Tasting Trastevere

Just one last Rome post on my list before I get back to my life here in Holland (which has been pretty awesome lately, by the way). Still on the food trail, I simply must blog about Trastevere.

Nearly everyone I talked to who had ever been to Rome insisted that we visit Trastevere. A Roman neighborhood with narrow, winding streets that date back to medieval times, it has maintained its charm and character while becoming a local hangout and foodie hotspot filled with great restaurants and happening pubs. "You will love Trastevere," our Dutch teacher, who had lived in Rome for years, assured us.

And we did. Three of the four dinners we had in Rome, we had in Trastevere. We took pretty much the same route each time, making these stunning sunsets over the Tiber a regular affair.

For our first dinner, we headed to Dar Poeta, a pizzeria recommended by a few people on Chowhound. We got there before seven so we didn't have a hard time getting a table, but just one hour later the queue for tables was snaking all the way down the cobblestoned alley. There were quite a few tourists in the queue, but also a lot of people speaking Italian, which is always a good sign.

I ordered the Superbufala, topped with raw mozzarella bufala, black olives, tomato and pecorino cheese. Not only was I knocked out by all that glorious cheese, but the crust—somewhere between light and crisp on the bottom, chewy and soft on top—was unlike any I've ever had.

But that's not the showstopper at Dar Poeta. The Nutella and ricotta calzone is.

Ready for some food porn? This is what happens when you cut into the calzone.

The whole pillowy mass deflates, and our old friend Nutella oozes out to say buon appetito.

Another stab with the knife and fork...

Then it's ciao, ricotta! Or should I say chow?

Needless to say, we were two very satisfied customers.

The next night, we ate at Da Fabrizio, which we had seen on the way to Dar Poeta.

Da Fabrizio served what was hands down my best meal of the trip: a heaping plate of fresh, homemade pasta (which tasted so different from every pasta I'd ever had before!) with extra-virgin olive oil and shavings of black truffle. (The white truffle pasta, at €40 a plate, was simply out of my budget.)

It was so good, I lost my senses completely and forgot to take a photo of it. I did take a photo of our starter, though: slices of prosciutto from this massive porcine leg, which Fabrizio carves up himself.

On our last evening in Rome, we got lost while trying to find one of the restaurants recommended on the Chowhound forum. I went ahead of Marlon and kept taking random turns, following my gut... as in tiyan, haha. We ended up at a small piazza where this picturesque old farmhouse-style building stood. How could we pass a place like this and not want to step inside?



It turned out to be a pizzeria and taverna called the Taverna de' Mercanti.

It was huge inside, with giant wood and brick ovens.

We ate outside, of course—we wanted to enjoy the warm weather before flying back to Amsterdam. The food was average (grilled pigeon and a very good patatas al forno for Marlon, a pizza for me), but the medieval tavern atmosphere was wonderful.



Afterwards we had gelati (produzione artigianale again) while watching a street magician perform in front of the church of Santa Maria di Trastevere.

After living in Holland for a few months, the idea of an entire neighborhood where almost every restaurant is a good one sounded almost unbelievable to me. But now I know that (duh) Trastevere is real! And I'm missing it already.

Rome nom nom nom

After falling into a number of tasteless tourists traps during my Portugal trip, I was determined to find good eats in Rome. My online research led me to the Chowhound forums, which in turn led me to some of the best meals of my trip. Now... where do I begin? 

Let's start with the first meal of the day. Nope, not breakfast... gelato!

My first meal on my first day was a cone of creamy caffe, my all-time favorite flavor (flavorite?), for just €1.50. As we were walking from our apartment to the Centro Storico, I spotted a hole-in-the-wall gelateria somewhere on the Via Lepanto, marked with the words "gelati Siciliani" and "produzione propria artigianale."

Now, Gelati originated in Sicily and foodies assert that gelati in Sicily is way different from the rest of Italy. Another tip I found around the blogosphere is to keep an eye out for gelaterias that are marked "produzione propria" (homemade), "nostra produzione" (our own production) or "produzione artigianale" (produced by artisans).

