Have you ever come upon that seemingly never-ending wing of busts in the Vatican Museums and sped past it? Next time, consider it an ancient fashion show of hair. Let me break down some of the most iconic hair looks of the ancient Romans and give you their new names—the Flatbread Top, the Braided Pillbox, and the Canadian Lumberjack—so you’ll be able to recall them instantly the next time you’re in one of those ostensibly dull corridors.

Back to the capelli. Hairstyles in ancient Rome were often ornate and exquisitely coiffed to denote, beyond a shadow of a doubt, “civilization.” These patricians were absolutely not going to be confused with their barbarian enemies and their unkempt hair.

Coiffures in ancient Rome were complicated both in their construction and what they signalled, from a person’s social status to their age, from their origins to their political affiliations. For a deep dive on this history, check out the references at the end of this article. For our purposes, let’s keep this an airy 101 intro class on ancient hair.

Glance at a bust’s hair for three seconds and you should be able to guess the sitter’s gender. If you see a part—ding—this is a Roman woman. Although we spend a lot of time arguing about side and middle parts (settle down, millennials and zoomers), it might be surprising that ancient Romans thought the whole idea effeminate. As such, all the ancient bros combed their hair forward from the crown into a supposedly macho fringe. Another at-a-glance gender difference is hair length: women had incredibly long hair, while men cut theirs much shorter.

Historians and archaeologists debate about whether wigs and hairpieces were used to construct ancient Roman hairstyles, but most now agree that many of these ’dos were formed with the person’s own hair using ancient tools like hair bodkins, blunt needles and thread, and the calamistrum (ancient curling iron). To see how the ornatrices (slave hairdressers of ancient Rome) might have created these styles, check out hairdressing archaeologist Janet Stephens’s YouTube channel.

And without further a’do, let’s dive into 8 iconic hairstyles of ancient Rome, with some new names to help you recall them the next time you’re in one of those seemingly dull corridors of the Vatican, Capitoline, Uffizi, or, for that matter, the Met, Louvre, or British Museum.

1. The Kindergarten Pasta Craft Look

Cast your minds back to kindergarten at Christmastime. Did you make those angel pasta ornaments to take home to your parents and hang on the tree? I distinctly recall gluing a farfalla on the back for the angelo’s wings. This Flavian hairstyle, circa 80-100 CE, is WILD. In the front, girthy rigatoni are set upon a pillowy bed of anelli, like you’d find in a Sicilian timballo. The back is more restrained, just dozens of small braids pulled back and coiled into a substantial bun. If you were interested in having this bust on a pedestal in your living room, I’m sorry, the Sotheby’s auction has now closed. Silver lining: you saved £150,000-£250,000!

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2. The Ringlet Orb

A hairstyle that seems to defy gravity, the Flavian-Trajanic orbis comarum looks like a halo of curls. Its height is somewhere between The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air’s hi-top fade and Marie Antoinette’s sky-high pouf. Though this arrangement looks like an impossible stand of individual curls, in fact, hair archaeologist Janet Stephens believes this look was achieved by cutting your hair into a mullet, teasing your curly bangs to the gods, and stabilizing them with sewn thread. This party in the front is accompanied with business in the back in the form of an intricate braided wreath bun. Martial mentions this hairstyle—and the cruelty of the upper classes—in Epigrams when a mistress, Lalage, strikes down her ornatrix with a mirror after seeing one errant curl. You can visit the Fonseca Bust—a hopefully kinder woman from the early 2nd-century AD—in the Hall of Emperors inside the Capitoline Museums in Rome.

3. The Flatbread Top

Faustina the Elder’s signature ’do is chic from the front, but when she turns to the side and walks to the bar to get another negroni sbagliato, you are gagged. This 2nd-century CE empress liked a middle part centered on her nose, with tiers of waves pulled to the sides. These tresses were lightly interwoven in the back and then—smack!—piled on her head like a stack of Umbrian torta al testo. Faustina died only two years after becoming empress, but her husband Antoninus Pius made sure she would be remembered, proclaiming her a goddess and churning out statues and coins of her likeness. Her hairstyle was disseminated far and wide, and became so iconic that she became a muse for Renaissance and Neoclassical artists like Lorenzo Ghiberti and Antonio Canova. Last year the Gallerie d’Italia Vicenza even held an exhibit on women’s hairstyles in honour of Faustina’s braids. Slay, diva.

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4. The Not-My-Mom Chignon

As daughters often do, Faustina the Younger rejected her mother’s extravagant style to create a look all her own. Hers is much more restrained: finger waves cascade from a center part and are pulled back into a braided chignon at the nape of her neck: very demure, very mindful. Throughout her life, Faustina the Younger experimented with more and less elaborate versions of this hairstyle. This simple rendition, viewable at the Uffizi Galleries in Florence, is from her later life: her mom (of 14!) bun era. This unfussy ’do was well suited for joining her husband Marcus Aurelius on military tours of the empire (she was, in fact, the first empress to be deemed Mater Castrorum, Mother of the Camp). It may also be the hairstyle she died in, as she unfortunately met her end at such an army camp in Cappadocia.

5. The Braided Pillbox

In 2014, Vogue published a photo of Kate Middleton in a red ensemble, heralding “the Return of the Pillbox Hat,” the chic millinery made famous by 1960s American First Lady Jackie Kennedy. But did their fact-checkers have the timeline completely wrong? Was Jackie O in fact heralding the return of the hairstyle all the rage in the mid-2nd century CE: the tower of braids? This coiffure, as seen on this bust at the Walters Art Museum, is formed by parallel braids winding round and round at the top of the head, forming an architectural headpiece. Inside the jaw-dropping mosaics of Sicily’s Villa Romana del Casale, you’ll spot another ancient pillbox: a soldier wearing a pileus pannonicus, the Roman military headgear that evolved into the hat Jackie and Kate famously wore. And since this mosaic dates to the 4th century CE, the hair aficionado has to wonder: were the troops inspired by the Roman ladies, or vice versa?

6. The Cocker Spaniel

The longest hairstyle of this roundup is what I like to call The Cocker Spaniel. Wavy hair falls from a middle part until just below the chin, and would fall further—I imagine to the bicep at least—if it weren’t folded back on itself, braided, and pinned to the back of the head. Thus the profile is very reminiscent of our favourite spaghetti-slurping canine (the live action Lady, not the animated Lady with the long hair blowout). The back is the signature column silhouette of the 3rd and 4th centuries CE, worn by empresses like Otacilia Severa and Herennia Etruscilla: a wide braid or twist folded up from the nape of the neck and fastened to the back of the head in a just-got-out-of-the-shower stance against volume. If you find yourself in New York, you can appreciate this lady’s ’do at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Don’t worry, ragazzi, I haven’t forgotten about you. Though the hairstyles of ancient Roman men were not as elaborate as the women’s, they deserve a nod here too. As we’ve established, ancient Roman men were certainly not parting their hair, and they chose hairstyles that required less obvious effort to distance themselves from the effeminate act of sitting with ornatrices for hours on end to create intricate coiffures.

That said, hair was very important to the ancient Roman man. Suetonius calls Emperor Domitian’s baldness a “disfigurement,” and Seneca clocks that many Roman men were just as hair-obsessed as their female counterparts:

Tell me, would you say that those men are at leisure who pass many hours at the barber’s while they are being stripped of whatever grew out the night before? while a solemn debate is held over each separate hair? while either disarranged locks are restored to their place or thinning ones drawn from this side and that toward the forehead? How angry they get if the barber has been a bit too careless, just as if he were shearing a real man! How they flare up if any of their mane is lopped off, if any of it lies out of order, if it does not all fall into its proper ringlets! Who of these would not rather have the state disordered than his hair?

Ah, the vexation of an improper ringlet. I get it.

One area ancient Roman men did get to play in more than the ladies was facial hair. The next time you’re in a hall of busts, check for a beard and see how long the man’s hair is: with that you’ve got a quick litmus test for the period. Or, commit these two looks to memory: clean-shaven lad in a tracksuit and bearded Canadian lumberjack.

