Daniel Gelo, San Paolo

Here at RST we've decided we're done with the "best gelato in Rome" debate.  We played that game in our book, Rome the Second Time, and we've been sorry ever since.  In the short run we regretted our choice; in the long run, we came to the conclusion that the question isn't interesting enough to justify all the answers and opinions.  Chorus: "You elitist snobs!  The people who love ice cream are the people who buy your book!"

Anyway, thanks to Katie Parla, we recently found a gelato place worth writing about.  It's in the San Paolo area, about 5 minutes from the Metro stop by the same name, and if you're a gelato freak you can find it easily enough, using the address on the sign in the photo at the end of this post. 

The name is Daniel Gelo.  The shop intrigued us because it's got an old-fashioned, but not old-timey, look.  It's just a shop.  Lots of flavors, including "Spaghettti Gelato" and some frozen things, presented in a semi-chaotic setting featuring lots of hand-lettered signs. 









The gelato is gelato: tasty, and better than most everything in the States.  It's made right there in the back of the shop. Where Daniel Gelo ranks among

Rome's hundreds of ice creams parlors we have no idea--and palates that would not be of much help in finding out.












One distinguishing feature of the shop is a sign on the front window (below).  It looks like it's from the Chiquita Banana/Lena Horne era of the 1950s.  But it's probably more recent.  You won't find a sign like that elsewhere in Rome, or for that matter, in the U.S.   Bill

                      "Sempre Aperto"--literally "always open."  Take that with a grain of salt. 

On Via Tuscolana

We're happily ensconced in new digs off via Tuscolana, one of 7 Roman Consular roads leading out of the city (this one goes east and south to the ancient city of Tuscolo [hence the name] in the Alban Hills).  Via Tuscolana begins about a mile from here, near the roundabout Re di Roma, goes under the train tracks and by the Tuscolana station--close enough to our apartment so that we could (and did) walk from there, with all our bags.  Dianne was exhilarated by the effort, and I write that without irony. 

Once settled in, we headed for one of the many (rather ordinary) bars on via Tuscolana, ordered a large ("grande") bottle of beer, two glasses ("due bicchieri") and something to nibble ("stuzzuchini"--in this case, potato chips), took it all outside to a table in the shade and watched the Roman world go by--or, should I say, the rather scruffy, middle-class Roman world of busy via Tuscolana (at via Amelia), still on holiday. 

We hadn't been there five minutes when a dumpster-diver came along, looking for whatever (see pic at right--you'll have to lean forward; the guy kinda blends in).







More photogenic was the young woman who picked our corner to perform her ice cream cone.  Ah, Roma.
Bill

The Tartufo (Truffle) War

We can’t resist the very famous chocolate ice cream dessert, the tartufo - or truffle -  at Tre Scalini on Piazza Navona, no. 28. Although a bit pricey, they’re also big enough to share.   The restaurant itself gets widely divergent reviews; some people love it; some think it's a tourist trap.  Our view - just get the take-out tartufo and stop while you're ahead.

Tre Scalini is in a building that housed an inn as far back as 1815, and the Ciampini family created the tartufo (see photo right) in the 1940s.

We found a mild war going on the last time we were there, however. A maitre d’, or owner, or manager, of THE Tre Scalini virtually accosted us as we were going in to get our fix (he's the one with the shock of white hair in the photo at right).  He wanted to point out to us that HIS was the TRUE tartufo – not the imposters literally across the narrow pedestrian street, with an equally imposing location on Piazza Navona. And, sure enough, the “imposters” had a sign saying they were selling “Tre scalini tartufo” – but of course their café is not THE Tre Scalini.  They've cleverly named their cafe' "Ai Tre Tartufi" (below left), slapped on an 1896 date, and it's at 25 (not 28) Piazza Navona.  Here's the website for the TRUE Tre Scalini, tel. 06.68.80.19.96.

So market capitalism, caveat emptor and all that. But we recommend the original, of course.

Dianne

California Dreamin': The Pop Vernacular

For decades, Los Angeles has been the center of in-your-face kitsch marketing: the 1991 Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet on Western Avenue that resembles a bucket of chicken; the 1954 Capitol Records Building that looks like a stack of records with a stylus on top; the Petersen Automotive Museum, with a car suspended from the facade; Randy's Donuts on Manchester near the airport, featuring a giant donut atop the minimal modernist structure.

Except for the guys at the Coliseum dressed up as Centurions, there's not much kitsch in what is, after all, the Eternal, not the Ephemeral, City. Still, we found this example, in the upper reaches of Trastevere, up the Gianicolense, about two blocks downhill from Piazza San Giovanni di Dio. As its cone logo suggests, Old Moon Bar has ice cream.

But that's not why you ought to go. We know Old Moon as the "Fellini" bar; it's weird and entertaining, with a touch of the decadent: bar, ice cream parlor, cigarettes, wines, baked goods, newspapers and magazines, sundries. A few tables outside and 3 interior spaces: a quiet back room not much used except in winter; a Paris cafe-like front room with tables (additional charge to sit down), and a center room with a sweet curving bar of metal and glass. The dude presiding over the register is a piece of work; he isn't fast and you won't always get a receipt (the law notwithstanding), but he's got style. Inside Old Moon Bar, it could be 1962. Bill