Notes from a Roman Pilgrimage (Part 2)

The Frecciarossa (Red Arrow), high-speed train

Milan: Business and Restraint

See Part 1, Part 3

More business than pleasure, my first trip to Milan did not move me as Rome always does. Still, it wasn’t the grey, joyless city its reputation suggests. The people were courteous, many from Torino and elsewhere—Italians in Milanese exile. With an hour to kill before catching the Frecciarossa, we browsed a record and book shop near Milano Centrale. I bought nothing, but the scent of vinyl and paper was its own souvenir.

Lunch was excellent—better than the “Italian” fare most New Yorkers accept without protest—but it followed a German meal, which perhaps made it seem transcendent by contrast. No disrespect to my Teutonic friends, I like German food, but wurst and spätzle lack the divine spark of salumi or a perfectly al dente macaroni. As it happened, the first restaurant we visited in Rome was Cantina Tirolese, known for its German and Austrian fare and frequented often by Pope Benedict XVI—an irony that wasn’t lost on me.

Before that first evening meal, we paid a visit to the Grand Magistry of the Sacred Military Constantinian Order of St. George, tucked discreetly into the heart of Rome. I was part of the small delegation entrusted with presenting an antique priestly vestment to His Royal Highness Prince Carlo di Borbone, Duke of Castro. In relatively good condition, the chasuble, mitre, stole, and burse were richly embroidered with the Constantinian cross and coat of arms—a tangible relic of the Order’s enduring devotion.

The Prince received us and the gift warmly. As we admired the workmanship, espresso was served, as it always is in Italy when something meaningful is shared. Conversation turned to business and the Order’s charitable works. Then, with the graciousness of an old-world host, His Royal Highness offered us a private tour of the Grand Magistry’s facilities—rooms lined with portraits, insignia, and centuries-old documents.

It was a moment both intimate and solemn, the kind of encounter that reminds one that history is not confined to books or relics; it continues in the gestures of the living.

Details of Milan's Stazione Centrale

Tagliatelle with Porcini Mushrooms

Pope Benedict's table number 6 at Cantina Tirolese

(L) Portrait and plaque commemorating the Pope. (R) Franziskaner beer

The Alpine Plate with mixed game cold cuts

Smoked goose breast

Smoked pork shank

Würstel Platte

Spiced and grilled pork ribs

Tiroler Plate with smoked pork neck, würstel, cevapcici, leberkäse, and potatoes

Decorative fairy creature and portrait of Emperor Franz Joseph I of Austria

Mounted trophy skulls

The Roman Table

Once we settled into Roman rhythm, there was no going back to the heavy fare of the north—German or Milanese. From that moment forward, each meal became a revelation. Amatriciana, alla gricia, carbonara, cacio e pepe—the so-called “Four Gospels” of Roman pasta. We easily averaged five cafés a day, beginning with cornetto or zeppola and a quick espresso or cappuccino at the counter.

One afternoon, we discovered what may have been the most perfect lunch in all of Rome—a porchetta, provolone, and cicoria sandwich at Panino di Vino, a friendly and welcoming deli along the Via dei Gracchi. Simple, hearty, and utterly Roman, it embodied everything the city does best: rustic ingredients elevated by care, tradition, and pride.

The highlight, though, was our farewell luncheon at Trattoria da Augusto in Trastevere, a popular district of crooked streets and gold light. We sat by an open window, locals chatting all around, the purr of scooters outside. Lasagna di Domenica, coniglio alla cacciatora, puntarelle, patate al forno, and a carafe of red wine—the simplest dishes rendered transcendent by care. Dessert was torta della nonna Leda, a custard tart dusted with pine nuts.

After lunch, we took a passeggiata through the neighborhood, had a digestivo at a nearby bar, and took a stroll across Ponte Sisto, that Renaissance bridge built between 1473 and 1479 under Pope Sixtus IV. I thought, not for the first time, that Rome feeds both body and soul. Continue reading

Porchetta, provolone, and chicoria sandwich

Prosciutto on the ham stand

Spaghetti carbonara

Cacio e pepe

Panna cotta

Lasagna di Domenica

Coniglio alla cacciatora

Patate al forno

Puntarelle

(Above & below) Torte della nonna Leda

Ponte Sisto