7. The Early Emperor Crop

Though the emperors Caesar, Augustus, and Trajan were the most powerful men of their times—they literally controlled an empire—their combed-forward fringe always reminds me of a young lad in a tracksuit. All the emperors until Hadrian (naughty neckbeard Nero notwithstanding) paired this short-haired look with a clean-shaven face. This was an act of bravery in itself, as your tonsor (ancient Roman barber) could kill you very easily—think of how frighteningly close that razor would be to your neck. This fear was so overpowering that both Commodus and Dionysius the Elder opted for singeing their hair and beard over equipping their barbers with blades. We’re always worried about trusting our hairdressers; think about how much you had to trust your tonsor.

8. The Canadian Lumberjack

By now we all understand BCE (before the Common Era) and CE (Common Era), but have you heard of BHB and AHB? This is the era divide we never knew we needed: Before Hadrian’s Barba, and After Hadrian’s Barba. Yes, sure, Hadrian built a wall in England, but more importantly, he brought back the beard! Paired with longer, more free-flowing hair, this look evoked Hadrian’s interest in all things Greek, from philosophy to male lovers (Hadrian and Antinous are arguably the most famous gay couple of ancient Rome). I, however, think this look is decidedly fell-a-tree, Canadian Lumberjack realness. The Antonine dynasty continued to embrace the vibe, including Antoninus Pius (Faustina the Elder’s husband), Marcus Aurelius (Faustina the Younger’s husband), and the man who took it to its greatest heights, Lucius Verus.

No matter which Italian region your museum wanderings take you to, don’t be overwhelmed by the busts. Take a breath and get your bearings by searching out a Canadian Lumberjack or a Ringlet Orb. Get inspired, admire the skill of the ornatrices, and count your blessings that the hair trends of 2026 are the simple bob and—at most complicated—the ’90s It-Girl Blowout.

Caitlynn’s company DOP Italian Travel designs original paths through Italy for thoughtful travellers. Enrich your next Italy trip with bespoke advice on crafting your ideal itinerary, language and culture prep, restaurant recommendations, and get hype resources. Peruse DOP’s website to find out which Italian region is right for your next trip — Caitlynn’s specialty is matchmaking you with the Italian region that suits you the best (she is currently in a throuple with Puglia and Umbria).

Further Reading and References

• Bartman, Elizabeth. “Hair and the Artifice of Roman Female Adornment” American Journal of Archaeology, vol. 105, no. 1, 2001, pp. 1-25. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/507324. Accessed 29 May 2025.

• . “One can always spot an emperor by his haircut” Understanding Rome, https://www.understandingrome.com/2013/08/18/one-can-always-spot-an-emperor-by-his-haircut-2/.

• Pepe, Cristina. “Hairstyling in Ancient Roma” Un po’ di Pepe, https://unpodipepe.ca/2017/01/31/hairstyling-ancient-roma/.

• Seneca. On the shortness of life, translated by John W. Basore (12.3)

• Stephens, Janet. “Ancient Roman Hairdressing: On (Hair)Pins and Needles.” Journal of Roman Archaeology 21 (2008): 110–132. Web.

• Stephens, Janet. YouTube Channel, https://www.youtube.com/@jntvstp.

• Suetonius. Life of Domitian (Chapter 18)

Centenarians whiz by on their bicycles to enjoy a glass of Cannonau at home. A handful of women in a remote mountain village make the world’s rarest pasta. The same foods enjoyed in the Bronze Age are still found on tables 3,000 years later. Sardinia’s food culture is nothing if not fascinating.

The island has evolved separately from the mainland both culturally and geologically; 23 million years ago, Sardinia was connected to the Provençal coast in modern-day France. Residents consider themselves Sardinian first and Italian second. They speak their own language, sardo—the closest to Vulgar Latin of all the Romance languages. Words end in s. There are u’s and x’s everywhere. Malloreddus, casu axedu, culurgiones—are we in Spain? Malta? Ancient Rome? No, amici, you are in Sardinia. Benvenuti. Or, as the Sardinians say: beni benius.

The island’s culinary traditions, too, have been shaped both by its indigenous culture and its history of foreign domination. The Nuragic civilization, which flourished in the Bronze Age and is autochthonous to Sardinia, gave the island porceddu (roasted suckling pig) and fiore sardo cheese. The Phoenicians contributed bottarga and saffron, the Aragonese aragosta alla catalana (lobster alla catalana), and the House of Savoy (via some families from Genova) pesto and farinata.

One ubiquitous ingredient in Sardinian cuisine is pecorino, which makes its way into almost every meal. Shepherds occupy an important role in Sardinia, and are revered for their deep knowledge of the land, epic transhumance journeys, and ability to make something glorious (the island’s many cheeses as well as the lamb and mutton that fill pies, make broth, and transform into ragù) from a rugged, mountainous landscape that others would find too daunting. These millennia-old pastoral traditions are captured most evocatively in canto a tenore, a UNESCO-recognized singing tradition where four men harmonize and adopt voices said to recall the sheep, the ox, the shepherd, and the wind.

Perhaps Sardinia’s biggest claim to fame, however, is its status as one of the world’s five Blue Zones: areas where people live healthier, and significantly longer, than the global average. Though not all the credit can go to the food (exercise, rest, and climate all play a factor), there is something to be said for the island’s cuisine. So here, a crash course on the 20 foods you must try when you next visit Sardinia, the island some believe to be the mythical Atlantis.

Malloreddus alla Campidanese

For ragù devotees, a plate of malloreddus alla campidanese is a good place to start. Malloreddus are also known as gnocchetti sardi, despite looking more like ridged cavatelli than gnocchi. Their name comes from the diminutive of malloru (“bull” in Sardinian), as the pasta’s shape is said to be reminiscent of a calf’s pot belly. The ridges on malloreddus are perfect to scoop up the campidanese sauce of pork and fennel sausage, tomato, onion, saffron, and pecorino sardo. Campidanese refers to the Campidano area in south-west Sardinia, but malloreddus can be paired with other sauces (sheep ragù, pesto, or melted cheese) and called other names (ciggioni, cassuli, maccarones furriados) depending on where you are on the island.

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Culurgiones

As an ode to the plant used to make this pasta shape, and historically prepared to celebrate the grain harvest, culurgiones are ravioli shaped like ears of wheat. The spighitta wheat spike shape is deceptively difficult to create and a testament to the skillful hands of Sardinian women. Most commonly, culurgiones are filled with potatoes, mint, and pecorino, and topped with a simple tomato sauce. The result is a comforting, creamy interior balanced by the refreshing tang of tomatoes and the coolness of mint. Though they can now be found across the entire island, culurgiones hail from the eastern Sardinian region of Ogliastra. They often have different fillings depending on the town you visit—sometimes onions and garlic make an appearance. During Carnevale, a sweet, fried version of culurgiones replaces the savoury ingredients with almonds, walnuts, ricotta, lemon peel, orange peel, and honey.

Fregula

Fregula is a Sardinian pasta that you should certainly not mistake for couscous nor misspell as fregola, urges Angela, the proprietress of the agriturismo L’Oasi del Cervo on the southwest Costa Verde. Instead, this small, Israeli-couscous-like “pasta” is made with semola (a fine grind of hard durum wheat)—not farina (a flour made from soft wheat, a different species)—and water that has been salted and infused with saffron, the profumo of Sardinia. The grains are traditionally formed by hand in a large terracotta bowl called a scivedda. Spoonfuls of the water are added bit by bit to the semola as someone circulates the growing fregula grains round and round the scivedda. When they have reached their correct size and shape—something like a peppercorn—the fregule are dried and then toasted to bring out a nutty flavor. To serve, they are boiled like pasta in water or a fishy broth to soak up all the flavor: think fregula con le arselle (wedge clams).

