In the morning, we explored the neighborhood to the north and east of our B&B. Moments after we set out, we received our first lesson in crossing Roman streets. Most streets, even big busy ones, usually don’t have traffic lights at the crosswalks. We stood waiting to cross Via Nomentana, wondering if there would ever be a break in the steady stream of zooming vehicles.
Then, divine intervention. We heard a voice behind us babbling away in Italian, and we turned to see a very tiny old nun, clad in white, gesturing excitedly with her hands. With no hesitation, she strode out into the street, holding her hand out as she walked to stop the traffic. With the sea thus split before us, we Children of Israel crossed through on dry land.
Our destinations were a kosher bakery and a kosher supermarket, but first we stopped to eat breakfast (muffins I hastily baked hours before leaving to catch our flight) in a park. Kids were playing soccer and some adults were sitting and watching. The sound of a whistle made us think it was some kind of informal day camp. We people-watched and I even punted back a soccer ball that had escaped in our direction.
The bakery was quite a find - lots of breads and pastries, as well as pizza. We wouldn’t get to taste the pizza until the last day, but the rolls we bought there were crusty and fresh. The staff was very friendly, and recognized us (switching to English) upon future visits. The best part was that the store was clean and classy; it looked more like an Upper East Side overpriced boutique bakery than... well, what you’d expect a kosher bakery to look like.
The kosher supermarket was kind of small and deserted, but it dealt some good delicatessen. We bought some mozzarella, and two packages of salami, one regular and one hard. Although I’m reserving restaurant reviews for their own posts, I’ll review the cheese and meat here. We didn’t have any condiments, so we just made plain sandwiches on bakery bread, huge chunks of cheese on one day and huge piles of meat the next. The cheese was softer and creamier than your typical kosher-pizza-mozz. It had less of that cheesy tang, but more of a milky flavor. It was good mozzarella, and we both liked it. If we had put that amount of kosher-pizza-mozz in a sandwich, it would have been overwhelming, but with this kind it was just right. At the same time, foods normally made with the other mozz might have tasted bland with this one.
When we opened the hard salami, the smell of funk leapt out and hugged our nostrils. This was the real deal, folks, serious Italian cured charcuterie. The kind that you can smell from the sidewalk outside the store housing them. It was sliced super thin, and had a shiny, almost waxy and chewy texture. The flavor was the same as the aroma, only amplified and with added saltiness.
In case you can’t tell, the funky stuff was my personal favorite, and a sandwich of it, plus regular salami on a hard roll with a cold beer provided a memorable lunch for yours truly. Rachel was not as crazy about the extreme flavors, and preferred the regular stuff. Nevertheless, both our sandwiches were packed with flavor, despite their containing no condiments whatsoever.
Back to Monday. By the time we were eating the aforementioned lunch, we were sitting on the banks of the Tiber, just us and the river. At every bridge crossing the Tiber, there is a flight of about 20 steps down to the level of the river itself, where walkways line both banks. At night these would be filled with stalls and pedestrians, but in the early afternoon we had it to ourselves.
That afternoon we checked out the Jewish Museum, an old Spanish Synagogue and the newer Great Synagogue. Both seemed to attract lots of Jewish tourists, but our conclusion was that of all that we’d seen of Jewish Rome - the Ghetto, the museum and the two synagogues - the only really noteworthy experience was seeing the Great Synagogue. The museum does contain Judaica that is 500 years old and well preserved, but it’s not unlike the things you’ve probably seen before at other Judaica museums. The guide who led groups through the two synagogues was not particularly engaging, and her non-native English kept the information to a minimum.
But the Great Synagogue is a sight to see. Designed by a Christian architect (since Jews were still not allowed, as of 100 years ago, to practice architecture in Rome), it’s a massive shrine, with a lofty ceiling, decked out with marble columns and gilded in gold. I embellish, of course, but it was truly one gorgeous ‘gogue. Even more fun than seeing it was davening mincha/maariv in it the next day before dinner. Security, tighter than an El Al check in line, was conducted by the shamash, who wore a dour black robe with a silver shamash sign hung round his neck. Once the congregation of (mostly) tourists had gathered inside, the mustachioed chazzan strode out, also clad in black and sporting a hexagonal cantorial hat. He had a menacing face, and he cast his gaze about the room icily. He started the davening, but kept clearing his throat loudly, trying to catch the attention of the shamash, who was circling through the synagogue, tending to things. When the shamash’s attention was finally caught, the chazzan whispered something into his ear. Promptly, the shamash began making his way through the male congregants, picking out those who were wearing shorts, and sending them to the back. Apparently, this dress code violation is pretty common, for in the back was a pile of plastic pants that could be pulled over one’s clothing, and the tourists complied. Lesson learned - shul snobbery is the factor that unifies all denominations.
