Dar Poeta

You will not find true Italian fare at Dar Poeta. This implies an absurd idea that there's an entire country filled with flavors like these, but it's unlikely that anything can parallel the magic coming out of this small kitchen in the Trastevere area of Rome.

Right when I thought that the authentic brick pizza oven with blackened edges and a marble slab entrance couldn't get more stunning, I was shown up by a pot of some melted, creamy nutella concoction in a glass display case.


Taking advantage of the size of our 6-person group, we tried to order as many different items from the menu as possible, starting with the bruschette. For 2 euros each, you can choose your bruschetta or tell your server how many you'd like and have them surprise you. We went for the "mixed" option and ordered 12.

From classic tomato basil to olive tapenade to my personal favorite -- gorgonzola with honey -- Dar Poeta seemed to have all their bases covered, and then some. The overwhelming display of thick slices of toasted bread topped with a variety of colors and textures only cost us 4 euros/person.


A moment of silent gawking is necessary to review through the pizzas.

Lingua De Foco
tomato, mozzarella, piquant salami, chili pepper
7€

Dar Poeta
mozzarella, zucchini, salami, garlic, chili pepper9€

Ruspante
mozzarella, potatoes, mushrooms, cooked ham
9€ 

Funghi
tomato, mozzarella, mushrooms7€

My Plate
priceless

Sinking your teeth into these specialty pizzas was nothing like eating your basic pie. This was an entirely new pizza-dining experience that I couldn't get enough of. Try to guess which plate was mine at the end of the meal:

We ended the night with a large ricotta cheese and nutella calzone (11€), but a smaller version is also available at half the price.

The ricotta was mixed into the nutella, functioning as a thickening agent rather than affecting the flavor. I'm a huge proponent of powdered sugar, but in this case it may have been a little overkill as I accidentally inhaled some on my first bite.

The inside was delicious, but the breading-to-filling ratio seemed a little off: about 3 to 1. Considering how special this chocolate-ricotta combination was, I would have assumed there'd be a greater effort to showcase it, but overall it was a unique treat and a sweet way to end the night.


In sum, Dar Poeta is not your typical pizzeria experience, for it is far too delicious to be considered ordinary. Failing to dip your toe into the Dar Poeta pizza pool would be like committing Roman dining suicide. Here are the numbers you need to know:


Pizzeria Dar Poeta - Vicolo del bologna 45 - P.I. 01642890568 - 00153 Roma - Tel. 06-58.80.516 - E-mail. marco@darpoeta.com

Stella Maris: Ristorante - Pizzeria

About 15 minutes from the center of Rome, a maritime-themed restaurant and pizzeria peaks its ornately decorated head out of the quiet street of Via Nomentana.


I was so thrilled to find a restaurant that was still open after arriving on a late flight that I didn't even notice the beach-inspired paint job and odd assortment of boating trinkets and seascape paintings that lined the walls until my second visit  – yes, I went twice, so prepare yourself.


First, be warned that restaurants in Italy will often bring bread to your table without your requests. Thankful for the treat and starving for true Italian cuisine, you scarf down everything in front of you only to find the bread appear later on in the night, but this time on your bill. Completely unaware that I would be paying for what seemed like a complimentary starter, I quickly finished off the basket of flatbreads brushed with olive oil that the server brought to my table. The dough was soft and warm with a flakey exterior, but I haven't decided if that makes up for the fact that I was duped into paying for it.

I continued my carb adventures when the bruschetta with mozzarella arrived  – this I did order. The most intriguing part of this course was the mozzarella, masquerading around as feta cheese. While still mild, it tasted slightly saltier than most mozzarellas I've tried, but what really set this mozzarella apart from the rest was the texture. The small, moist crumbles were different, fun, and clearly homemade. The thick slice of bread was toasted and crunchy but not crumbly as it maintained a soft center.