Pane Carasau

A staple on every Sardinian table is pane carasau, a twice-baked semolina flour flatbread—and by flat, I mean paper-thin. In fact, pane carasau is called carta da musica by mainlanders because it resembles sheet music parchment, makes a satisfying musical crack when you break it, and is so thin you might even be able to read a Verdi score through it. When put into the oven for the first time, pane carasau puffs up into something akin to a balloon. It is then cooled, cut into two layers, and toasted again, sheet by sheet. The result is a crispy bread-cracker with a consistency reminiscent of Indian papadam. At least 3,000 years old, pane carasau was originally a staple of Sardinian shepherds, since it was light, portable, and could last for (wait for it) one year (they also sometimes used rounds of it in lieu of plates). It’s the perfect accompaniment to any meal, or prepared in pane frattau (stock-soaked pane carasau topped with tomato sauce, pecorino, and a fried egg) or lasagne di pane carasau, where pasta sheets are swapped for these musical flatbreads.

Seadas

Imagine a deep-fried raviolo the size of a personal pie, filled with melted sheep’s cheese and drizzled with honey. Enter: the seada. This dessert’s dough is enriched with lard (a preparation Sardinians call pasta violada, or softened dough), and the filling is made of tangy, unsalted, fresh pecorino traditionally left out in a damp cloth for a couple days to turn gently acidic. In one bite of a seada, you taste the tartness of the pecorino, the comforting bready dough, and the bitter flavor of corbezzolo honey, made exclusively in Sardinia when the strawberry trees bloom in the autumn. Though Cicero wasn’t a fan of this “bad honey,” modern connoisseurs laud its notes of liquorice, leather, and coffee, and scientists its ability to reduce the growth of cancer cells. Some food historians interpret a dish in Petronius’s 1st-century CE novel The Satyricon as an ancient seada, but even if the flour-cheese-honey recipe wasn’t quite the same, it’s certainly a great combo of ingredients.

Porceddu

An entire suckling pig roasted vertically on a spit inevitably evokes celebration, festival, and community; Sardinian porceddu has been this centrepiece of community togetherness from ancient times to today. Ancient pig figurines and bone piles suggest the porceddu tradition may go back to the Bronze Age Nuragic civilization of Sardinia, which also gave the island its enigmatic honeycomb stone towers. These days, pick the right restaurant—or secure an invite to a local’s party—and you can sample this mouthwatering dish. To make porceddu, a piglet no older than 40 days has its innards and hair removed and is seasoned with a house blend that may include olive oil, salt, pepper, myrtle, rosemary, garlic, and/or wild fennel. The piglet is then slow roasted on a spit for about four hours until the skin is crunchy and the meat inside melts in your mouth. In an even more labor-intensive tradition—steeped in a history of bandits hiding their cooking—the porceddu is wrapped in myrtle leaves and buried underground in a pit with embers, while a fire burns on top of it. You only have to wait 6-12 hours for that version.

Aragosta alla Catalana

Aragosta alla catalana is a spiny lobster dish that exemplifies northwest Sardinia’s Spanish history. For this secondo, the lobster is boiled and its meat is removed from the shell and mixed with tomatoes, red onions that have been calmed in a bath of vinegar water, and a dressing of olive oil, lemon juice, salt, and pepper. Sometimes the shell is reintegrated to up the drama of the presentation. The dish comes from Alghero, a city nicknamed Barceloneta (little Barcelona) due to its 14th-century Catalan occupation and subsequent architectural and linguistic legacy (the algherese dialect is a variant of the Catalan language). The aragosta of the pristine waters surrounding Alghero is of such high quality—Queen Elizabeth II wanted this specific lobster at her wedding—that the understated alla catalana preparation is all it needs. Seafood simplicity at its finest.

Filindeu & Lorigghitas

If you like a culinary scavenger hunt, or for things to be difficult, try to find and eat two exquisite and incredibly rare Sardinian pasta shapes: filindeu (threads of God) and lorigghitas.

For many years, you could count on one hand the women in Sardinia who knew how to make filindeu—an incredibly difficult process kept secret within one matrilineal line. Twice a year, this family fed filindeu to pilgrims who walked overnight for eight hours from Nuoro to the sanctuary of San Francesco in Lula. Now, thanks to the story of this rare pasta spreading like wildfire around the internet, and the nuoresi women opening up about the recipe, we know that filindeu begin as hand-pulled noodles stretched into otherworldly proportions: fine strands about the size of a human hair. (For a laugh, watch Jamie Oliver attempt the technique—no shade to him, Barilla failed at it too.) These threads of God are spread over a large wooden disc called a fundu, 256 at a time, to create a massive, three-layer circle reminiscent of cheesecloth. These circles bind together after drying in the sun and are then broken into fragments that look like paper-thin slices of shredded wheat. The pieces are then cooked in mutton broth with fresh pecorino. It’s awe-inspiring to see the intense devotion required to make something as beautiful as those huge, see-through circular sheets of filindeu, just to break and cook them into near-dissolving wisps. A few restaurants in Sardinia now serve filindeu, and you’ll also find it on menus in Vancouver, Singapore, and LA. This is good news—a near-extinct pasta shape has been saved—but one does wonder what is lost when filindeu travel so far from their spiritual home and familiar hands.

Lorigghitas, instead, look like beautiful twisted earrings, or, if you’re in the business of livestock, they may remind you of the iron rings used to tether horses and oxen to buildings. This pasta, along with filindeu, is included in the Slow Food Ark of Taste, a database of foods at risk of disappearing. Traditionally, lorigghitas were made for All Saints’ Day in the village of Morgongiori on the western side of Sardinia and paired with a rooster ragù. Apparently they were so delicious that a legend was created to discourage children from eating too many: if a child happened to overindulge, the witch Maria Pungi Pungi would pierce their tummy with a skewer so the lorighittas would come tumbling out. Lorighittas are now served across Sardinia with all sorts of sauces, from shellfish to pork to asparagus, but don’t miss trying them in their hometown at the Sagra delle Lorighittas in August every year. Just don’t overdo it—I can’t guarantee that Maria doesn’t target adult bellies as well.

Zuppa Gallurese

It’s important to distinguish that zuppa in Italian means broth-soaked bread, rather than the catch-all English term “soup.” Hailing from northeast Sardinia in the historical area of Gallura, the zuppa gallurese is a layered dish of sliced stale bread and cheese, usually a mix of a melty cow’s milk cheese (panedda or casizolu) and a harder aged cheese (like Gran Campidano, Sardinia’s answer to Parmiggiano Reggiano, or pecorino sardo). After this bread lasagne has been layered, it’s drowned in mutton stock—the precise amount of which is gleaned only through touch and experience. This is the “soupiest” step of the process. Then, a little more cheese on top, 45 minutes in the forno, and out comes zuppa gallurese. At this point it’s not wet at all, but holds its form like a slice of gooey lasagne. In a region now most known for the ultrachic Costa Smeralda and its superyachts, zuppa gallurese is a welcome reminder that everyone needs to use up old bread, and that sometimes, comfort food is the best food.

Sa Panada

Sa panada is Sardinia’s answer to the savoury pie. The crust is enriched with lard (remember that pasta violada) and the fillings can vary: meats like lamb, pork, or eel (mostly in Assemini) are combined with ingredients like potatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, broad beans, artichokes, garlic, and parsley. The telltale mark of the panada is the ornamental way in which its lid is fastened, with an exquisite pastry coil (sa cosidura) reminiscent of a diadem. The pie’s history is a little fuzzy; some point to its similarity with empanadas and therefore attribute the creation to Spanish occupation, some believe the dish came about during Roman times, while others claim that it’s actually been eaten on the island since the Nuragic times. As with many dishes on this list, each town swears by their own variation: Assemini uses eel and lamb; Cuglieri favors artichokes, fava beans, garlic, olives, and peas with their beef and lamb; and Oschiri is heavy on the lard, garlic, and parsley with their pork. The size, too, can vary, and though you’ll mostly find personal-sized panadas, Assemini is famous for their giant pot-like, folded shape.

