Pizzeria Lo Scricciolo
Via del Lavarote 41 00187, Rome, Italy
We’ve had a big day out, walking kilometre after kilometre, seeing Rome. We’ve been back to the hotel room for a hot shower, a 30 minute afternoon nap, a change into warmer clothes for night. I’ve grabbed my purse with our room key and a phone, and my camera, and we’ve hit the streets again. So, we’re walking down the cobble-stoned streets of Rome, it’s a little chilly, but we’re rugged up in scarves and coats and beanies.
Then it hits us. We haven’t eaten in a while. Crap, we’re hungry. It hits us like a ton of bricks, if we don’t stop walking and eat immediately, something bad is going to happen!!!! Luckily, we’re just coming up to the Trevi Fountain – we’d seen it earlier in the day, but I told husband it really comes into it’s own at night, and we had to go back again! Luckily, it was his first visit, my second, and I had the advantage of speaking Italian, so I definitely had the advantage of guiding him around to the things I wanted to do (also, luckily, we’re generally on the same wave-length when travelling, so he had no complaints!).
At our moment of desperate hunger, we saw this sign hanging on a little building. Sounded good to us!
So, in we went! It’s funny, we had the same welcome in every establishment we visited in Italy. We’d first be stared up and down, a barely discernible roll of the eyes, you could almost hear the “ehhh, tourists… great.” That look that all locals give tourists, that real mehh kinda feel you get from them, like they are appreciative to have your business but also a little resentful that you’re in their city, turned to shock, sometimes even embarrassment (especially if words were muttered under their breath or to their colleagues and companions) when I asked for a table for two in perfect Italian. Then, they seemed to be confused – I can speak Italian without a particularly noticeable Aussie accent, I can form my words well and use correct sentence structure. I was raised by four Italian grandparents who didn’t speak a heap of English, after all.
We loved this, it went on all over Italy, and it never got any less entertaining. Husband’s highlights were when people were talking about us in Italian, assuming we were dumb old tourists who couldn’t understand, and he’d elbow and goad me into saying something very pleasant and polite, maybe asking them a question, in their native tongue.
Anyway, after that, once they got over their surprise, we were like long-lost kin and welcomed to the family! We were seated towards the front of the restaurant, where we could look out onto the street and do some serious people watching (one of my favourite pass times in a big city). It was warm, homely, smelt amazing, and reminded me of sitting at my Nonna and Nonno’s house at home after they’d made pizzas fresh out of their pizza oven, right down to the plates on the wall and the fruit bowl on the counter. We took off our coats and scarves, and ordered a wine for me, a beer for husband, and some pizza…
I guess we were pretty lucky that we stopped in early (around 5.30pm), as everything was just rolling out fresh. And you could really tell – the crust was still crispy on the bottom, and the toppings were still hot from the oven. It’s not 5 star, it’s nothing absurdly special, but it was perfect for us – a few slices of pizza on our way through to more exploring.
I would definitely recommend a stop here if you’re in Rome and doing much the same – that 5.30 – 6.30pm time slot is way too early for most people to have dinner, but it’s a perfect stop if you’re planning to move on to something else later, a really great pre-dinner drink and slice option! It was cheap too, which is always a bonus is a big city like Rome!
Oh, and the best part? We walked out to this…. perfect : )