They don’t name the city the Italian family lives in but it was easy to recognize. Their apartment is on Via Beatrice Cenci, a small side street in the Jewish Ghetto near my favorite spot for fried artichokes.

The family has passed on the job of doorman from generation to generation…a mixed inheritance that comes with a free place to live (in a neighborhood that despite its name is quite chic)  and a life sentence of being a doorman. The 26-year-old son now wants to buck tradition, unfortunately he can’t find work. It was a familiar story to anyone who’s lived in Italy in the past five years.

At the end of each family’s vignette, the feature shows a menu of what they had for dinner. For the Roman family it consisted of:

White wine and water

Pasta with a sauce of tomato and fish

Salami, mortadella and prosciutto

Casciotta and mozzarella

Bread

The story focuses on employment, not food, but the pictures of each family show them gathered around the dining table. Food is still one of the easiest ways to understand another culture and the Italian menu they show is typical.  I studied Emilian cuisine and it’s true that Italy’s food cultures remain more regional than those of the U.S.

However, this menu shows how many Italian families are eating what could be called a national Italian cuisine: the mortadella comes from Bologna, the casciotta chaeese from Le Marche and the mozzarella likely from Campania.

Tucked away in the southern part of Rome is one of my favorite under-appreciated spots. In the happening neighborhood of Testaccio, just a few minutes’ walk from the Piramide station is the Protestant Cemetery, home of Keats and Shelley’s graves.

Officially it is called the Cimitero Acattolico (the non-Catholic cemetery), hence why even professed athiests can be found in its walls. The conditions to be buried are three:

1. You are not Catholic
2. You belong to one of the 14 countries (which includes the U.S. and does not include Italy) that manages the cemetery
3. You are residing in Italy at the time of your death

Of course. this being Italy, personal connections trump all – if you have a family member buried in the cemetery, you can snag a spot even if you are a Catholic Italian.

Because of the neighboring cat sanctuary, feline custodians lounge and saunter between the the tombstones. There is a landscaped area with benches perfect for picnicking (perhaps with cheeses or take-out from nearby Volpetti). In addition to Keats and Shelley, Italian political philosopher Antonio Gramsci is buried here. Located to the right of the entrance, Gramsci’s grave typically has the most interesting mementoes with everything from bus tickets to communist manifestoes left in tribute.

If you’re in the neighborhood, the Cemetery is a shady oasis from the chaos of Rome sight-seeing.

The Protestant Cemetery is open Monday – Saturday, 9 AM – 5 PM, Sunday 9 AM – 1PM. Last entrance 30 minutes before closing. Suggested donation: 2 euros. Via Caio Cestio 6. Accessible from Piramide metro stop (line B) or buses 3, 75, 23, 60, 95, 280, 30 and 175. Tel. +39.06.574.1900. www.cemeteryrome.it

Madeline's Picks: Brixen

This small town is nestled in the Dolomites between Austria and Italy. The Italians call it Bressanone and the Austrians call it Brixen. By any name it’s charming. The main tourist season is during the winter, when people flock to the slopes, but my favorite time to visit is spring. This is the region that most of Italy’s apples hail from and if you come in early May you’ll see fields and fields of soft pink apple blossoms. I’ve already written about how much I love this region, but it merited one more picture.

*NOTE*: Why I have been so AWOL? Because I’ve (temporarily? permanently? who knows…) returned to the U.S. and been mourning Italy. Besides searching for work on three continents, I’ve been completing some translation jobs and devoting myself to preparing for numerous standardized tests. Just came across the photos of my last months in Italy – the months where I was enjoying life far, far too much to post regularly. This is the first of several photos of my favorite places.

Breakfast of champions: black fig roll from Le Grenier à Pain, goat milk yogurt with raspberries, hard-boiled egg.

One of the widely accepted Wonderful Things About Europe is that so many countries are compressed into such a small space. In late May I took a 2-hour flight from Bologna and found myself surrounded by chic people speaking an incomprehensible chic language, all in the same time zone.

Paris was my first big city – before New York, before Rome, even before Boston. I first visited in the midst of what my family now calls “The Lost Years” (due to the fact that all photographic evidence of the period has been destroyed). At age 11, painfully awkward and unattractive but blissfully unaware of the fact, Paris was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I returned when I was 15 and again at age 20. Every time Paris was its same expensively elegant self. But this would be my first trip to Paris after having fallen for Italy. By now Italy has become my point of reference for all things European and glamorous. I was curious how my first puppy love would look in the shadow of my first real relationship.

After living in Rome, Paris seems not only elegant, but also efficient. The metro runs on time. The buses appear when they say they will. The French still do that whole “strike” thing Europeans are so enamoured of, but at least the strikes are announced on the transportation system’s website rather than relying on word-of-mouth.

My hosts were French and for the entirety of our friendship had been faintly insulted by the fact that I had done a project on Italian cuisine. They gently probed: But perhaps I had Italian ancestry that drew me to the subject? Or I was one of those American women constantly on a diet? Or, they murmured, shaking their heads sadly, I had suffered an unhappy romance with a Frenchman and now avoided all things French? When forced to confront the fact that I had the audacity and bad taste to prefer Italian food, they reacted sensibly and immediately set about trying to change my mind. The result was that in 7 days I visited only one museum. Otherwise the trip was a buttery blur of pain aux raisins, baguettes, croque monseiur, macaroons, and boeuf bourguignon. Vive la France.

Entrance to Papagallo

If you ask any Bolognese for the best restaurant in town you will receive a list that may include Donatello and Diana but will definitely include Papagallo.