If you can't tell by the smile on my face, this gelato was the my idea of a most kick-ass benvenuti from Rome. Marlon had the cannele, or cinnamon, which was everything you would imagine cinnamon gelato to be. Not having that was probably my only regret of the entire trip!

My other memorable gelato experience was at Giolitti near the Pantheon. We stumbled on it quite by accident. It was only when I looked up Giolitti much later, that I found out it's actually Rome's oldest ice cream parlor.

The gelati guardians at Giolitti's counter will actually refuse to serve you if you order a combination of flavors that they feel do not go together at all. Fortunately, my limone e champagne combo passed their scrutiny. Unfortunately, after only a few truly intoxicating licks, the scoop of champagne dropped from my cone onto the ground. Ugh.

Thanks to Chowhound, I learned that Thursday is gnocchi day in Rome. Who are we to buck tradition? Our Lonely Planet Rome app (worth it for the offline map!) led us a few twists and turns away from the madding crowd and cheap tourist menus surrounding the Pantheon, to this unmarked trattoria for a reasonably priced meal that hit the spot.

In the same neighborhood, near the Keats-Shelley House, was the Chowhound-recommended La Campana, where I ordered (and thoroughly enjoyed!) something very out of character for me: rigatoni with oxtail. Romans love their offal—so as they say, when in Rome...

The service at La Campana was smooth and efficient, and our waiter lit up when I tried ordering with the few words of Italian I memorized on the plane.

Friendly service was also a pleasant surprise at Anti Luzzi, a tiny, family-run sidewalk trattoria near the Pantheon recommended by the owners of our B&B. At €8, their pizzas were half the price of those being sold across the street. And when I ordered a granita di caffe to cap my meal, the waiter tried to explain something to me in Italian. After seeing that I couldn't understand him, he brought me a small taste of their granita... just to make sure I liked it enough to commit to an order.

I was expecting a basic iced coffee, and got a delightfully cold (perfect for the heat!), sinfully creamy dessert. What's not to like?

Our final meal on the run was at Volpetti, a legendary gourmet deli on the Via Cola di Rienzo, a major shopping street close to St. Peter's Square and Piazza Cavour where we caught the shuttle bus to the airport. It's right next to a famous gourmet grocery called Franchi. If we hadn't been in such a rush to get to the airport, Marlon and I would have loved to spend a good hour or two browsing in these two shops. It's probably good for our wallets that we didn't!

Volpetti's system is familiar to all of us Pinoys. This is turo-turo, Roman style.

We stood at the counter to tuck in: Marlon with his porchetta (roast pork) and stuffed pomodoro tomatoes, me with my orzo (barley) alla contadina and insalata di polpo (octopus salad). 

We inhaled everything in less than 15 minutes and rushed off to the airport, bellies full. If only all fast food experiences were as precious.

Almost Belgium

One of the things that my friends and I miserably failed to do during their visit here was go on a day trip to Belgium, which is only three hours from Amsterdam by train. Instead, "Belgium" became our new code word for snoozing/puttering/lolling around lazily at home, e.g. "Nag-breakfast na ba sina Pia? Mukhang hindi pa, nasa Belgium pa sila." LOL!

I didn't know about Maastricht when they were here, or else I would have suggested a day trip there instead. One of the oldest towns in the Netherlands, Maastricht is in the southernmost province called Limburg, and is within walking distance of Belgium and cycling distance of Germany. I first heard about it from my friend Leigh, who was positively rapturous about how pretty it was with its Belgian/French landscape and feel, as compared to your typical Dutch old town. "Maastricht has hills. Hills!" she raved. Yes, hills are worth raves in this flat-as-a-pannekoek country—and certainly pointed to a town worth visiting. 

Then I found out about Preuvenemint, an open-air food festival held in Maastricht during the last weekend of August. The promise of good food is one of the things that will get Marlon and myself to hop on a train and travel for two and a half hours, so we thought it was the perfect time to finally check out Maastricht for ourselves.