The rest of the afternoon was spent visiting sights near the Ghetto, like the Pantheon, Piazza Navona, and other assorted squares, statues and fountains. Inside the Pantheon was a solid mass of tourists, but that didn’t matter because the main attraction is the high, huge, domed ceiling with a circular window at the apex. We found out later that the window is open to the air, and there’s a drain system in the floor to handle rain. Not sure how they handle bird poop..
In the center of Piazza Navona is a fountain sculpted by Bernini, Rachel’s favorite sculptor of all time. It features four men, each one representing a major river. Wikipedia says that they are the Danube, Nile, Ganges and Plate, representing Europe, Africa, Asia and America, respectively (I guess Bernini didn’t know about the Amazon or the Mississippi). The idea is that no matter how far you travel, you are still under the authority of the Pope. I guess if you make it to Australia or Antarctica, you’re good to flaunt his authority.
The joke about the man covering is face (the Nile) is that he is facing a building designed by one of Bernini’s rivals, so the face covering is meant as an insult. The official reason is that, at the time, the source of the Nile river was unknown. Aw, remember when the world was all young and innocent and unexplored and mysterious and we didn’t even know where the Nile came from?
In honor of Rachel’s birthday, we ate at the fancy Taverna del Ghetto. Behind us was a middle aged Israeli couple. As we read the menu, another middle aged Israeli couple sat down beside us. We made some small talk, and the waiter brought menus to couple #2. The husband took one look at the menu and said, in Hebrew “How am I supposed to understand this?” He and his wife asked for Hebrew menus. While the waiter went to find someone who spoke Hebrew, couple #1’s food arrived - schnitzel and chips (fries). “How’s the schnitzel and chips?” asked couple #2. “Great!” said couple #1. When the waiter returned to couple #2 they informed him they didn’t need to see the menu; they both wanted schnitzel and chips.
This was at the fanciest kosher restaurant in Rome. Rachel and I are like 75% sure that, at least the schnitzel was made from frozen Of Tov schnitzel imported from Israel. Lesson learned - some people like to try new things, some people don’t.
After dinner we went back down to the banks of the Tiber, where the various stalls were in full force. The first stalls we passed were unremarkable, selling cheap jewlery and touristy stuff. As we got farther in, though, they gave way to stalls that were outdoor bars and restaurants, setting up tables, chairs, and couches all over the sidewalk. Some of these setups featured elaborate furniture, lighting, and themed paraphernalia. One had an Italian film going. Another was sponsored by a car company and had a car out there, like in the mall. Other stalls had caged areas for basketball and other sports. We took in our share of all the variety and weirdness, then turned back, took one last look at the river, and went home.
Then, divine intervention. We heard a voice behind us babbling away in Italian, and we turned to see a very tiny old nun, clad in white, gesturing excitedly with her hands. With no hesitation, she strode out into the street, holding her hand out as she walked to stop the traffic. With the sea thus split before us, we Children of Israel crossed through on dry land.
Our destinations were a kosher bakery and a kosher supermarket, but first we stopped to eat breakfast (muffins I hastily baked hours before leaving to catch our flight) in a park. Kids were playing soccer and some adults were sitting and watching. The sound of a whistle made us think it was some kind of informal day camp. We people-watched and I even punted back a soccer ball that had escaped in our direction.
The bakery was quite a find - lots of breads and pastries, as well as pizza. We wouldn’t get to taste the pizza until the last day, but the rolls we bought there were crusty and fresh. The staff was very friendly, and recognized us (switching to English) upon future visits. The best part was that the store was clean and classy; it looked more like an Upper East Side overpriced boutique bakery than... well, what you’d expect a kosher bakery to look like.
The kosher supermarket was kind of small and deserted, but it dealt some good delicatessen. We bought some mozzarella, and two packages of salami, one regular and one hard. Although I’m reserving restaurant reviews for their own posts, I’ll review the cheese and meat here. We didn’t have any condiments, so we just made plain sandwiches on bakery bread, huge chunks of cheese on one day and huge piles of meat the next. The cheese was softer and creamier than your typical kosher-pizza-mozz. It had less of that cheesy tang, but more of a milky flavor. It was good mozzarella, and we both liked it. If we had put that amount of kosher-pizza-mozz in a sandwich, it would have been overwhelming, but with this kind it was just right. At the same time, foods normally made with the other mozz might have tasted bland with this one.
When we opened the hard salami, the smell of funk leapt out and hugged our nostrils. This was the real deal, folks, serious Italian cured charcuterie. The kind that you can smell from the sidewalk outside the store housing them. It was sliced super thin, and had a shiny, almost waxy and chewy texture. The flavor was the same as the aroma, only amplified and with added saltiness.
In case you can’t tell, the funky stuff was my personal favorite, and a sandwich of it, plus regular salami on a hard roll with a cold beer provided a memorable lunch for yours truly. Rachel was not as crazy about the extreme flavors, and preferred the regular stuff. Nevertheless, both our sandwiches were packed with flavor, despite their containing no condiments whatsoever.