Su Coccoi (Pane Coccoi)

Sometimes Italian food is ugly but delicious—brutti ma buoni cookies come to mind—but if Sardinia had a similar catchphrase, it would be troppo bello da mangiare, too beautiful to eat. The island’s aesthetic appreciation for all things culinary continues in the arte bianca (“white art”) of breadmaking. Sardinia’s elaborately decorated breads, known as su coccoi, pane coccoi, and pani pintau, adorn tables around Eastertime and other special occasions. Eating su coccoi is like biting into the Baroque facade of a basilica—we’re talking flowers, birds, girls, crowns, baskets, and wreaths. Often a whole, hard-boiled egg is included in the design as a nod to Pasqua—a tradition you’ll also see in Puglia’s la scarcella. Sardinia’s intricate artistry also extends to their dolci: is candelaus, for example, are like marzipan, sweets made of almond paste formed into the shapes of little shoes or baskets and topped with ornate icing, often given out like edible art at baptisms, weddings, or Easter celebrations.

Bottarga di Muggine

When you fish gray mullet (most famously from the Cabras Lagoon in western Sardinia), carefully extract the roe pouches from the females, and cure and slowly dry these masses of eggs, you get bottarga di muggine, or butàriga in Sardinian. This ancient technique, 3,000 years in the making, was brought to Sardinian shores by the Phoenicians, who established settlements at Tharros, Othoca, Sulci, and Nora. Bottarga (aka Cabras gold) is a secret umami hit, ideal for shaving over pasta, grating over vegetables, or sliced atop bread and butter. You’ll find it on menus all across the island, though if you’re on the search for some of this cured roe for yourself, be sure to choose one with a piece of flesh (su biddiu) attached to the sacks—a mark of quality bottarga. A good place to start is Cagliari’s Mercato di San Benedetto—Italy’s largest indoor market, which is temporarily in Piazza Nazzari until 2027 due to renovations.

Mazza Frissa

Look quickly at mazza frissa and you might mistake it for polenta or perhaps a superfine potato purée. Also hailing from Gallura, this dish is a combination of only three ingredients: semolina, cream (historically sheep’s, but cow’s cream can be substituted), and salt. Mazza frissa is cooked slowly in a pan until it reaches a creamy porridge consistency. At a certain point during cooking, it releases oil, which is removed from the top and can be used like butter elsewhere. This step of the process is captured in the expression “sudatu come una mazza frissa” (“sweaty like a mazza frissa”). Usually, this dish is served with the island’s famous honey and pane carasau, but it can also be topped with bottarga or even used as a sauce for pasta or gnocchi.

Orziadas

For the adventurous eaters, Sardinia has a seafood dish for you: orziadas’ unassuming, pakora-like appearance belies some fascinating facts. 1) Though they are indeed a lightly-battered fritter as they appear, the ingredient inside is one you’ve likely never eaten: sea anemone (anemonia sulcata). 2) Sea anemones are related to jellyfish, and anyone who watched Finding Nemo will know they have stinging tentacles. This is why chefs don gloves when cleaning them, but don’t worry—cooking neutralizes their danger. The flavor of orziadas is very intense and of-the-sea, and their texture is similar to sweetbreads. Appreciated particularly in Oristano and Cagliari, orziadas are often hard to find—they must be hand-caught and recent overfishing has become an issue. But if you do spot them on a menu, it’s a true Sardinian experience.

Su Mustazzeddu de Tamatiga

As if Italy needed more delicious ways to combine tomatoes and flour, Sardinia offers us su mustazzeddu de tamatiga, a focaccia crust encasing gemlike tomatoes and basil. It’s a sort of galette meets bruschetta. Also called prazzira, pratzida, pizza sarda, focaccia sarda, and su pani cun tamatiga, this dish comes from the southwest area of Sulcis, known most for its mining history, Carignano del Sulcis DOC wine, and the mini Genova town of Carloforte. History says that nuns invented this dish to distribute to the poor, as it was heartier than a simple loaf of bread but still easy to carry. Today, the most festive place to cut into one is at the Sagra de Su Mustatzeddu de Tamatiga held in Iglesias in August—recently named a “Sagra di Qualità” by Italy’s pro loco union—though you can find the flavor bombs up and down the island.

Cannonau

One theory as to why Sardinia has more centenarians than almost anywhere in the world is, believe it or not, their red wine: Cannonau. Scientists have found that Cannonau has three times the flavonoids of other red wines, compounds with strong antioxidant properties that can maintain healthy blood pressure, reduce heart disease, and lower stress. Besides this wine’s elixir vitae properties, it’s also just delicious to drink: ruby red in color and full-bodied, with notes of cherry, myrtle, and oregano. Cannonau has a DOC designation and is made throughout the island, but winemakers in the central-eastern province of Nuoro are particularly good. When you toast a glass of Cannonau, skip the usual “Salute!” and try the Sardinian “a kent’annos!”: may you live to 100!

Trofie alla Carlofortina

When you reach Carloforte, a town on the Isola di San Pietro in the southwest of Sardinia, you may start questioning how long that ferry was from Portovesme—did you fall asleep and go all the way to Genova? Pizzerie sell farinata, the Ligurian chickpea flatbread, from huge cast-iron pans; sunbathers pack focaccia with their towels for a day at the beach; and the primi sections always include pesto. Trofie alla carlofortina is one such pasta dish: the short, twisted, Ligurian pasta shape is paired with its best friend, pesto alla genovese, but gets a Sardinian twist with cherry tomatoes and tuna (Carloforte’s tuna is recognized worldwide—visit at the end of May for its Girotonno festival). This cross-Mediterranean blend is the result of Genovese coral fisherman, who founded Carloforte in the 18th century after spending 200 years in Tunisia on the island of Tabarka. Residents of Carloforte and the Isola di San Pietro are still called tabarchini and speak tabarchino, a mix of 16th-century Genovese dialect and words derived from Arabic and French.

Pecorino (And Other Cheeses)

Sardinia is a pastoral land, and one that boasts a rich cheese culture. The headliner is Pecorino Romano DOP, a sheep’s milk cheese that’s central to both Sardinian and Roman tradition thanks to a brief migration in the 19th century. Pecorino Romano’s cousin is the beloved Pecorino Sardo DOP: richer, but less salty. Casu axedu, on the other hand, is a soft, tangy, uncooked cheese made with sheep’s or goat’s milk, eaten fresh, often cut in cubes, with salads. Sardinian cheese at its most elemental, however, is Fiore Sardo DOP. Dating back to the Bronze Age, the complex cheese is the oldest pecorino on this list. Shepherds used to smoke the rind of the sheep cheese with mastic or myrtle wood in their pinnettos (huts), and use the cardo flower (hence fiore) as a natural rennet. You can taste these traditional flavors if you buy Fiore sardo dei pastori, a designation by Slow Food for small producers in Barbagia that still make it like their ancestors.

And then of course there’s casu marzu, the infamous pecorino fermented by maggots. Shock value aside, this technique is actually widespread across Italy (in Lombardia they have nisso, in Abruzzo marcetto, in Friuli saltarello, in Calabria casu du quagghiu, and in Emilia-Romagna furmai nis cui saltarei): the cheese is left outside with holes cut into the rind to invite flies (Piophila casei) to lay their eggs inside, so the larvae can work the cheese into a pungent, gooey, squirming delicacy. Due to potential risks of gastrointestinal distress, the EU has deemed this cheese illegal, so you’re unlikely to find it on a visit to the island. Despite the countrywide zest for “jumping cheese,” I advise sticking with the ones that don’t wriggle—Sardinia has a delicious bounty of these too.

