I lived for 25 years in what for me is the heart of Rome Trastevere .
Qualcuno potrebbe obiettare che il cuore di Roma è altrove.
Dipende dai punti di vista, ovvio: ognuno ha il proprio o, meglio, ognuno ha vissuto la sua Roma.
C'è la Roma delle borgate (grazie Pasolini per averla immortalata con delle immagine uniche), c'è la Roma storica, c'è la Roma povera, la Roma ricca, la Roma per bene, la Roma della Dolce Vita, la Roma dei Palazzi e dei palazzinari, la Roma dei monumenti, la Roma della campane, la Roma delle fontane...potremmo far diventare questo elenco infinito...perché Roma è infinita, come la sua storia.
Sta di fatto, però, che la Roma che ho vissuto nella mia infanzia ora non esiste più. E' letteralmente gone!
invaded by cars, shops, shopping malls, restaurants that distort the source and swallow the few leftovers ...
Sure, a lot of beauty are still there, intact and in their ruin, but increasingly blackened by decades of smog. Instead, what is gone is another beauty, that you do not always see, but that feels and is perceived through the faces of the people, and especially the smells of the street, alleys.
Once, walking through the streets of downtown, you were intoxicated by the aroma of pastries or dall'effluvio ovens, and will inevitably be guided by the nose, following the invisible trail that takes you inside those little doors, timidly hidden, as if ashamed of Esisitite and offer nothing short of delicious delights.
No sign, no advertising, no flyer invariably intended to defile the sidewalks nearby. The store was there, coveted prize of a research driven by smell, or solid evidence of a condition established in the year.
It is no longer the case.
Here. And 'This is the Rome that I lack.
And you have to go to find this atmosphere in those places where tradition is still deeply rooted, alive, despite the encroaching threat of the adjacent rooms.
So Sunday morning I walked with the desire to see the Old Jewish Ghetto in Rome, one of the most ghetto oldest extant.
Here you can find, perhaps, the last remnant stock of that Rome which no longer exists.
Maybe ...
were at least 3 years since we walked, but three years were enough to clear the last stalls of household, those dark dens and disorderly, where the smell of detergent you came right into the bones (remember the feeling?) , disappeared also the oldest (1820) shop / warehouse properties from the kitchen, where you could find very favorable deals with all types and for all budgets.
In their place have sprung up other restaurants, surrounded by waiters from the center of the street and hand menu to invite you - even at times unlikely - to try the cuisine of the local representing .....
Mai into the barrel in those walls ....
dejected when I was about to go back - at my own risk - I wanted groped the fate .... and see if they still were there, on the corner, the legendary bakery ... Boccioni now a few more steps would be enough to find out ... and then the typical group of women who are stationed there at the bottom of what looked like 40 years ago ... and if they are here .... most likely ....
 |
| (Photo courtesy of nessundove.net which holds the rights) |
Start
first to look at from outside, almost diffident, as if to say: "Here's the scam, can not be true." Then, scanning the features on the faces of people standing by, I realized that nothing had changed in the past 40 years.
I go. I look now at the top ... well! Nothing teaches! Another confirmation that nothing has changed. By
(mortified by not having the camera with me).
There is no time for memories. The line rushes, the score is ever and always knows what he wants. Do not wait. It does not reflect. On the other side of the counter immediately recognize a new face and look almost impatient because they already know they will lose their time. E ' Sunday morning. There is a large crowd. I put aside in a corner to observe.
Beyond the glass fogged by the heat, the pace is frenetic, but the movements are the same as always, assimilated and relief arrangements by generations of women who have skilfully alternated in conducting what is, perhaps, was really one of the last remnants of the Rome of furnaces.
The blonde lady gives me a questioning look almost like saying, "we have to look '?", But I think my eyes have given more than one answer, because shortly after she arrived, the piece High: Pizza Jewish.
Now I do not hesitate even a moment, the approach hand with three fingers raised. Words are unnecessary, just a smile. I would tell her when I was 6 years old, and ate them while walking to the tart cherries Protica d'Ottavia, assigning the crumbs to the myriad of cats that turned me around ... but today there is no time for romance: "Sunday is always Sunday."
I find myself walking in the yard, eyes closed, enjoying and looking for those that have distinct flavors of my childhood. Now that have tickled the taste buds neurons of memories, I confirm: here in this tiny corner of Rome, nothing has changed.
An avalanche of candy mixed with dried fruit and mixed into a dough that does not need proving.
It will be difficult to attempt a reproduction, but is the least I could do is try.
I offer you now my first attempt is very close as taste, less respect, but I would say that the road is the right one:
 |
| (Click on photo to enlarge) |
125 extra virgin olive oil hot
100 g pine nuts 100 grams toasted almonds
140 gr candied fruit (citron and preferibilemnte orange)
100 gr uvetta
Mezzo bicchiere di latte
Impastate il tutto e stendetelo con le mani ad uno spessore di circa 2 cm su una teglia di ferro appena unta di olio e spolverata con farina di semola rimacinata. Infornate a 180° fino a cottura (40-45’ circa).
Quando la rifarò, perché LA rifarò, aggiungerò un uovo all'impasto insieme a delle zeste di limone e prima di infornare, darò una spennellata con albume appena sbattuto e mescolato a del latte.
 |
| (Fare click sulla foto per ingrandirla) |
Thanks and Next
The Ziopiero
0 comments:
Post a Comment