The mushroom and sausage pizza was striking against the tablecloth. The sausage also had a very captivating look to it with its surprisingly pink color. The meat was unfortunately a little fatty, but the individual slices had this delicate form that made me feel like I was cradling designer silk. The pizza was light but overflowing with flavors of fresh vegetables, olive oil and mozzarella all melted together and practically dripping off of the oven-crisped bread.


After all of my Italian travels, I had yet to feel sincerely inspired by a pasta dish. Perhaps it’s because I’ve never understood the obsession with pasta al dente (literally translating to “to the tooth”), where pasta is neglected during the boiling process so that the center is left firm.  I’m not advocating overcooked, cafeteria-style noodles that disintegrate as soon as they hit your plate, but I don’t believe that ordering food medium-rare should carry over to your fettuccini order.

The freshly cut seductive slices of perfectly cooked ravioli at Stella Maris actually humbled me. With a velvety tomato sauce gently draped over the large ricotta pillows, this pasta dish was in a league of its own.

Round two of Stella Maris occurred on my last night of Rome and my last night of Italy. I needed to try the one remaining dish that would truly make my mother jealous: beef carpaccio. Carpaccio is typically a dish of thinly sliced meat, topped with some sort of green, usually arugula, and Parmesan cheese. Now, this carpaccio was evidently made with a box of Crayola markers.

My mother practically raised me on raw meats, but I have never seen such exquisite color come from beef. The brilliant dynamic between the vibrant red and the deep green was so stunning I didn't know whether to eat it or frame it.

The light sprinkle of cheese functioned as a simple accessory, and the drizzle of olive oil was probably used to help the leaves maintain their pride, as it was clear that the star of this show was the beef. 

Delicate and moist with fresh flavors and smooth textures, this meat should frighten Kobe beef everywhere.

I don't love Italian food, but Stella Maris was such a special experience that I may reconsider.

Stella Maris

Via Regina Margherita, 225, 00198 Roma, ItalyTel/Fax +39 06 854 0263 ‎email: stellamaris@libero.it

Smažený sýr

The food stands in St. Wenceslas Square in Prague are anything but inviting. Questionable-looking people, most of whom, as I've researched, are actually Ukrainian, not Czech, set up shop in colorful stands lit up by marquees displaying the fair-like food options such as hotdogs and fries. 


I wouldn't have thought to approach the carnival madness if it weren't for a recommendation that I had gotten to try the smažený sýr, pronounced: ˈsmaʒɛniː ˈsiːr – helpful, I know. Smažený sýr literally translates to fried cheese. So now we have these Czech stands run by Ukrainian people serving American food in addition to this smažený sýr made of Edam, which is actually a Dutch cheese. Talk about an identity crisis. And to complicate matters further, the marquee was moving too quickly for me to read where I could pick up some of this famous sýr. I finally asked a woman working at one of the stands, who then proceeded to open a drawer, dig out a mysterious brown block with a pair of tongs, and drop it in the fryer. I assumed this meant I was buying it.

Picture a fried mozzarella stick in patty-form, which is then thrown on a bun with your choice of ketchup, mustard, or mayo served out of gigantic vats that you pump out yourself. Seeing as I was confronted with my greatest guilty pleasure, I of course covered that bad boy with mayonnaise before taking my first bite.

The cheese was perfect -- still melted from the fryer, causing the white cheese to ooze out of its crispy exterior. The mayo was surprisingly fantastic, adding even more creaminess and salt to the mix. I could have done without the bun. It was a little stale and attracting too much attention away from all the delicious fat that was going on inside of it. I peeled back the bread, picked out the cheese, and I was back in business.
I've officially added smažený sýr to my list of sickeningly scrumptious treats.

Milan Eats

Traveling through Milan was a fascinating and fattening adventure. Because everything tasted is worth photographing and everything photographed is worth sharing, it only seems appropriate to create an homage to those less fortunate foods that didn't get their own blog post. 
So without further adieu, the fruits of my hunger:

From a bakery in the galleria next to the Duomo,

Un connolo

One of the many instances when my Spanish did not help with my Italian:

Ciocolatta con panna

A rich Italian twist on hot chocolate, made with hot cream, panna; not to be confused with chocolate bread, pane cioccolato. Rookie mistake.