Preuvenemint was held in the Vrijthof, Maastricht's biggest and best-known square lined by old buildings, churches and cafes. Looming over the Vrijthof (aside from the ominous-looking storm clouds) are two huge churches: the Sint Janskerk with its distinctive red tower, and the Basiliek Sint Servaas.

The food festival has its own currency called lappen. (O kung tawagin sa atin ay chits. Very high school fair!) One lappen is equivalent to 2 Euro.

After a couple of rounds of the festival grounds, we came to the conclusion that Preuvenemint caters to a very well-heeled and mostly old crowd. The restaurant pavilions were filled with groups of very blond, very distinguished-looking Dutch who looked right out of casting for a Ralph Lauren ad campaign, swilling champagne and picking at tiny tasting portions of very elaborate dishes. 

Here, the lappen function as a very clever way of making you forget that you're paying twice as much for what is essentially a tiny portion. Most dishes were from 4-5 lappen (€8-10) each! Yes, I know what tasting portions are, but this wasn't what I was expecting in a food festival. There was definitely something lost in translation for me here. Maybe I was expecting something a little more... down-to-earth? Hearty? Festive? I guess you could say I was disappointed.

However, the trip wasn't a total loss. I managed to finally fulfill my craving for a crepe (not a Dutch pancake, a proper French crepe!), something I didn't have the time to do on my last visit to France. And for 2 lappen (€4), I had a hot, satisfying snack in the form of tuutsje, a cone of fried smelt fish with ravigote sauce and lemon.

This twist on Vlaamse frites, or Flemish fries (guess they're too proud to call them French fries around here!) harks back to the origin of French fries, or at least the origin story that's generally accepted in these parts. What we know today as French fries began as small fish, such as smelt, fried up by Belgian peasants. When fish proved hard to catch, strips of potatoes took their place... and thus Vlaamse frites were born. 

Disappointment with the food festival aside, we were both just happy to be in this beautiful town. It really reminded me of Belgium. We decided to walk around the historic center a bit, but eventually hunger got the best of us and we sat down for a full meal in a small square beside Onze Lieve Vrouwen Basiliek, or the Basilica of Our Lady. 

A horse-drawn buggy is parked outside the basilica. This is for the hourly city tours of Maastricht that cost €10. Maybe we'll do that next time. I know we'll definitely be back.

To go with the day's Belgian theme, I ordered a hot, steaming helping of moules frites. With a big swig of Affligem Blond, it sure hit the spot!

We'd both been obsessing about rabbit after Masterchef Australia used it in a couple of episodes. So Marlon opted for rabbit stewed Maastricht-style.

Maastricht is definitely on the pricier side, but the food was better than what we'd normally have in a Dutch cafe. (Or were we just hungry?) Whatever the case, we agreed that the day trip was a good idea and we were happy with the chance to explore a new place. Soon it was time to head back to Amsterdam.

This was the weather we had pretty much all day. I really have to accept that summer is over!

Belgium may have its own culture, (better) food and different architecture, a little of which we glimpsed without having to hop over the border that day in Maastricht. But they ain't escapin' this weather!

The pull of pork

Red meat is rarely on the list of foods I crave for. Between beef and pork, I'm far likelier to crave for beef (usually in the form of a burger) than pork. I can go for months without eating pork and rely on a trip home to Manila for Christmas to fill up my meagre pork "quota" for the year. I'm probably one of the few Pinoys alive on this earth who simply does not, cannot eat pork liempo. 

In fact, the list of pork dishes I actually eat is very short.

1. Sausages (chorizo, wurst, and longganisa fall into this general category)
2. Cebu lechon (only from Cebu!)
3. Sisig
4. Chicharon
5. Majestic ham (a Christmas family tradition)
6. Pulled pork sandwiches

So it was to my great surprise that I found myself craving pork last week. Specifically, a pulled pork sandwich. The best I've had was at Daisy Mae's in New York two years ago. Since then, I've put pulled pork out of my mind... until now. The good thing is that it's easy to make, and thus a lot easier for me to get my hands on over here. Imagine if I'd been craving for lechon, sisig or Majestic ham!

