is ubiquitous, exceeded in popularity only by its counterpart, the Aperol Spritz—sweeter, not to our liking.

The classic Negroni—made with equal parts Campari, sweet vermouth, and gin, is also very popular, as is the Milano-Torino (Campari and sweet vermouth, no mixer), known familiarly as the Mi-To (pronounced Me-Toe), the name derived from the origin of the ingredients: Campari is made in Milano, sweet vermouth [by Martini and Rossi] in Torino (mito also is "myth" in Italian). 

In the city center, across from Piazza Venezia, a busy bar filled with tourists had as its centerpiece over-sized bottles of Campari and Aperol.

High-up, center: Campari featured prominently at the local bar, "My Way," we frequented in
the Piazza Bologna area (it was our favorite morning coffee bar in the neighborhood).
 And 5 bottles Campari to 1 Aperol.

In Rome, the "spritz" is almost always served in a large wine glass with plenty of ice. 

Nothing like a spritz (pronounced "spreetz") to put a 
smile on your face.

You can also get a "spritz" to go. At this place—at a Liberation Day celebration—the price was E6 (about $6.60).

The spritz has also reached London, but only in the trendier areas, like Soho in the photo below. The Brits will have trouble giving up their beer.

London

The standard price in Rome for a Campari Spritz is E5 (the Happy Hour price) to E6/7, and the price sometimes includes potato chips, olives, and peanuts. The price was E10 at Satyrus—no chips, no nothing—but it's a trendy, seasonal bar, on the edge of Villa Borghese, across the street from the National Gallery of Modern Art (with free admission that day, so we could afford the pricey spritzes, and the Euro is currently a beguiling $1.10).

Dianne at Satyrus—

—overlooking the gallery

Enjoying a "spritz" at Tree Bar on via Flaminia—note the hand-cut chips and other goodies.

Of course, the grocery stores carry Campari Soda, in those cute one-portion triangular bottles designed by Futurist artist Fortunato Depero in 1934, shown here in an all-Depero exhibit currently at Rhinoceros Gallery in the Hotel Rhinoceros. The gallery is just steps from the Bocca della Verità and down the street from the Campidoglio. 

Curiously, it proved difficult to find our own bottle of Campari, for home consumption (mostly by our guests, we claim). Rome's grocery stores all carry copious amounts of wine, spirits, and liqueurs, but Campari was never on the shelf. In one store, a cashier who appeared to be knowledgeable told us that the Campari was under lock and key in storage, because it was a frequently stolen item. He sent an employee to the back room—he was sure it was there—but the employee came up empty, twice, as did the cashier on his own expedition. Then we noticed that some bars had what looked like Campari, but the label was somewhat different; we wondered what was going on. 

Finally, we found our Campari, in of all places—a mini-market just down the street from our Piazza Bologna apartment. Mission accomplished!

Mini-market to the rescue! An ample supply of Campari. Aperol, too. Sweet vermouth to the right.

We later became aware that over the last decade or so, Campari—made only by one company—has now and then been in short supply. Given that some young folks have abandoned wine for beer and cocktails, and given that Campari is a widely favored cocktail ingredient, the shortage that we experienced makes sense.

Just a few years ago, a sign for "cocktails" would have been a rare sighting in Rome. Not today. We have since learned from a teacher friend that Italians are not particularly good with the apostrophe—even in their own language, let alone English (nor are Americans, we've noticed).

 

Bill

The Futurists Meet the Present in "futurBella," the new exhibit at Rhinoceros Gallery in Rome

A Campari "vending machine" - they appear on several floors of the exhibit at Rhinoceros gallery.

If you like Campari, and the combination of Futurist and contemporary art (Yoko Ono is into it), then Rhinoceros gallery and the Rhinoceros Hotel in which it's located (which has had a fascinating rehab by French "starchitect" - per The Daily Beast - Jean Nouvel) should be on your list. Whether you can afford to hobnob with the likes of Angelina Jolie in those luxury rooms of the 17th-century palazzo (now renamed Palazzo Rhinoceros) is up to you. What you can get is a free self-guided tour of the hotel and gallery, thanks to the current exhibition, futurBella, a mash-up of the Futurists, especially Fortunato Depero (he of the Campari bottle design) and "Poor Things" ("Povere Creature"), the lavishly artistic film by Yorgos Lanthimos, starring Emma Thompson as Bella Baxter.

The gallery and hotel can be a refreshing respite from Rome's traditional tourist attractions. One of them, Bocca della Verità, is a one-minute walk along the adjacent parking lot. Bar dei Cerchi, just steps up via dei Cerchi from the hotel, is a rare "neighborhood" place in the Centro. Here we are, planning your day.

Playing off the costume design from "Poor Things," curator Raffaele Curi hangs one room of the gallery with 60 pieces of Victorian underwear - part of the "fun" he's trying to bring to contemporary art.

We'll save the hotel itself for another post and focus in this one on "futurBella," a  reference to works of the Futurist Giacomo Balla (whose apartment in Rome will be the subject of yet another future post), "futurBalla." Curator Raffaele Curi, who worked with Man Ray and other Surrealists, says he wants to bring back some of the fun in contemporary art.

Depero's advertising posters and magazine covers are projected on an interior window well going up 6 floors. Here is one for his own 1918 puppet play, "Balli Plastici" ("Plastic Ballets") which was re-imagined digitally in 1980 and plays in the gallery.  And also below, one of the wooden marionettes from the original play. (Depero objects are on loan from MART, a contemporary museum in the northern city of Rovereto which absorbed the Futurist museum founded by Depero.)

Campari wallpaper introduces the exhibit - which is quite effective in placing Depero's work throughout the hotel public space and gallery. You must visit all 6 floors to get the total effect, and all are open for you to saunter among the art spaces on your own. Our selection is heavy on Campari (apologies--the Campari spritz has been our drink of choice for the last couple years in Rome), but there is much more to the exhibit. We've included only limited photos here, because it's more fun to see this all for yourself.

The main gallery also has an exhibit by Ronan Bouroullec, "one of the most famous designers in the world." (We mistakenly sat on a golden coffee table - though no one seemed to mind. Photo at end of post.) Famous he might be, but Depero''s designs from the early 20th century steal the show. Bouroullec's show is on through September 8.

"futurBella" is scheduled to be on until November 30. The gallery web site makes it look as though you need an appointment; you don't. See the web site in English here: https://rhinocerosroma.com/en/gallery/

Dianne