Slow Food

Having always been a greedy person, spending time in Rome has given me access to some fantastic food experiences.

I’ve already written about the Roscioli Forno on my street. Up until now, I’ve bought Croccante, which is a very crispy flatbread, or Pizza Bianca (olive oil and salt). My latest discovery is the crusty woodfired, oatmeal-coloured pane forno. You can buy it by the kilo (heaven forbid) or in any smaller amount, and the fierce, chopper-wielding woman in the bakery will cut your portion, wrap it, weigh it and give you a receipt for the till in seconds.

Further up on the corner of the Campo is a Salumeria (delicatessen) run by 4 or 5 elderly stalwarts, with Madame again behind the till. It’s a treasure house of prosciutto, pesto, olives, artichokes, smoked swordfish, buffalo mozzarella and parmignano. No-one is ever in a hurry, and on any normal working day in my ‘normal’ life I wouldn’t have the patience to wait the 10 minutes or so it takes for the signore to measure out my desired portion, slowly package it up and move on to my next item.

I haven’t mentioned the Campo butcher, the seafood seller, or even the fruit and vegetable vendors yet, and in fact I haven’t attempted to cook any fish or shellfish – mainly due to my ignorance of the types on offer.

Because of the proximity, and because I have time on holiday, daily shopping is a real pleasure, particularly as I can buy just as much as I need. I can also take my time over it, stopping for a coffee at the Bar Farnese and reading the paper before moving on to finish my shopping.

So my days are evolving into a slow pattern of buying provisions in the morning, dropping these back at the apartment and visiting a museum or gallery in the afternoon. It’s a perfect combination, and I generally head home around dusk to have a glass of wine and think about dinner. This way of slow living is exactly how I envisaged it months ago, back in Australia.