I found an easy recipe for pulled pork on the Food Network that required the use of a Dutch oven. We've rarely used our Dutch oven since moving to the Netherlands (a true irony, har har) so it was nice to finally bring it out of the cabinet. With an abundance of Cs (cumin, cinnamon, cayenne pepper, chili and homemade chicken broth, among others) simmering away, the kitchen smelled mouthwatering. 

After Marlon and I attacked the cooked, tender meat with forks and left it to soak up the sauce, I made a broccoli slaw to go with it. I don't usually like slaw, but I like this recipe for broccoli slaw because it uses zero mayonnaise. Instead, it uses vinegar (I substituted apple cider with red wine) and wholegrain mustard to give the slaw a delectable zing.

Then all we had to do was plop a generous serving of pulled pork onto toasted hamburger buns and add a dollop of broccoli slaw. Et voila, our homemade pulled pork sandwiches!

The crunch and acidic tang of the slaw cuts right into the soft and sweet pork, making a yummy match. The pork is heavy though, so I don't see myself doing this at home too often. But to fulfill a craving that comes once in a blue moon, it's more than enough. This will keep me in good stead until pork and I have our Christmas reunion.

Paris bites

My hands-down best meal in Paris was a real treat: a quintessentially French home-cooked meal. 

On the night before the Glee Club left Paris, singer and voice teacher Florence invited Ma'am Malou to dinner at her house. Ma'am Malou, not wanting to go by herself, took myself, Mimi and the Glee Club's soprano pint-sized powerhouse Stef with her.

We met up outside the metro station in a... shall we say, less than savory neighborhood. While we clutched our purses tighter and waited nervously for Stef, who was late, to emerge from the metro, Florence's colleague Stefan assured us that the house we were going to have dinner in was very different from the neighborhood. "It's very pretty," he promised. 

And indeed it was. Behind a small wooden gate on a nondescript street lay a secret garden, shared among three families, including Florence and her teenage daughter Manon. All three families are great friends and share this wonderful space. When the lady of the house locked the gate behind us, she effectively shut out all the sounds of the city. It felt as if we weren't even in Paris anymore. They even have a cherry tree!

Then there was the food. 

After starting us off with baguettes, olives in brine and saucisson (sausage) with almonds to nibble on, Florence presented us with two homemade quiches hot from the oven. One had goat's cheese, while the other was made with spinach and mushrooms.

Salads are my favorite thing (in a long list of favorite things) to have in France. They just do them so well over there! Our hostess served the quiches with a simple salad of crisp, fresh greens with a balsamic vinaigrette. 

Of course, it wouldn't be a French meal without cheese. My new discovery was the Saint-Maure, the crinkled log-like cheese on the right. It has a straw stuck down the middle for the cheese to breathe. I guess that's what makes it so deliciously creamy. I liked it so much, I bought my own Saint-Maure to bring home to Amsterdam.

To end the meal on a sweet note, Florence baked not one, but two pies for dessert: a rich chocolate tart and this beautifully light and crisp apple tart.

French women really have this knack for knocking out amazing food with effortless chic, and elevating home-cooked meals into an art form. I've got to hand it to them... and only wish that I could be capable of the same!

Speaking of sweet endings, my last few hours in Paris were spent in a most worthwhile way: in pursuit of my favorite pastry, the tarte citron. Marj, a former colleague of mine from GMA now living in Paris, had blogged about a tarte citron that I absolutely had to have. So we met up at the Place des Vosges and headed together to Le Loir, a quirky little cafe in the Marais...

... where I met the tarte citron that defeated me. I've never, ever given up halfway through a lemon tart, but this insolent tart wielded a knockout weapon known as meringue.

Di ko kinaya! Sa Ingles: I yield! 

I'm pretty sure there are worse ways to leave Paris, than with lingering memories of a home-cooked meal under a cherry tree, and with the sour-sweetness of lemon and meringue still melting on my tongue. Sarap!