I Ricordi dei Sapori di Un Tempo

(for English click here)

L'aria era come sempre. Una primavera di quelli quando il sole ti accarezza teneramente mentre l'aria rimane fresco. Era un sabato, uguale come tanti altri sabati. Il fine settimana papà non lavorava e mamma si godeva un pò di riposo anche se le casalinghe, per necessità della famiglia, non si fermavano mai. Da consetudine il sabato e la domenica a pranzo era tempo per la famiglia di mangiare fuori così mamma non cucinava ne doveva lavare i piatti. Era un lusso che papà si poteva permettersi e io non l'ho mai messo in dubbio, anzi ero talmente abituato all'idea come può fare solo un bambino ingenuo.

Roma all'epoca stava appena iniziando a vivere il boom economico ma la ristorazione era ancora legato alla tradizione e il mangiar fuori un'eccezione. Sicuramente di locali ce n'erano ma i miei si erano ormai affezionati ad alcuni.

Un Posto

Uno in particolare mi è sempre rimasto nei ricordi, anzi, non è solo il ricordo di un posto ma quello dei sapori che non si ritrovano più. Da Ettore, così si chiamava il posto. Un ristorante? No. Una trattoria? Si, di quelli a conduzione familiare e anche aperto da poco agli inizi degli anni '60.

Sabato a pranzo Da Ettore era sempre pieno. Sembrava un locale ricavato tra due palazzi anche se poi in verità era un locale a piano terra riconvertito da un appartamento. Con tutta probabilità, considerato l'epoca, è nato con un pò dell'arte di arrangiarsi, con le autorizzazioni e i controlli più lasco. L'ingresso dava ad un giardino che con bel tempo era sempre richiesto. Entrando era un locale che andava per lunghezza con il frigo e il vino sfuso in vista in fondo alla sala. Appea dopo si intravedeva la cucina con il suo trambusto costante. Ma proprio in fondo alla sala c'era annesso un'altra sala di forma triangolare che poi portava ai bagni, anzi meglio un servizio di fortuna. Quello che bastava per il stretto necessario. Questa sala aveva pochi tavoli, quattro o cinque al massimo. Erano posti per uno o due, al limite anche tre a volte. C'era un pò di luce naturale ma era solo da una piccola finestra di quelli tipici dei scantinati.

In un epoca quando i cellulari non esistevano, e neanche un telefono, prenotare non era mai una considerazione. L'unico modo era di arrivarci e sperare nella discrezione di Ettore. Una cosa incerta visto che dipendeva da come girava la giornata per Ettore.

Più volte siamo capitati nella saletta. Non era il massimo ma pur di pranzare invece di tentare altrove, non penso che ci siamo mai lamentati. Tanto quello che veniva cucinato e servito mica cambiava se uno stava nella sala principale. I miei, con mio fratello maggiore, da Ettore ordinavano sempre le stesse cose e a forza di ripetizione nel tempo sono diventati aromi e sapore che ricordo con tenerezza. In quella saletta veniva, almeno il sabato, una signora di mezz'età, presumibilmente vedova, con il suo cagnolino. La razza mi sfugge, ma non abbaiava mai, e la cosa più importante non era di quelli piccoli come un chiwawa. Mamma proprio non andava d'accordo con i piccoli cagnolini. Una sorta di fobia.

Era anche un'epoca quando i frigoriferi non erano elettrodomestici alla portata di tutti. Anche la ristorazione ne aveva in maniera limitata. Di conseguenza la freschezza della materia prima era quasi assicurata. Sughi fatti al giorno, Pasta fresca. Carne che non è stata scongelata appena prima. Verdure dal mercato la mattina. Certo che avere abbastanza per coprire gli ordini nella giornata non era facile ma la gente era abituato alla risposta- "finito". Oggigiorno andrebbe incontro a un "ma come?".

