Rome on a Plate

Rome lingers in my memory like the perfume of basil crushed between fingertips—evocative, grounding, and impossible to forget. Of the cities I love, it floats between first and second, depending on my mood. New York, as my everyday partner, abstains from the competition. Paris is an old friend, elegant and romantic, a bond revived effortlessly whenever we meet but never demanding. London, New York’s cosmopolitan sibling, tempts me with its history and warrens of streets, its energy pulsing with a familiar yet foreign rhythm. But Rome—it’s another thing entirely. Rome is Rome.

Gritty, sensuous, and unashamedly itself, Rome is visceral. It’s the shot of espresso downed at the counter, the ceramic cup in lieu of paper, grounding centuries of tradition. It’s the Ponte Sant’Angelo in the early morning, the statues momentarily ethereal, pure white marble under a perfect cerulean sky. It’s the guttural roar of fans erupting from a thousand windows when AS Roma conquers AC Milan. It’s an aperitivo with your love in Piazza Navona, a prelude to a late-night feast in Trastevere where the season dictates the plate and the night ends with limoncello and grappa before returning to your apartment across from where the Barber of Seville was penned. Rome is the city of passion, unfiltered and inescapable.

And that passion? It spills unapologetically into its food, particularly the sacred quartet of its pasta sauces, alla grecia, amatriciana, carbonara, and cacio e pepe. All have my affection, but amatriciana claims my heart. My introduction to it, though hazy from exhaustion, remains vivid. Working on a project in Lake Como, I’d been awake for 36 hours when I ordered spaghettini puttanesca at a lakeside trattoria. My wife, meanwhile, chose what my sleep-deprived brain interpreted as “bucatini Americana.” When she offered me a bite of her dish, I accepted begrudgingly. What landed on my tongue was revelatory. Sweet, bright tomatoes, onion, the salty elegance of pecorino, and guanciale’s unctuous indulgence. It was joy, wrapped in al dente strands, and I wondered, briefly, if I’d heard angels singing in the distance. When she corrected me—“all’amatriciana, not Americana”—I laughed, already captivated by the culinary symphony.

Later, I dove into the history of Rome’s sauces: the shepherds in the hills outside of Rome crafting the simplicity of alla grecia with guanciale, pecorino, and pepper; cacio e pepe’s minimalist purity arising when meat was scarce; carbonara’s luxurious addition of yolk; and amatriciana’s rich evolution of grecia with the tomato’s arrival. South of Rome, however, these traditions met decadence, creating a fifth: pasta alla zozzona, or “dirty pasta.” A riot of indulgence, it combines all four mother sauces, adds sausage for good measure, and whispers indulgence with every bite. Dirty, perhaps, because it tempts the senses or because its richness borders on sin.

To me, zozzona encapsulates Rome’s essence: unabashed beauty intertwined with grit and vitality. A dish as at home in a marble-laden piazza as on a scuffed table in Trastevere. Like the graffiti that blooms beside ancient fountains, it balances the sacred and the profane, elegance with desire. It’s the city’s culinary gospel—honest, passionate, and unapologetic. It tastes, unapologetically, of Rome.

Pasta alla Zazonna

INGREDIENTS:

• 5 oz guanciale, cut into 1/4 inch cubes
• 5 oz sweet Italian uncased sausage, cut into 1 pieces 
• 1/2 cup onion, finely chopped
• 3/4 cup passata
• 1/2 cup Pecorino Romana 
• 2 large egg yolks
• 1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
• 8 oz rigatoni or tube shaped pasta

DIRECTIONS:

1. Boil salted water for pasta. 
2. In a skillet over medium heat add guanciale and sauté about six minutes until the fat is rendered and the guanciale is browned.
3. Add onion and sausage to the pan and break up sausage with the back of a spoon.
4. Cook until the sausage is no longer pink.
5. Add passata to the pan and simmer.
6. Add the pasta to the boiling water and cook until al dente. Drain, reserving 1 cup of the pasta water.
7. Return drained pasta to pot and stir in the sausage mixture until the pasta is well coated.
8. In a bowl whisk the egg yolks with the Pecorino and black pepper.
9. Slowly whisk in 1/4 cup of the saved pasta water to temper the egg mixture.
10. Remove pan from heat and stir in the yolk/cheese mixture. Stir until the sauce is thickened and glossy.
11. Top with more Pecorino and serve.