Back to Monday. By the time we were eating the aforementioned lunch, we were sitting on the banks of the Tiber, just us and the river. At every bridge crossing the Tiber, there is a flight of about 20 steps down to the level of the river itself, where walkways line both banks. At night these would be filled with stalls and pedestrians, but in the early afternoon we had it to ourselves.
That afternoon we checked out the Jewish Museum, an old Spanish Synagogue and the newer Great Synagogue. Both seemed to attract lots of Jewish tourists, but our conclusion was that of all that we’d seen of Jewish Rome - the Ghetto, the museum and the two synagogues - the only really noteworthy experience was seeing the Great Synagogue. The museum does contain Judaica that is 500 years old and well preserved, but it’s not unlike the things you’ve probably seen before at other Judaica museums. The guide who led groups through the two synagogues was not particularly engaging, and her non-native English kept the information to a minimum.
But the Great Synagogue is a sight to see. Designed by a Christian architect (since Jews were still not allowed, as of 100 years ago, to practice architecture in Rome), it’s a massive shrine, with a lofty ceiling, decked out with marble columns and gilded in gold. I embellish, of course, but it was truly one gorgeous ‘gogue. Even more fun than seeing it was davening mincha/maariv in it the next day before dinner. Security, tighter than an El Al check in line, was conducted by the shamash, who wore a dour black robe with a silver shamash sign hung round his neck. Once the congregation of (mostly) tourists had gathered inside, the mustachioed chazzan strode out, also clad in black and sporting a hexagonal cantorial hat. He had a menacing face, and he cast his gaze about the room icily. He started the davening, but kept clearing his throat loudly, trying to catch the attention of the shamash, who was circling through the synagogue, tending to things. When the shamash’s attention was finally caught, the chazzan whispered something into his ear. Promptly, the shamash began making his way through the male congregants, picking out those who were wearing shorts, and sending them to the back. Apparently, this dress code violation is pretty common, for in the back was a pile of plastic pants that could be pulled over one’s clothing, and the tourists complied. Lesson learned - shul snobbery is the factor that unifies all denominations.
The rest of the afternoon was spent visiting sights near the Ghetto, like the Pantheon, Piazza Navona, and other assorted squares, statues and fountains. Inside the Pantheon was a solid mass of tourists, but that didn’t matter because the main attraction is the high, huge, domed ceiling with a circular window at the apex. We found out later that the window is open to the air, and there’s a drain system in the floor to handle rain. Not sure how they handle bird poop..
In the center of Piazza Navona is a fountain sculpted by Bernini, Rachel’s favorite sculptor of all time. It features four men, each one representing a major river. Wikipedia says that they are the Danube, Nile, Ganges and Plate, representing Europe, Africa, Asia and America, respectively (I guess Bernini didn’t know about the Amazon or the Mississippi). The idea is that no matter how far you travel, you are still under the authority of the Pope. I guess if you make it to Australia or Antarctica, you’re good to flaunt his authority.
The joke about the man covering is face (the Nile) is that he is facing a building designed by one of Bernini’s rivals, so the face covering is meant as an insult. The official reason is that, at the time, the source of the Nile river was unknown. Aw, remember when the world was all young and innocent and unexplored and mysterious and we didn’t even know where the Nile came from?
In honor of Rachel’s birthday, we ate at the fancy Taverna del Ghetto. Behind us was a middle aged Israeli couple. As we read the menu, another middle aged Israeli couple sat down beside us. We made some small talk, and the waiter brought menus to couple #2. The husband took one look at the menu and said, in Hebrew “How am I supposed to understand this?” He and his wife asked for Hebrew menus. While the waiter went to find someone who spoke Hebrew, couple #1’s food arrived - schnitzel and chips (fries). “How’s the schnitzel and chips?” asked couple #2. “Great!” said couple #1. When the waiter returned to couple #2 they informed him they didn’t need to see the menu; they both wanted schnitzel and chips.
This was at the fanciest kosher restaurant in Rome. Rachel and I are like 75% sure that, at least the schnitzel was made from frozen Of Tov schnitzel imported from Israel. Lesson learned - some people like to try new things, some people don’t.
After dinner we went back down to the banks of the Tiber, where the various stalls were in full force. The first stalls we passed were unremarkable, selling cheap jewlery and touristy stuff. As we got farther in, though, they gave way to stalls that were outdoor bars and restaurants, setting up tables, chairs, and couches all over the sidewalk. Some of these setups featured elaborate furniture, lighting, and themed paraphernalia. One had an Italian film going. Another was sponsored by a car company and had a car out there, like in the mall. Other stalls had caged areas for basketball and other sports. We took in our share of all the variety and weirdness, then turned back, took one last look at the river, and went home.
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