Caffe' Natalizi

via Po.  At right, what was our coffee bar a year ago,
now being remodeled for a dress shop.

The most extraordinary aspect of this photo is that only one vehicle is parked in the crosswalk.  At right, the woman in
pink has just exited the caffe' and is giving the black man, who has a cap out, some change.

We lived in the Salario neighborhood, not far from Villa Borghese, for about a month, and this was our coffee bar.  Caffe' Natalizi is on Salario's main drag, via Po. It's old style rather than trendy modern; the baristas (most of them large men, usually working two at a time) wear black shirts or jackets.  The heavy glass, circular counter has seen so many cups of coffee that it's almost white with scratches.

It's both a coffee bar and a pasticceria (bakery), which means that the cornetti (croissant, brioche, sweet rolls, pastries) are fresh and, in this case, extraordinary--not only warm and delicious but large enough that we could purchase only one and divide it (with the spoon that always comes with coffee).  On the saucer was a piece of wrapped chocolate.

Not a lot of counter space, and the place could get
very crowded.  But service was excellent, and most
Italians drink and go.  

We always ordered the same thing--due cafe' Americani (2 American coffees), un cornetto (price E3, about $3.50; some bars charge up to an additional 50 centesimi for American coffee--we don't return to such places). 

After about a week, the woman at the cassa (cash register, where you place your order and pay) knew the order and said simply, "il solito?" (the usual?) and a barista would begin making our American coffees when we walked in the door.

It's customary to place your receipt (scontrino) on the bar with a tip (mancia) of 10 centesimi (12 cents) for each coffee, and we did that.

Outside, every day, a black man, likely Nigerian, and not necessarily the same man every day, held out a cap, asking for money (the man at the right of the photo at the top).  We usually gave him 50 centesimi (about 60 cents) on our way out.  Because immigrants without their legal status (usually waiting for their legal status to be determined) are not allowed to work for wages, some beg in front of bars and grocery stores or, along via Po and many other Rome streets, sweep a portion of the sidewalk while soliciting contributions.  The woman in the top photo has just exited the bar and is giving the man some change.

 Bill

Buona Giornata

First, a primer: buon giorno is "good day" or "good morning"; buona giornata is "have a good day," or "have a good one," or "have a nice day."  I can remember, or think I can, when clerks in the US started saying "have a nice day."  I thought then it was cloying and artificial and excessive, and though I've grown used to the phrase, it still grates on me.  I can't speak for Dianne, but I do know that she doesn't use "have a good day" in the States but has recently taken to using "buona giornata" in Rome, and merchants seem to respond well to it. 

The coffee cup combo in the photo, provided the bar by a major Rome milk distributor, takes "buona giornata" to a new level--indeed, takes possession of the phrase and offers it back:  "Sponsor Ufficiale della BUONA GIORNATA: Official sponsor of 'have a nice day.'" All, I hope, with a sense of irony--but even then I don't like it.
Bill

Meet You at the Hospital for Coffee

Americans have plenty of cozy coffee shops, but few are in hospitals, where visitors usually find themselves in bleak cafeterias or pushing buttons on a machine.  So it was with some surprise that we stumbled upon your basic Roman cafe, complete with patio and trimmed bushes, in the courtyard of Ospedale (hospital) San Giovanni, steps from the basilica of San Giovanni in Laterano.  We had wandered into the nearly hidden complex one morning, wondering what was inside.  And we stayed to have our standard morning repast: due Americani, uno di cui macchiato (two American coffees [made with espresso, but long, and in a big cup], one of them with milk), and due cornetti (two pastries).  When we returned days later, just to see if we'd been dreaming, the charming, dark-skinned barista remembered our order--but then, what else would you expect?  You're in Italy.    Bill

The "Retro Snobs" find themselves with the "in" crowd (and where to find a good lunch)

We’ve been called a lot of things, but “retro snobs” may be the best fit. Imagine our shock – and delight – to find that the tiny no-one-knows-its-name bar some Roman friends took us to turned out to be THE bar of the rich and famous, well, somewhat rich and famous – like Nanni Moretti (for those of you not into Italian cinema, we call him the Woody Allen of Italian film; author/director of Caro Diario (Dear Diary) and also The Son’s Room - the latter won the 2001 Palme d’Or at Cannes).

So here’s how the story beings. Our Roman friends who call us retro snobs invite us to lunch at a bar with no name outside, giving us directions to a corner in Monteverde Vecchio (considered a classy neighborhood, it's above Trastevere). “I think it’s called Bar Vitali,” she says, “but there’s no name – just ‘Bar’ on the sign. On via Lorenzo Valla. Vitali is into history; you'll like him." We arrive to find what we think is the place, but it doesn’t look like a lunch place – just a bar. We inquire and a smiling rounded Italian in his 60s who appears to be the owner gestures through a small door. We peak in, and there are our friends, awaiting us in a small lunch room.

Mario Vitali (right) talks Monteverde Vecchio history

We have a delightful full Italian meal and look at some old photos on the wall (see photo at end of post). The owner, Mario Vitali (in photo left, at right) is an amateur historian, especially of this part of Rome, where his family has lived for multiple generations and his father started with a small tobacco shop in the location. Mario has written a book about the area as well. We pause on the way out and buy his book. He likes our enthusiasm so much, he gives us another – in manuscript copy. The whole lunch and talk with Mario seem very low-key and perfect for us. As we leave and approach our scooter, we pause because we see a great view of the gazometro – across the river in Ostiense, but it seems close from this wonderful hilltop (as in “monte” – a mountain) view (photo below, right). What a great end to this mid-day treat. (And, did we mention we love talking with these friends?)

