Tagliatta and some Artichokes

What a meal. We just returned from a class meal at a perfect little trattoria called "La Griglietta" or "the tiny grill."

Entering past the outdoor patio seating, we sensed good things were about to happen. Antipasto and dolci were piled high in a glass window and at the peak of the edible pile was a glorious platter of roasted Jerusalem artichokes. I was hoping they'd end up on our plates.

Our Professor then asked the question, "Would steak be ok?" After a week of eating pasta and pizza (although brilliant and utterly delicious), our inner carnivores screamed "YES!" Steak would be just fine.

As with most typical Italian meals, we began with a selection of antipasto. Within moments, enormous platters were set in front of us. There were individual pizzatas with cherry tomatoes, arugula, and mozzarella. Golden fried potato dumplings. Fried risotto balls bound with a red sauce and sculpted around a cheese. One of my new favorites was fried zucchini flowers stuffed with anchovies and mozzarella, a combination that first crunches, then strings melted cheese from mouth to plate. The added punch of salt from the Mediterranean baitfish explodes in the mouth, but does not dominate the delicate flowers.

Lastly, however, my wishes were answered when those artichokes, prepared in a classic romana fashion, were also perched on the platters. Soft and delicate, the clarifying tang of the roasted vegetable contrasted with the surprise addition: they had also been flash fried, without breading. Thus all the outer leaves became like crisp chips, and only once you bit through to the heart did the usual cushioned bite and delicate flavor dominate.

And that was only the first course.

Only after the dishes had been cleared away and we looked around the room with contented gazes, did we see the cutting boards heading our way. These large wooden blocks were topped with a steaming steak, fresh off the grill that was then effortlessly sliced by the cammerino at the table. Our professor had ordered everyone tagliatta, a romana beef dish which is like a rare grilled tenderloin. It was accompanied by a pile of fried potatoes (better than any French fries imaginable) and grilled radicchio, a bitter contrast to the butter-like cut of meat.

Accompanied by an earthy Chianti (new information on that thanks to a class wine tasting yesterday!), the beef was somehow less sweet and meatier than similar cuts in the US. It had less fat and a less forgiving chew, but as it possessed an incredible cow taste, almost more like bison, deer or other game than a farm raised animal.

After such a feast, we couldn't move, so we ordered dessert. Splitting an almond tart, fresh bowls of cherries, strawberries with sugar and lemon juice, and blanc mange, it was difficult to not imagine a better end of the day.

And then we were able to walk home.

Catching the bus back from the restaurant to the Ponte San'Angelo, we hopped off and strolled back to the apartment via the Vatican and the Tiber. The dome of Saint Peter's was surrounded by flocking seagulls, which from my perspective was lovely. Then Steve pointed out that St. Peter was the fisherman, and so seagulls were especially appropriate above his basilica.

15 minutes later and we were back in the apartment and it was time for bed. Rome rocks.