Let me back track four weeks, to the start of May, when we took a quick weekend trip to Rome to battle our vitamin d deficiency and to inhale as much gelato as humanly possible. It was my second trip to Italy; last December we dropped by Milan enroute back to London and to say I was not impressed with Milano food would be an understatement. But everyone tells me different about Rome, so good ol’ Roma had a lot to live up to.
And Roma did good! I practically stepped off the plane into a plate of smoked salmon and aubergine tagliatelle, chased down with a scoop (only one?) of pistachio gelato that spoke to my stomach and made my heart flutter. If that first meal was any indication, I should have packed my stretchy fat-day pants, but instead I brought my size 6 Grab denims instead, cos hey, they look hot.
Filled to my heart’s content (for the moment), we traipsed around Rome, checking out the Colloseum, Palatine, the Roman Forum, Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps. This is no mean feat, people. With my midget stature, I was soon hungry again and we stopped at Pizzeria Leonardo, by the Spanish Steps and chowed down on a pizza diavola and spaghetti pescatori, which is just fancy marinara, but so devine!
Over the course of the next day, we had pizza for brunch, lunch, break and dinner, and if it weren’t for the encrouching of my dessert stomach, I would have happily had some more. Diavola, people, diavola.
And the gelato? Well, let’s just say we were in Rome for 2.5 days and I managed to squeeze in at least eight serves of my love, my true love, plus a side or two of tiramisu and semi-freddi (I never did say I was faithful). I snuck in gelato literally whenever I could, for example, a second dessert on the way home from dessert, or ducking to the ladies while in queue and oops! coming back with a scoop of boysenberry gelato. That’s dedication. Mi amore!