Pardulas

For a little sunshine on a cloudy day, these sweets do the trick. Traditionally prepared for Easter but now available year-round, they look like little suns with pastry shell rays and a round, puffy ricotta centre. Called formagelle in Italian, the dessert’s centre pairs sheep’s milk ricotta with orange zest and saffron—turning them yellow. Pardula recipes change around the island: in Nuoro, pecorino is used and the desserts are called casadinas; in Barbagia and Ogliastra, raisins are incorporated; and in San Vito, pardulas are not little suns, but rosettes. Sardinians can afford to use the world’s most expensive spice because this “red gold” is cultivated right on the island, namely in the towns of San Gavino Monreale, Turri, and Villanovafranca. You’ll better understand this spice’s price point after learning about production: harvest occurs at dawn for three weeks in autumn, and must be done by hand. Then, the three crimson stigmas must be plucked from each flower—also by hand—moistened lightly with oil, and set to dry. Quite a feat.

Mirto

If you’ve eaten in a restaurant or home in Sardinia, you’ve likely been offered mirto at the end of your meal. This beloved amaro, herbal and bittersweet, is the most popular digestivo on the island: what some argue is Sardinia’s essence. The liqueur smells like the land itself—it’ll transport you to hikes through Mediterranean scrub—as it’s made from the dark blue (and more rarely white) berries of the myrtle shrub. This evergreen is central to Sardinians: its branches hug porceddu while it’s cooking underground and its smoke perfumes Fiore Sardo DOP. If you find yourself on the Emerald Coast in August, head inland to the town of Telti for their annual Sagra del Mirto to sip on mirto in all its forms. Or, my favorite way to drink it: at an agriturismo, after a hearty meal, when the proprietor brings out an unlabelled bottle of homemade mirto—he likely picked the berries himself.

Caitlynn’s company DOP Italian Travel designs original paths through Italy for thoughtful travellers. Enrich your next Italy trip with bespoke advice on crafting your ideal itinerary, language and culture prep, restaurant recommendations, and get hype resources. Peruse DOP’s website to find out which Italian region is right for your next trip — Caitlynn’s specialty is matchmaking you with the Italian region that suits you the best (she is currently in a throuple with Puglia and Umbria).

As I return, again and again, to Rome, my locus of interest continually moves outward. My feet first touched the city’s sampietrini (iconic cobblestones) 15 years ago, when I was a student on a semester abroad. In that era, I was a centro person. I stayed near Termini, Via Nazionale was my daily commute, and Trajan’s column told me I had arrived. I threw centesimi in the Trevi Fountain and gaped at the Pantheon. Years later, as a newlywed, Trastevere was my neighbourhood of choice, with its charming medieval streets by day and its thudding bass by night. Now, I travel with a double stroller in neighbourhoods outside the centre, like Testaccio, EUR, San Lorenzo, Prati, Monteverde Vecchio, and Garbatella.

If you, too, yearn to discover more of the Eternal City, away from the elbow-to-elbow traffic and influencer posing of centro, read on for profiles of six authentic Roman neighbourhoods you should visit. They will reward you with glimpses of everyday life, delicious food, and the space and stillness necessary to digest both your coda alla vaccinara and the fascinating history the tourist throngs never venture far enough out to discover.

TESTACCIO

Testaccio isn’t the most beautiful Roman neighbourhood, but I argue it might be the tastiest. Located just outside Rome’s centre and delineated by a river-hill-wall boundary (Tiber, Aventine, Aurelian), the neighbourhood of Testaccio has a strong identity and an engrossing history.

In ancient Roman times, goods from all over the Mediterranean came up the Tiber River and were unloaded in Testaccio’s river port. In the 20th century, Testaccio claimed the largest abattoir in Europe, and the neighbourhood we see today is largely made up of the accommodation built to house its workers, who were sometimes paid in offal (il quinto quarto). As such, the neighbourhood developed a number of traditional recipes (including my favorite, coda alla vaccinara, an oxtail stew) that transform this humble “fifth quarter” of meat into something transcendent. If you want to discover a neighbourhood with countless contenders for “best meal of your life,” and historical sites much more interesting than their genres suggest (ancient rubbish dump, slaughterhouse, and graveyard), Testaccio is your pick.

What to visit in Testaccio:

Monte Testaccio, an ancient Roman rubbish heap masquerading as an urban hill, made up of cocci, fragments of olive oil amphorae. This mound, now 35 meters high, offers a sweeping view of Rome and can be visited with a reservation.

The Mattatoio, Testaccio’s former slaughterhouse, which is presently evolving into a “City of the Arts.” External rails that used to drag carcasses to and fro stand beside spaces which now host art exhibitions, food festivals, and concerts.

The Non-Catholic Cemetery, the final resting place of John Keats, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and Goethe’s son. Cast your eyes to the east for a towering Egyptian-style pyramid, Gaius Cestius’s 12 BCE tomb.

Where to eat in Testaccio:

At Tram Depot (Via Marmorata, 13), a converted tram car kiosk, for your morning cappuccino and cornetto.

At Mercato di Testaccio (Via Aldo Manuzio, 66b), with its grid of delectable market stalls and charming vendors, for lunch. My favorite stalls are “Le mani in pasta” (Box 58) for fresh pasta, “Enzo e Lina” (Box 89) for cheese, and “Il burino” (Box 81) for fruits and vegetables.

At Flavio al Velavevodetto (Via di Monte Testaccio, 97), an osteria built into Monte Testaccio. For some archaeology with your antipasti, choose the room in Flavio where the layers of ancient amphorae shards are visible. Must orders include a crostino with stracciatella and anchovies, rigatoni alla matriciana, coda alla vaccinara, and a side of cicoria ripassata (sautéed chicory). Roman perfection.

At Piatto Romano (Via Giovanni Battista Bodoni, 62), an osteria where materie prime (the raw materials, or base ingredients of a dish) reign supreme, and are called out on the menu, like yellow zucchina from Sperlonga (Lazio), fermented black garlic from Voghiera (Emilia-Romagna), and white eggplant from Siracusa (Sicily). As its name suggests, Piatto Romano serves up all the Roman classics you know, as well as the bona fide dishes of this city you should make acquaintances with, like coratella d’abbacchio con cipolla (the lung, heart, kidney, and liver of lambs sautéed with onions), misticanza (a salad of foraged greens with an anchovy sumac dressing), and rigatoni alla pajata (a pasta that seems to be made up of ricotta-filled ravioli, but is in fact sections of suckling calf’s intestines filled with cooked milk).

EUR

This is a part of Rome that no tourist envisions, but it’s enthralling all the same. The EUR is grand on an unsettling scale, with boulevards that aren’t just wide—they’re immense—and symmetry that isn’t just aesthetically pleasing—it’s eerie. Towering buildings, mirroring each other down the street, dwarf the people, making you feel like a tiny worker bee in awe of the powers that be.

The Esposizione Universale di Roma (EUR) was conceived by Mussolini as a site for the 1942 world’s fair to celebrate two decades of Fascism. World War II intervened, the fair never took place, and the neighbourhood was reimagined as a business district. A square colosseum looms in the west, now home to Fendi’s headquarters. Skyscrapers house corporate headquarters like Eni, waterfalls cascade into an enormous artificial lake, and the Basilica dei Santi Pietro e Paolo strikes you with its modern geometry. Get your steps in around this massive neighbourhood for a glimpse of modern Roman working life set against a backdrop of Fascist monumentalism.

What to visit in EUR:

The Palazzo della Civiltà Italiana, also known as the “Colosseo quadrato” (“Square Colosseum”). This imposing building, its statuary, and its 216 arches (24 less than the OG Colosseo) are lovely to see from the outside, and the first floor of the Fendi headquarters also hosts periodic exhibitions.

The Giardino delle Cascate, a park where water is the star. Waterfalls tumble into terraced pools while fountains spray extravagant arcs. Climb up to the viewpoint for a dramatic sightline straight to the modern and massive Marconi Obelisk. Walk the path that follows the perimeter of the lake, the Passeggiata del Giappone, to admire cherry trees donated by the city of Tokyo.