La Rinascente, Milano

Little butter cookies, espresso, hot chocolate, and croissants filled with cream and jam on the rooftop cafe  of La Rinascente, a high-end Italian department store.

Nutella and white chocolate crepe

A crêpe filled with nutella and white chocolate, dusted with powdered sugar, and cut into little squares to slow me down as I attack.

The pathetic pasta collection on the Navigli canals: after an immense build-up over finally getting to eat our first bowl of Italian pasta, these dishes proved to be just fair.

Paparadelle with mushrooms

Spinach and cheese tortelloni

Tagliatelle bolognese

Potato gnocchi

Nutella pizza

After being turned away from a private party in an underground bar, this exotic beauty was waiting for me around the corner. After trying this pizza dough, lightly baked in the oven, with a forked-on layer of nutella, I soon forgot my woes.

Three-cheese pizza

The famous three-cheese pizza from the Corso Como area. The ingredients were so fresh that they slipped and dripped off each slice with each failed attempt to pick up the steaming, rich goodness, leading me to believe that immortals ran the kitchen...

Linguini with clams

...and the linguini with clams that invalidated these suspicions. The ingredients were simple, pure and defined. As the pasta was tossed in a little parsley and a lot of olive oil, there was nothing particularly surprising or thrilling about this dish.

Ice Bound Gelateria

The all-in-one gelateria and bar. Say goodbye to first-date post-dinner decision limbos. If she wants ice cream while you're in need of another drink, Ice Bound caters to both; and, because of its prime location, you can enjoy your treats while people-watching on the bustling Corso Como streets.


Ok, you've been admirably patient. Now you can go grab some food.

"That's Wine" Wine Tasting

The best way to get oriented after severe jetlag is to get disoriented with some post-arrival drinks. Although it had only been a one-hour time change from London, I wasn’t about to turn down a 29€ opportunity to have a private sommelier guide me through three local Italian wines accompanied by finger food. That would be disrespectful.

I discovered this specific wine tasting on Viator. I don’t know much about wines, but I do know a little about value, and for less than 10€ a glass – each being about double the size of that served in America – I had to go for it.

We walked into That's Wine off of the Piazza Velasca in central Milan on a Friday evening to find we had the place to ourselves. The décor was modern and warm with dark wooden tables lit by hanging frosted light fixtures. A glass wine cellar lined the wall that led to the bar where we were introduced to our wine-guide for the night. 

Our sommelier – the only English-speaking employee at That’s Wine – started us off with a glass of i Prandi Brut. He was clever and engaging as he explained the highlights of the wine along with some of its history. 

The light wine with little bubbles made an excellent start to the tasting, with a little help from the accoutrements: goat cheese with a balsamic drizzle. A light drizzle was all that was necessary as the reduction was very thick and sugary, but the sweetness contrasted the tartness of the cheese well.

Next at bat was a St. Michael-Eppan. We enjoyed the Alto Adige Müller Thurgau, a light and earthy white wine from the Classic Line. I understand that it was in fact the wine that was intended to be the star of this show, but I cannot get over the salami that was served with it.

This salami had such addicting flavor and fantastic natural oils that the entire platter was cleared by the arrival of our final wine. The serving was generous and my dining companion was vegetarian, so you can understand how passionately I felt about this cold meat display.

Finally, we enjoyed a Carmignano, a red wine from a town about 15 miles from Florence.

I decided that the Carmignano is the red wine for those who don’t like red wine – a conclusion based mainly off of my own reaction, but you're welcome to make your own assessment. It's not as heavy as many other reds and doesn't leave that burning trail down your throat.

The wine was paired with thin pieces of Italian ham, freshly sliced right at the bar. The salt was a little overpowering and made me feel nostalgic for the salami, but of course I ate it anyway.