Gazometro from via Lorenzo Valla

Part two of the story. Imagine our surprise at a dinner party a few weeks later with some friends, in another part of Monteverde Vecchio, when they begin talking about filmmaker Moretti, how he lives in the area and frequents a bar… they describe the bar as being completely nondescript, no name outside, and having almost a hidden lunchroom. Says one friend “you go through a door that looks like it leads to the toilet” “…aaah,” say we, “perhaps we’ve been there…. Bar Vitali?” “YOU, YOU’ve been there? You Americans? How did you find it?” So we take on new luster with our Roman friends.

Old photos and Moretti film posters inside Bar Vitali

Part three of the story. A week or so later we’re telling this story to yet another Roman friend (this one an American who has lived in Rome for 30 years), especially the part about surprising the indigenous Romans that we’ve actually been to this “hidden” place. “Oh,” says he (the American/Roman friend we’re now regaling with the story), “I used to live on via Lorenzo Valla and know that bar. There’s no lunchroom there.” “Oh, yes,” we reply, “indeed there is… through a small door.” “Well,” he says, “I need to go talk to Mario.  I went there every day for morning coffee. And he never told me about the lunch room!”

As Monteverde Vecchio looked before building boom

Part four of the story. We go back to the Roman friends who first introduced us to Bar Vitali and tell them they were conning us into thinking we were going to a nondescript place. They chuckle over all parts of the story.

Ah, the pleasures of being a retro snob in Rome.

Dianne

RST Top 40. #23: Sant'Eustachio Caffe

Last time we were at the Sant'Eustachio coffee bar, we noticed a yellowed clipping, probably from the 1970s, of Henry Kissinger having a coffee there. We've never thought of Henry as a foodie, but after all those late-night, never-ending negotiations to end wars (the Christmas bombing in Vietnam in 1973 was a nice touch) he may be an expert on a good cup of coffee. Or perhaps we've just underestimated Henry. Just maybe, we thought, since he knew about Sant'Eustachio, he might be versed in other hip, Rome-the-Second-Time activities. We fantasized about a funky Henry Kissinger Rome Itinerary, rivaling Jack Kerouac's 1954 (we made that last part up). Alas, a lengthy search on google provided no evidence that Henry had been anywhere else in the Eternal City. Maybe he just flew in for the coffee.

That isn't as absurd as it might seem. Since its founding in 1928, people have said some amazing things about the coffee, if not the place. Most often quoted is William Grimes, who once wrote for the New York Times: "When the need for a real espresso becomes overpowering, buy a ticket to Rome, tell the taxi driver to head straight for the Sant'Eustachio Caffe. The espresso will be perfect. A little expensive, but surely worth the trouble." That's probably what Henry did.

A little expensive, to be sure, especially if you sit at one of the small white tables outside. So we don't normally go there without a good reason, usually to touch base with our friend Luca, who works for the Italian Senate in a building that's about 50 feet away. We get coffee and bottled water and play catch-up, all for about E15. We pay the bill and Luca does the ordering; we're on his turf. He knows (as the yellow sign says) that if you want your coffee without sugar, you have to order it that way.

Besides the coffee, what's so good about Sant'Eustachio? The view from the tables outside is nothing exceptional, although it does feature the curious facade of the Sant'Eustachio church, with the classic symbol of the saint's miracle: seeing the stag with his antlers in the shape of a cross. The interior is small and smells great (they're roasting on the premises) and has the patina of a place that's been around for decades. And we never fail to find gifts there for our American friends: mugs (small by our standards), bowls, chocolate-covered coffee beans--and of course, the 100% Arabica itself.

Being a purist, and not wanting to corrupt the moment, Henry probably just threw down his espresso and had the taxi return him to Air Force 1.

Bill

Mystery Photo de-mystified and more...

Complimenti to Alexander Booth, of Rome, who identified the mystery photo (here) as the Fascist-era post office on via Marmorata in Testaccio. It didn't hurt that Alexander is a volunteer at the Protestant (Non-Catholic) Cemetery virtually across the street. Several other later guessers (btw, not all Fascist era buildings look alike, tifosi) mentioned other favorite Fascist-era post offices, including the one on via Taranto in the San Giovanni area (where Bill was "picked up" for taking a photo - hence the admonition in Rome the Second Time on not taking photos in post offices) and the gorgeous one in Rome's seaside town (once port) of Ostia.

The last two guessers were so quick on the draw we're still contemplating the next Mystery Photo.... so stay tuned.

The "more":

For those of you hanging on the edge of your seats, we made our choice in coffee bars. We now patronize 2: the "market bar" in our first post on coffee bars (the "g" in "gastronomia" is missing from its outdoor sign - so it says "astronomia" or not gastronomy but astronomy, and it features an apertif "apertivo panty" - a white martini with bitters, the barista told me... sorry, folks, I just couldn't bring myself to try it. And the barristas there chat us up and are cute (say I). The second bar (we have to walk around the block the long way and make sure we don't go in front of "market bar" - we hadn't even known about it when we were first trying out coffee bars) is Cafe' Desideri on via Ozanam, that Bill mentioned in yesterday's post. Desideri seems to run the block... On the same street are a well-regarded pasticceria and take-out too - so their morning pastries are the best ("ottimi"). Both places allow us to sit down inside and out, without paying extra... and their coffees are very good - i.e., it's all delightful.

And small sins - we finished off 2 after-Easter colombo (the dove-shaped sweet cakes) and one after-Easter enormous chocolate egg (for those of you never in Rome for Easter, those big colored things hanging from the ceiling are chocolate eggs in fancy paper). If anyone knows of any colombo still for sale in the Eternal City, let us know... we can't resist the half-priced stuff.

Dianne