Where to eat in EUR:

At Lievito (Viale Europa, 339) for a pizza crafted by Francesco Arnesano, a student of Gabriele Bonci. Both Roman pizza styles are on offer: pizza in teglia, the rectangular version with the thick crust baked in a sheet pan, and pizza tonda, the circular version with that thin, crispy crust. Lievito’s offerings extend beyond pizza into other corners of the carb universe (lievito does mean yeast) with their panettone, loaves of bread, and cantucci. If you can walk a little further to their location at Via Simone Martini 6, you can even get a square version of the maritozzo (a yeast bun stuffed with whipped cream particular to Rome), created in homage to the EUR’s square colosseum.

At Gelateria Torcè (Viale dell’Arte, 9A) after you’ve tired yourself out pounding the pavement and are in need of gelato sustenance. Torcè is one of Rome’s famous, boundary-pushing artisanal gelaterie. For 20 years they have experimented with flavours from habanero to taleggio and balsamic vinegar. But don’t worry, traditionalists, their chocolate has also won the Gambero Rosso Best in Italy award.

SAN LORENZO

When your train drops you at Termini station, head east and you’ll find San Lorenzo, a neighbourhood beloved by students and named after the saint who legendarily said, while being burned alive on a gridiron, “You can turn me over now. I’m done on this side.” Italy’s biggest university, La Sapienza, has its campus in San Lorenzo, and with the large student presence comes lively nightlife, lower prices, and graffiti portraits of Ray Charles.

San Lorenzo has a profoundly anti-fascist, left-leaning history and is now a neighbourhood of contrasts. You’ll find both pervasive graffiti and experimental art collectives; social activists and gentrifying developers; derelict buildings bombed in WWII and the gorgeous, monument-studded park that is the Verano cemetery. Peruse a bookshop dedicated to graphic novels at Giufà Libreria Caffè; take in an underground cabaret at Conventicola degli Ultramoderni; and whet your appetite with an aperitivo at a cocktail bar filled with locals. San Lorenzo is gritty, but its energy is undeniable.

What to visit in San Lorenzo:

The Basilica di San Lorenzo fuori le Mura. Its simplicity will cast a spell on you—windows filled with perforated stone, not stained glass; walls of exposed brick, not marble. The colour palette is subdued and the geometry elegant. The floor, though, is balling: a kaleidoscope of tesserae in the Cosmatesque style.

Giufà Libreria Caffè, a 20-year-old independent bookstore, to browse their selection of contemporary fiction, graphic novels, and comics. Giufà is also a cafe, so you can stop in for a snack, coffee, or literary aperitivo. As a cozy space, it’s not an ideal spot to park yourself and work—more to mingle, chat books, buy local biodynamic wine, and attend readings.

Where to eat in San Lorenzo:

At Mazzo (Via degli Equi, 62), a “listening trattoria” with vinyl records lining the back wall and Spotify playlists to boot. Gastronomic pilgrims will remember Mazzo’s first incarnation as a small kitchen and laboratory in Centocelle, an outer neighbourhood in Rome’s southeast. Now in a much larger location in San Lorenzo, Mazzo is a mix of tradition and reinvention, its menu taking inspiration from its city as well as broader Italy, with offerings such as busecca (Milanese-style tripe), pasta alla campidanese (a Sardinian ragù), and the classic Roman rigatoni all’amatriciana.

At Tram Tram (Via dei Reti, 44/46), an osteria offering classic Roman dishes and traditional fare from coastal Puglia. The concept isn’t fusion, but rather, in their elegant words, two distinct souls coexisting. Your dining partner might order the quintessentially Roman cacio e pepe, while you opt for linguine all’isolana (islander’s linguine) with grouper, capers, olives, and wild fennel, closing your eyes and dreaming of the Pugliese shoreline until you hear that Roman tram whiz by outside.

PRATI

The clack of dress shoes in Prati isn’t the only sign this neighbourhood is well-heeled. Suits abound. Art Nouveau buildings line elegant streets, four of which converge in a circular intersection with a Caryatid fountain at its centre. This neighbourhood also wins the title for most put-together park I’ve ever seen in Rome: Piazza Cavour, with its manicured, green grass and artfully placed palms. It sits in front of the ornate supreme court, named in epic fashion the Palace of Justice, but referenced colloquially by Romans as Palazzaccio, the Bad Palace. Prati is, in fact, Rome’s lawyer district.

Located just north of Castel Sant’Angelo, Prati is a great base, especially if the Vatican is high on your list. After braving the tourist hordes of St. Peter’s Basilica and the Vatican Museums, head back to this neighbourhood for a chic and authentic retreat. Buy a sport coat or a bottle of perfume on Via Cola di Rienzo, Prati’s shopping boulevard; eat in delicious restaurants filled with real Romans; and take a DIY walking tour of eclectic architecture—you’ll find buildings in this neighbourhood you’d never expect Rome to have.

What to visit in Prati:

Chiesa Sacro Cuore del Suffragio, which will make you do a double take and doubt which city you’re in. This neo-Gothic church sticks out like a gleaming white sore thumb on the Lungotevere. Looking nothing like its neighbouring buildings, it appears to be Milan’s Duomo in miniature. If you have a taste for the supernatural, the church also houses a museum with objects said to prove the existence of souls in purgatory.

Villino Cagiati, an ornate villa in the Liberty Style, which was Italy’s take on Art Nouveau. Think 1902 more is more. There are turrets, towers, and balconies. A band of braided sunflowers is frescoed under the cornice, while fruits and vegetables are crafted in maiolica to decorate the exterior walls. An inscription proclaims “IN ARTE LIBERTAS” (“let there be freedom in art”). There’s even a lion statue. If you’re a fan of Quartiere Coppedè, take a stroll past Villino Cagiati—it’s very reminiscent.

Where to eat in Prati:

At Cacio e Pepe (Via Giuseppe Avezzana, 11), a casual, economical trattoria with most seating on their streetside patio. This eatery has no paper menu (always a great sign), so check out their chalkboard for the daily offerings. The eponymous cacio e pepe is delicious. They also offer half portions, so you can try even more Roman specialties than usual.

At Panificio Bonci (Via Trionfale, 36), Gabriele Bonci’s bakery just over the border into Trionfale. Yes, Bonci is a celebrity chef (you may know him from the Netflix series Chef’s Table: Pizza), but this isn’t a hype-based recommendation. He truly is a dough master, and the baked goods at Panificio Bonci don’t disappoint. Grab a slice of classic pizza in teglia or opt for some innovative toppings. The loaves of bread, pastries, and supplì are lovely too.

MONTEVERDE VECCHIO

Monteverde Vecchio is a joy to walk, if you love picturesque residential neighbourhoods and don’t mind hills. This neighbourhood is just southwest of Trastevere, on the other side of the Gianicolo (Janiculum Hill). Curving streets named after Italian poets carve the neighbourhood, and apartments of apricot, almond, and tangerine reveal themselves after every bend, shaded by stately umbrella pines. Though you may not have heard this neighbourhood’s name, you’ll recognize the people who have shaped it: Caesar, Cleopatra, Mussolini, and film directors Pier Paolo Pasolini and Nanni Moretti have either courted, built, or lived here.

As you may intuit from its name, Monteverde Vecchio is very green, and boasts two showstopping parks: Villa Sciarra and Villa Doria Pamphilj. Fancy an afternoon fantasizing about buying a beautiful apartment and moving to Rome? This is the neighbourhood to amble around while ogling palazzi and their promises of verdant courtyards. After your daydreaming, head to Via Giacinto Carini, Monteverde Vecchio’s main commercial street, for some sustenance.

What to visit in Monteverde Vecchio:

Villa Sciarra, technically just over the border into Trastevere, which began as a sanctuary to the nymph Furrina in ancient times, became the pad in which Caesar hosted and courted Cleopatra, and ended up being gifted to Mussolini by Henrietta Tower on the condition it become a public garden for Rome. It is now a green oasis filled with exotic and Mediterranean plants, satyr fountains, and statuary set into laurel hedge niches.