 

Overall, That's Wine was delightful. More people started to drift in near the end, but the bar remained mostly quiet. Our sommelier was energetic, passionate, and refused to accept any gratuity regardless of our pleading. And, of course, there was the salami.

Staggering home through winding, unpronounceable streets is a small price to pay for a delicious evening.

That's Wine
Piazza Velasca Milano - Italy
P.iva 02972720961 - Tel. +39 0287393153 Fax +39 02 40916184
info@thatswine.com

Pizzeria Da Franco

One of the most beautiful features of Milan: stumble into any restaurant and prepare to have your mind blown. Fresh off the airplane, I walked into the first restaurant I saw – a small pizzeria titled Pizzeria Da Franco. Luckily, my hands speak Italian, so I simply raised two fingers, and we were seated without any trouble.

Working through the menu was more of a challenge. If a word wasn’t a clear cognate, I clearly wasn't going to understand it. The back of the menu listed pizzas – this word I recognized. Mushrooms seemed to dominate the pizza part of the menu. I wasn't sure if funghi were a traditional Italian topping or a Da Franco specialty. Regardless, I felt compelled to try it, so I ordered a pizza with mushrooms and ham.

As we waited for our food, we noticed a questionable food display near the door. It appeared to be a failed attempt at a buffet, yet the only person I saw approach the food was a cook who quickly made a plate for himself before running back to the kitchen. 

I had heard that Milan had a tradition of offering an “aperitivo,” which consists of a drink and an all-you-can-eat buffet for one fixed price. I was interested in testing the waters of this Milanese culture, but after reviewing the unidentifiable items included in the buffet – soaked sardines and stuffed clams if I had to guess a couple – it felt wise to stick to the basics.

However in Milan, pizza is “basic” to the most elaborate degree. On my way to the restroom, I passed the most spectacular scene: a marble counter, dusted with flour, and topped with a bottle of olive oil, a bowl of tomato sauce, and a bucket of freshly risen dough. This is how I plan on designing my next bedroom.

When I returned to my table, I felt as though I had witnessed evolution take place – my finished pizza was awaiting my arrival.

My theory on the serving-style in Italy is this: restaurants don't want to rupture the beauty of the pie, so they serve the pizza uncut, alongside a knife so that you can do the damage yourself.
I've heard the same line time and time again: pizza in Italy is unlike any pizza you have ever experienced. All of my friends who have ever visited Italy have always told me this, but no one ever seems to be able to elaborate. So, allow me.
It's quite simple, and I've narrowed it down to one essential distinction – the sauce. Yes, the toppings are lovely and the dough is very thin, but the sauce is what causes these pizzas to transcend all others so that it doesn't seem fair to put Dominos in the same category. In America, I often order white pizzas because the tomato sauce is very heavy, overpowers other ingredients, and makes the pizza feel like it's going to set-up camp in my stomach for days.
In Italy, it's an entirely different breed. You can taste that real tomatoes were actually used, and probably on site. The sauce is lighter, thinner, and used in smaller amounts so you don't feel that intense acidity in the pit of your stomach after you've downed a few slices. The tomatoes are also sweeter, complementing the other ingredients instead of drowning them.
The tomato sauce on true Italian pizza has significantly increased my appreciation for tomatoes as a vegetable, or fruit depending on where you stand.
If you would like your perceptions altered, I highly suggest you wonder into Pizzeria Da Franco as well.

Pizzeria Da FrancoVia Carlo Farini, 3, 20154 Milano, Italy+39 02 655 2397

Panificio Luini

On your first trip to Milan, the only Italian worth learning is “Dov’è Panificio Luini?” Luini’s panzerotti is the best in Milan and, quite possibly, the world.

A panificio is a bakery, which is of utmost importance when attempting to grasp the full power of the panzerotto. A panzerotto consists of sweet deep-fried dough resembling that of a doughnut. The dough creates an envelope, encasing the perfect amount of filling before being dropped in the fryer to give the exterior that golden glow.