Located between Piazza Santo Stefano and the two towers, Papagallo is about as central as it gets. It’s in a 14th century building with vaulted ceilings, chandeliers, and waiters in white tuxedo jackets. As everywhere in Bologna, Papagallo serves primarily Bolognese cuisine, but it is also the only place in Bologna where you can order chateaubriand.

The walls are lined with photos of famous people who have eaten at Papagallo. I spotted Sofia Loren and Sergio Leone.

I had never been to Papagallo. When I was first living in Bologna, I was on a fellowship and living as a student. Papagallo is the pinnacle of Bologna cuisine and I always imagined it to be exorbitantly, prohibitively expensive. After 6 months in Rome my definition of “expensive” seems to have changed. Papagallo charges between 11 and 17 euros for a primo, in the 20s for a secondo. Though this is still high, it no longer seems prohibitive. Especially when one of my oldest Italian friends invited me there for a birthday/goodbye-to-Bologna dinner.

We had a “torta salata” to start – a sort of quiche made with radicchio which had been sweated and caramelized to an incredible sweetness that was cut with balsamic vinegar and sharp shreds of parmigiano. The English half of the menu charmingly translated this dish as “salt cake,” another example of the difference between a top-class restaurant in Bologna and a top-class restaurant in Rome.

We then split the speciality house lasagna (bechamel, porcini mushrooms, veal, and two kinds of cheese) and plump, homemade tortelloni with asparagus and ham. All of the pasta was tender with the tiny bumps and fissures that show it was made in-house. Rounded off with a Sangiovese superiore it was Bolognese cuisine at its best – rich, smooth, and plate-lickingly scrumptious.

One of the nicest surprises was how reasonable the wine list was – many nice reds under 20€ and a large selection of Emilian-Romagnan wines and whites for under 15€. The desserts are well-executed but, as is typical of Bologna, not where the kitchen shines. Still I enjoyed my berries and mascarpone in a homemade pastry, even if it didn’t merit the 10€ price tag.

Mascarpone and berries on the right, panna cotta with cherries on the left.

But half the fun of dining in Papagallo is the atmosphere. Our waiter (trying to hide his chagrin at my denim skirt and my friend’s leather jacket) was a stately man in his 60s who seemed to have been there since the restaurant’s opening in 1919. Nearby was a Bolognese politician, at another table one of the best known professors at the university.  “Guarda”, said my friend. “Adesso hai visto il ristorante più fighetto di Bologna. Ma hai mangiato bene, si?” Now you’ve seen the trendiest place in Bologna. But the food was good, right? Yes, yes it most definitely was.

Grazie per la bella cena!

Papagallo is Mon-Sat for lunch and dinner. Closed for the month of August. Piazza della Mercanzia, 3. Tel. +39. 051. 232.807.  www.alpapagallo.it

Through a combination of wiles and cunning (my wiles, their cunning) my roommates and I scored one of the keys to our rooftop. Since you are not technically allowed up there, it is a covetable item. On a recent sunny day, I grabbed a Moretti “Rossa” – an Italian double malt that actually tastes like beer and not like watered-down cider – and a sandwich from the nearby 200Gradi. Located in Piazza del Risorgimento, 200 Gradi makes fantastic subs with interesting combinations of top-quality ingredients. All of their sandwiches are named for places in Rome. I had the Colonna, which comes with prosciutto, spinach leaves, mushrooms, and smoked scamorza. Combined with my Rossa, a bikini and a DylanDog comic book, it was a pretty perfect afternoon.

200 Gradi is located at Piazza del Risorgimento, #3 (2 minutes on foot from St. Peter’s or the Vatican Museums). www.duecentogradi.it  Sandwiches run about 4.50-6 Euros and they also sell beer, wine, and desserts. Tables are available both inside and outside, or you can take your sandwich to go.

To celebrate the completion of my contract in March, I took a weekend trip to Monte Argentario. About 2 hours from Rome by car, Monte Argentario is an almost island off the coast of Tuscany that is full of Italian tourists in the summer and abandoned the rest of the year. It has two “cities” and long swaths of beautiful beaches.

View from the hotel room

I arrived just before the season began so most of the hotels were closed. Fortunately, the woman at the tourism office was nice enough to pull some strings and secure a room at the Hotel di Torre Calapiccola at a steep discount.

Italians believe in doing everything “in season.” Since it was most definitely not yet beach weather, the peninsula was abandoned except for locals (who obviously wondered why we were there). For a break from Rome’s chaos it was pretty ideal. One of my only complaints about Tuscany is that it feels just a little too manicured and well-managed. Monte Argentario is one of the only places in the region I’ve visited that doesn’t feel airbrushed for tourists.

Three days ago was May 3, the birthday of Golda Meir, Machiavelli, and ME. Luckily for me, the 3rd was also a holiday for World Food Programme so my favorite Dutch girl was free for a long, leisurely lunch in the sun. I asked my new flatmates (more on that later) for a recommendation and they suggested Maccheroni.

Located in Piazza delle Coppelle, Maccheroni is a solid choice if you’re searching for good food in a pretty piazza near the Pantheon. Iris and I split the cheese plate and then had salads with parmigiano, walnuts and pear. Washed down with a carafe of Frascati white wine, it made for a nice kick-off to my 24th year.

I finished my contract in late March but decided to stick around for a bit of vacation. Working multiple jobs made it impossible to see much of the city and I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Rome without becoming better acquainted. Now it’s hard to imagine that in June I’ll be back in the U.S.

In the coming weeks I’ll be posting more regularly (I took a hiatus since my last employer discouraged publishing under my name while working for them). In addition to Rome, I’ll be spending time in Paris and Prague, with hopefully at least one night back in Bologna. But mostly I’ll be soaking up the sunshine and trying to savor every last moment in this insane, beautiful mess of a city.