Villa Doria Pamphilj, Rome’s largest landscaped public park. Get lost in its 450 acres of sprawling green spaces; marvel at the Casino del Bel Respiro’s formal gardens; and watch Romans jog, chat with their friends during passeggiata, and walk their seemingly innumerable dogs.

Where to eat in Monteverde Vecchio:

At Le Café Vert (Via Anton Giulio Barrili, 47), a diminutive and sophisticated bar. Enjoy your morning cappuccino and pastry while studying their pretty tables decorated with old maps of the neighbourhood, or stop in for lunch or aperitivo.

At La Mescita Monteverde (Via Fratelli Bonnet, 5), a wine bar and casual eatery that straddles the expat-local divide. Go for brunch and you can order a flat white—even to go, gasp!—and avocado toast; come back in the evening and enjoy a natural wine from Lazio and a creamy baccalà cone. La Mescita also has a location in Garbatella.

At Ristorante Il Cortile dal 1929 (Via Alberto Mario, 26), an eatery with nearly a century of history in this neighbourhood. Il Cortile’s original offerings were wines by the glass from Velletri, a nearby town of the Castelli Romani, with accompanying fettuccine and spezzatino. Now this homey locale, run by the fourth generation of the Salvi family, serves dishes like bruschetta con salsiccia di Amatrice (fitting, as bisnonno Giovanni hailed from Amatrice) and a variety of dishes from both the land and the sea, like beef tartare and paccheri with tub gurnard and Taggiasche olives. Sit on the streetside patio for a lovely view of a particularly charming Monteverde Vecchio street.

GARBATELLA

The vibe of Garbatella is romantic and old—a lovely place to wander. There are a surprising number of trees. Forests also grow on the roofs of apartments, TV antennae reaching for the heavens like branches for the sun. The buildings are villa-esque, painted with warm, patinated colours and embellished with arches, balconies, and interesting facades. It’s hard to pin down the architectural style—Baroque? Renaissance? Rationalist?—and thus the age of the neighbourhood. This is the intended reaction.

Garbatella was built in the 1920s to house working-class families moving to the city, so its planners tried to evoke the small villages from which the workers came. This faux mix of architectural styles was meant to minimize the shock of moving to the big smoke, to make the residents feel more at home, and leads the modern tourist to think the neighbourhood evolved over many centuries. In fact, it took only 20 years.

What to visit in Garbatella:

The courtyards and gardens inside the neighbourhood’s lotti (groups of apartment buildings). Garbatella is full of these tranquil green spaces, so it’s not surprising that its development was modelled after England’s Garden City Movement. You can download a map of these 62 lotti if you want to plan a specific route, or just start at Piazza Benedetto Brin and head east to the curving, quaintest streets of central Garbatella.

The Teatro Palladium to take in a play, dance performance, or concert. This building was built as a cinema in the 1920s and is now used as a theatre by Università Roma Tre.

Centrale Montemartini, a museum of Roman antiquities set in Rome’s first electrical power station. The juxtaposition of classical statues in front of turbines and engines is arresting. This museum is just over the border between Garbatella and the neighbourhood of Ostiense. To get here, cross the Ponte Settimia Spizzichino, a strikingly modern bridge dedicated to a Jewish woman who incredibly survived Auschwitz, Mengele’s experiments, and Bergen-Belsen to return to her hometown of Rome.

Where to eat in Garbatella:

At Al Ristoro degli Angeli (Via Luigi Orlando, 2), an osteria that serves hyperlocal fare, like their patate della Garbatella, alongside dishes with international influences, like ginger shrimp in Kataifi pastry. Vegetarian options are always available, and Michelin has recognized the osteria’s friendly atmosphere, high quality food, and moderate prices with its 2022 Bib Gourmand award.

At Tanto pe’ Magna’ (Via Giustino de Jacobis, 9), a great casalinga (home cooking) osteria that caters to locals. This unfussy eatery serves Roman favourites like the city’s canonical pastas, trippa alla romana (Roman tripe), saltimbocca alla romana (prosciutto-wrapped veal with sage), coda alla vaccinara, and carciofi alla romana (Roman-style braised artichokes).

Try to dig anywhere in Rome, and you’re bound to find a new thrilling piece of its history. (Why do you think the Metro C line is taking so long to build?) This phenomenon also works laterally. The next time you’re in Rome, follow its radius out a little further, and dig deeper into the city’s history, gastronomy, and Romanness.

Caitlynn’s company DOP Italian Travel designs original paths through Italy for thoughtful travellers. Enrich your next Italy trip with bespoke advice on crafting your ideal itinerary, language and culture prep, restaurant recommendations, and get hype resources. Peruse DOP’s website to find out which Italian region is right for your next trip — Caitlynn’s specialty is matchmaking you with the Italian region that suits you the best (she is currently in a throuple with Puglia and Umbria).

My husband and I were squirrelly, pacing the perimeter of our 25’ Calgary lot and pouring boiling water on the iced ground to encourage workability. We moved a shed, built a small patio, and made room for a vegetable garden in the sunniest spot in our yard. We were preparing to be survivalists maybe, saving rubber bands and cans, and making much more of our yard arable. I made my own cappuccini in the morning, learned how to make maritozzi rise (those sweet Roman buns filled with whipped cream) instead of the ubiquitous pandemic sourdough, and sat on my deck during mild flurries gazing on what was to be a veggie plot. We waited for the slow warming of spring, hauled out the concrete footing for the defunct clothes line, and amended the soil with compost. Then the glorious day arrived when I planted my chicory seeds.

I had bought them on a whim while reminiscing about travelling to Italy: in particular, those 3-hour dinners in Roma where a plate of sautéed chicory on the side of coda alla vaccinara (oxtail stew) was a perfect marriage. That season I studied the small seeds: stocky and reminiscent of an unsharpened pencil lead. Then I saw the small seedlings emerge, and was surprised to see the form of their true leaves. I had to convince my 90-year-old neighbour I wasn’t growing a patch of dandelions. Next we harvested young leaves, blanched them in a diluted beef stock, and swung them around a pan with olive oil, garlic, and peperoncino (chilli flakes). This way of preparing greens of any kind is called ripassata in Italy, due to its two-step cooking process. We ate our cicoria ripassata on the deck and swung to face each other after the first bite. Holy shit, this tastes like Rome! The sense memory brought us right back to those osterie in Testaccio, the Roman neighbourhood to the south that used to house the city’s abattoir. What a feeling. As summer grew hot, we watched the cicoria bolt and produce delicate blue flowers. How gorgeous! Growing cicoria was a continual surprise, and brought light to that dark, dark year.

In 2022 we brought my family farm’s vegetable garden back to life after more than a decade of neglect. You could fit 3 of my Calgary yards into this garden’s footprint. It is massive, and I dedicated a 70-foot row of it to bitter greens. That year I didn’t just plant Cicoria ‘Catalogna a foglie frastagliate,’ the typical kind with jagged, serrated leaves. I also sowed the puntarelle type, that staple of the Roman spring table, the shoots of which they cut into strips and toss in a dressing of anchovies. Then came blocks of radicchio. I got to practice my Italian, bending my tongue around varieties like Treviso, Verona, Palla Rossa Tardiva, and Variegato di Castelfranco. I added some endive and cime di rapa from Puglia, and my digestion-boosting row of Italian astringent leaves was complete!

I served radicchio to my extended Albertan family as a contorno (side dish) alongside roast chicken. They smiled politely, and didn’t ask for seconds. I wouldn’t say bitter greens are an innate prairie taste. I blitzed cicoria into a purée for my 1-year-old, who gobbled it up, grinning through the dark green paste smeared across her cheeks. I sent the photo to my mom, who replied, shocked, “Why would you serve those harsh things to her? Just because you like them?” My simple reply was, well, yes. I carted crates of leaves back down to Calgary, pulling up to my friends’ condos and character homes, and heaving armfuls from my truck box into their hands. This seemed to me a very pugliese scene: an average Joe playing fruttivendolo (greengrocer), an improbable amount of produce tumbling out of his trunk.