Over the years, Luini has expanded its menu to include the sausauge, the sweet, and the sauceless, but I recommend the standard panzerotto as it was recommended to me: tomato and mozzarella.

Here stands the original panzerotto in all its simplistic glory. For only about 3€, this beauty can be yours. Served in an open wax-paper bag, the panzerotti are just asking to be eaten immediately.

The first bite is filled with Luini's fried yet magically soft dough. Then, the pizza-pocket explosion begins. The sauce is sweet, light, and, unlike American pizzas, used surprisingly sparingly. The cheese is fresh and still melted from the fryer.

If you're now in the process of booking your flight to Milan, as I assume most of you are, Luini's website helps you plan your trip(s) to the bakery accordingly, displaying a day-to-day list of opening hours. Located right by the Piazza del Duomo, Luini's is easy to find -- just look for the hoard of hungry people.

The line looks long, but it moves quickly. After waiting, you'll be so anxious to dive in that you'll devour your panzerotto before you're able to consciously enjoy it. My advice: buy two.

Panzerotti - Panificio Luini via S. Radegonda 16, Milano-Italy

Some Old-Fashioned Non-Salsa Karaoke

The other night, Ariel invited me to go salsa dancing with some people from her program at Mestizo: Restaurant Tequila Bar. I haven't worn high-heels since I've been in London, but in the world of Latin dance, you either go big or go home, so I laced up my most menacing-looking heels and wobbled out the door. 
The venue was only about a ten minute walk from my dorm, but those ten minutes felt like an eternity to my feet. I finally understand why they mix salsa dancing with tequila.
We arrived to find a rather empty underground bar scene, so we decided to eat dinner in the restaurant upstairs first. While waiting for our table, we went to the bar for drinks, and you better believe this tequila bar's menu was a force to be reckoned with! I sat next to Kelsey, one of Ariel's roommates. Her and I decided that we weren't even capable of reading the list in its entirety, so she covered up the right side of the menu with her hand and we just read down the left.

The options were still overwhelming and I was too indecisive, so I resorted to ordering the oddest-sounding drink I could find. I don't remember what it was called, or even what was in it -- I suppose that's the sign of a good drink -- but I believe there were some crushed strawberries combined with a mixture of chilies, creating what tasted like a Tabasco Sour Patch Kid. As everyone choked as the drink hit their lips, they asked me if I liked it. The chili infusion burns as it goes down, which makes it too painful to like, too awesome to hate, and too intriguing not to finish.

Once we were seated, we ordered immediately. Everyone seemed to decide on the more basic Mexican dishes found in the appetizer section of the menu, except for Dan, who ordered one of the restaurant's Moles. His dish definitely won for Best Plating. Kelsey ordered the Quesadillas-Empanadas, a dish whose second half we all seemed it ignore until it arrived at the table.

They were indeed empanadas and only empanadas, so I think some menu clarification is in order.
And finally, my dish:

The Mexican Jackson Pollock -- as vibrant with flavor as it was with color. It was basic and delicious and, yes, there were beans. The toppings fully coated the plate, leaving no naked chips -- a nacho epidemic that Mestizo fortunately knows how to ward off.


By the time we finished eating, the salsa bar downstairs was only open for another hour or so. We decided to ditch the dancing and find a place to perform some serious karaoke. Everyone wanted to find a place to regroup and plan out our next destination, so I took them to a bar near my dorm, cleverly titled "The Bar." It was really crowded relative to the two other times I had been there and made up about a third of the population.


There was a lively bar scene,

obviously some great dancing,

and, as fate would have it, karaoke.

This generous stranger asked me to sing "A Whole New World" with him -- an offer I couldn't refuse. Little did I know that this "amateur" singer sounded like he wrote the song himself, but I still stand by the fact that I made him look good.

Italy tomorrow! Arrivederci!