The Secrets of Rome

There are parts of our Rome trip which I would like to share with you, but I can’t. I would like, for example, to share with you the name of the restaurant where Rand’s friend Fleur took us, but I swore to her that I would not. I willfully forgot its name and location. I remember only the food, which was fantastic.

Carpaccio with shaved truffles.

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Seafood pasta: the live lobster was actually shown, on a tray, to all the tables. Barbaric. And delicious.

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Move aside, endive! I see meat out yonder.

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And even if I did manage to recall exactly where it was, despite my miserable sense of direction, I couldn’t tell you. Fleur is not the kind of gal you would want to cross. She looks sweet and harmless, right? Yeah. Well, she’s brilliant and formidable, and it’s not worth incurring her wrath (I say this with much affection. Women to be feared are women to befriend).

No, she's not scary looking. But neither are honey badgers.

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And there are other things of which I can’t speak. Like the story my aunt and uncle told me, in a piazza near the Pantheon, that hurled me and my little cousin into a fit of embarrassed giggles. I will say this: the Italians are a passionate bunch. Let no one dispute this fact.

They've been married for decades, but they still stroll around together and make-out all the time. It's weird.

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Nor can I share with you what, exactly, I said to Rand to elicit this reaction:

Though it may have included the phrase "ass monkey."

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I’m sorry. I simply can’t. But don’t worry. There are things I can share with you.

Like how the service at Roscioli is brusque and a little rude, especially if you don’t have a reservation, but you should go anyway (and god help you if you don’t speak Italian).

Go, because the wine section is absurd. In the best possible way.

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And the pasta is perfectly al dente. Hell, it might even be a hair undercooked (don’t even think about sending it back).

I wish I was eating it right now ...

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And how Dar Poeta pizzeria isn’t bad, but it really isn’t worth the wait or the hype. Go if there’s no line; otherwise, you can skip it.

Though I might just be saying this to thin out the crowds that form in front of it.

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And how the best view of the Colosseum is just a few steps away, in a little overpass called Belvedere Antonio Cederna

Told ya.

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There’s virtually no one else around, so you snap photos at your leisure.

Us, at our leisure.

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I’ll also share this: if you are anywhere near it, I suggest you splurge and eat at Osteria Margutta. And if you can, sit outside, where you can see little old men out for their afternoon stroll.

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Get the fresh pasta, and toast the love of your life.

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And later, as you walk down the street, whisper things that will, in twenty or thirty years, cause your children and nieces to break into fits of embarrassed laughter. And after you’ve done all that? Go discover something so wonderful, you can’t share it with anyone. I promise: I’ll understand.