And as I watched myself become an old man from Puglia, I smiled. Perfetto. With every leaf of every plant, I was transporting myself—and all my friends and family—back to my travels in Italy. Paradoxically, with every bitter bite I was bringing a bit of la dolce vita to the Albertan prairies.

Caitlynn’s company DOP Italian Travel designs original paths through Italy for thoughtful travellers. Enrich your next Italy trip with bespoke advice on crafting your ideal itinerary, language and culture prep, restaurant recommendations, and get hype resources. Peruse DOP’s website to find out which Italian region is right for your next trip — Caitlynn’s specialty is matchmaking you with the Italian region that suits you the best (she is currently in a throuple with Puglia and Umbria).

In Italy, DOP is the official trademark of quality the Italian government gives to certain artisanal food products that are made in a certain way, in a certain place, with certain ingredients, at a certain quality. In short, it’s a guarantee of incredible gastronomic products produced by traditional methods. This hyper-regionality and concern with quality is something I love about Italians. And it is the spirit I bring to DOP Italian Travel: quality, authenticity, regionality, and deliciousness.

To get you salivating, here’s one DOP product from each of Italy’s 20 regions. Wherever your next trip to Italy leads you, be sure to sample these local delicacies. Going to…

• Abruzzo? Try Zafferano dell’Aquila DOP, saffron from Aquila.

• Valle d’Aosta? Try Fontina Val D’Aosta DOP, a raw cow’s milk cheese.

• Basilicata? Try Fagioli Bianchi di Rotonda DOP, white beans high in protein.

• Calabria? Try Soppressata di Calabria DOP, a spicy cured pork.

• Campania? Try Pomodoro San Marzano dell’Agro Sarnese-Nocerino DOP, tomatoes grown in the rich volcanic soil under Mount Vesuvius.

• Emilia-Romagna? Try Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena DOP, a balsamic vinegar made from grapes grown near Modena.

• Friuli-Venezia Giulia? Try Prosciutto di San Daniele DOP, cured pork leg made in the small village of San Daniele.

• Lazio? Try Ricotta Romana DOP, a creamy and sweet sheep’s milk ricotta.

• Liguria? Try Basilico Genovese DOP, a specific basil grown on the Tyrrhenian coast.

• Lombardia? Try Gorgonzola Dolce DOP, a soft and mild blue cheese.

• Marche? Try Prosciutto di Carpegna, a sweet and delicate cured pork leg.

• Molise? Try Molise DOP, a fragrant extra virgin olive oil.

• Piemonte? Try Riso di Baraggia Biellese e Vercellese DOP, the only rice varieties in Italy with this designation.

• Puglia? Try Pane di Altamura DOP, bread made from durum wheat in the shape of a priest’s hat.

• Sardegna? Try Pecorino Sardo DOP, a hard sheep cheese that can range from mild to sharp.

• Sicilia? Try Pistacchio Verde di Bronte DOP, a pistachio grown at the foot of Mount Etna.

• Toscana? Try Farina di Neccio della Garfagnana DOP, a chestnut flour used in cakes, breads, and polenta.

• Trentino-Alto Adige? Try Mela Val di Non DOP, apple varieties grown in the north-west of Trentino.

• Umbria? Try Farro di Monteleone di Spoleto DOP, a particular variety of spelt used in stews, soups, and porridge.

• Veneto? Try Asparago Bianco di Bassano DOP, a bittersweet white asparagus.

Caitlynn’s company DOP Italian Travel designs original paths through Italy for thoughtful travellers. Enrich your next Italy trip with bespoke advice on crafting your ideal itinerary, language and culture prep, restaurant recommendations, and get hype resources. Peruse DOP’s website to find out which Italian region is right for your next trip — Caitlynn’s specialty is matchmaking you with the Italian region that suits you the best (she is currently in a throuple with Puglia and Umbria).

When I found these flights for our next family trip to Italy, I was so excited. They weren’t as direct (Calgary-Rome is the GOAT) nor cheap (wow, a 2-year-old really ups your travel budget, don’t they?) as last time, but whatever! Booking them would mean we were officially going and I could start planning our family trip to Italy. But the moment I clicked that book button, the terror flooded in. Wait, how do you deal with two babies on a plane? How will we fit all their equipment into those tiny Italian car rentals? How are we going to eat out in restaurants with two conflicting nap and meal schedules?

I’m the person who yells from the mountaintops to travel with your kids, no matter the age. But even I felt my gut clench after the flights were finalized. It’s scary! I have absolutely blissful memories of our first trip to Italy with my 14-month-old. She had a time at Da Enzo in Rome chomping on their incredible polpette (meatballs). She had her first sugary carb sharing a cornetto alla crema (croissant stuffed with pastry cream) with me at breakfast at a classic Italian bar. She delighted servers in Salento—the area at the very heel of Italy, in Puglia—when she too tasted their succulent octopus. If you couldn’t tell, our family is very food motivated. But I also have photos of her squealing in the air as I throw her above me in front of the Colosseum. Photos of her playing in the grass in the centre of a 2nd-century BCE Samnite theatre in Molise. Videos of her chasing lizards in hill towns overlooking the Golfo di Velia on the Cilento coast of Campania.

Travelling to Italy with young children is challenging, but it is so, so worth it. Here are some tips and reassurances to put your mind at ease (if you’d like more, book a conversation with me!):

01. It’ll be what it’ll be and then it’ll be done.

Repeat my flight mantra: “it’ll be what it’ll be and then it’ll be done.” I’ll keep it real. The flights can be tough, but it is one discrete chunk of time, and then it’s over. Kid’s crying? Yep, kids cry! Anyone who judges you for that hasn’t understood the social contract of being in a society. Distract with toys, snacks, and screen time. (I also have a sneaky nap trick for lap-held infants we can talk about!) But most of all, know that this too shall pass… and then you’ll be in Italy!

02. Shift your mindset.

This is not going to be like your other trips to Italy, so shift your mindset now. Unless you have a very particular child, at a particular age, you will not be spending hours pondering paintings in museums. You will not be able (or want!) to brave queues. You may not be able to drink as much wine as usual. Your pace of travel will be slower. BUT! It will still be good. Your slow pace will let you connect more with daily life. You’ll see Italy through the eyes of your child, and be amazed at what they are amazed at. You’ll still eat, see beautiful landscapes, stroll innumerable evocative lanes, and likely even see a painting or two… quickly.

03. Italians will interact with you so much more.

Italians love children, especially young ones, and will interact with you so much more because of them. You will get serotonin boosts from them complimenting your child constantly. “Che guanciotte!” What adorable big cheeks! “Quanto sei bella!” How beautiful you are! A child is the easiest way to break the ice, and soon you’ll be chatting away, getting tips on the best nearby places to visit, dishes to sample, and maybe, if you’re lucky, an invite to lunch at their house.

I take my own advice and take a deep breath. Yes, things are about to get more interesting. We’re levelling up and taking two children to Italy—one 2-year-old and one 7-month-old—but I know when one is napping in the stroller and the other is eating her now-adored cornetto at a seaside bar in Liguria, it’ll be worth it.

All this to say, hit that book button! You all will survive, and collect some beautiful and hilarious memories along the way.

Caitlynn’s company DOP Italian Travel designs original paths through Italy for thoughtful travellers. Enrich your next Italy trip with bespoke advice on crafting your ideal itinerary, language and culture prep, restaurant recommendations, and get hype resources. Peruse DOP’s website to find out which Italian region is right for your next trip — Caitlynn’s specialty is matchmaking you with the Italian region that suits you the best (she is currently in a throuple with Puglia and Umbria).