Maybe it was the fact that I had walked 9 miles that day in 90 degree heat, maybe it was the fact that I was deliriously happy to be spending the weekend with one of my best friends who I hadn’t seen in over a year, maybe it was the fact that I was in Rome, but the matriciana and dessert and wine and everything that I ate at enOsteria, a little farm-to-table place near the Spanish Steps, was the best meal I’ve ever had. Even as I was eating it, I was already trying to figure out how I’d make it in my own kitchen. Luckily, we had one of the best waiters of all time and he told us that the secret to the sauce was the orange zest. Genius! To my continual gratitude, he also steered me toward a dessert of strawberries covered in white chocolate mouse with a drizzle of olive oil. It was like a fluffy, sweet and salty cloud of deliciousness. That may need to be my next project.
In planning my trip to Rome, I was picturing myself as Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, stylishly riding a bike through the city, eating spaghetti without gaining a pound, and buying bouquets of flowers. Reality, however, was not a crisp white shirt dress and a perfect new pixie cut. Picture instead a sweat-drenched creature, with hair simultaneously frizzed and plastered to her face, stomping around Rome in rubber sandals made out of some kind of stink-free space foam, trying to convince herself that her outfit paid proper respect to the Eternal City. Oh well.