Un Classico e di Più

Niente può essere più semplice di un piatto di spaghetti al pomodoro. Certo, ma all'epoca Ettore era una bontà per la semplicità. I spaghetti erano una sorta di mezzo spaghettone come misura, probabilmente dovuto a una produzione artigianale e oggi introvabile. Era perfettamente al dente ma scottante. Il sugo di pomodoro era una passata ricca e profumata. Uno direbbe un marzano da tradizione. Ma il clou era il burro sopra che si sciogleva con la pasta ancora scottante. Il burro era bianco e cremoso appena sciolto. Nel insieme era un modo di mantecare oggi impossibile con il burro chiarificato prodotto industrialmente.

A me spettava tutto un piatto intero di questa bontà e che me lo sono goduto del tutto. Era tanto per un bambino ma tanto ero sempre un pò grassotello, o come dicevo, che mai sono stato magro. Si dice che gli spaghetti al pomodoro e burro è un piatto che unisce l'Italia, con il burro che è del nord. Di sicuro Da Ettore non cucinava per presentare ma semplicemente per dare da mangiare a chi pagava. Cucinava con quello che trovava al mercato e che poteva cucinare senza fronzoli. Oggi se c'è il burro, magari è un alpeggio del Trentino ma quello di Da Ettore sicuramente era di provenienza locale, oggi si direbbe a chilometri zero. Nell'insieme era l'ingrediente che amalgava tutto in modo spettacolare per il palato di un bambino. Per quanto la pasta al formaggio era buona questo da Ettore stava su un altro pianeta.

Ai Ferri

Un secondo piatto non poteva mancare. Io ero troppo piccolo per giustificare un piatto tutto mio e mi dovevo accontentare di quello che mamma e mio fratello ordinavano per avere qualche boccone d'assaggio. Sarà stato che mio fratello è più grande di me di undici anni che lui era quello si prendeva cura di me per aiutare mamma. Era quasi un venditore nato visto che cercava in tutti i modi a farmi credere che tutto che mangiava era buono e che anche a me sarebbe piaciuto. Da Ettore aveva la vita più facile perché tutto era già buono con i profumi che giravano prima che il piatto venisse servito.

Il secondo piatto da ricordi era una lombatina, detto lombadina, di vitello ai ferri. Così era descritto e così si ordinava. Non una lombata ma lombatina. Di questi tempi, tra sushi e fusion, la lombata di vitello è quasi del tutto sparito dai menu della ristorazione. Se ce n'è, in genere è una lombata da due dite di altezza, una pezza assai grande. Da Ettore era da un dito. Così non veniva a costare un'ira di dio. Non veniva mai chiesto che cottura. La lombatina doveva essere rigorosamente rosa all'interno per mantenere la morbidezza e tenerezza altrimenti diventava stoppaciosa. In cucina ai fornelli la carne veniva cucinato con la padella di ghisa invece di altri materiali moderni che non si erano ancora affaciati. La ghisa caldasssima è perfetto per la cottura ai ferri. La lombatina arrivava con quel profumo della carne appena caramellizato e con un pò di sangue che trasudeva. Il grasso di vitello che si caramelliza ha un profumo dolce e tutto suo che lo distingue dal manzo e dal maiale. Impossibile non avere l'acquolina in bocca prima che il piatto arrivasse al tavolo.

C'era anche il contorno d'insalata che era di semplice cuore di lattuga croccante con l'olio extra vergine d'oliva, probabilmente più originale del DOC d'oggi, e con l'immancabile aceto di vino. L'aceto balsamico non aveva ancora passato il confine da Modena. Un pizzico di sale ed era fatto. Io che da bambino ho evitato verdure di ogni genere, mi ero piantato i piedi a rifiutare mentre mio fratelli cercava disperamente di convincermi. Solo molti anni dopo, quando per motivi da salute ero obbligato a includere verdure nella dieta, ho trovato meno problematica l'insalata semplice condito con olio e aceto. I ricordi aiutano. La rughetta rimane un no e probabilmente mai ma questo è un altra storia.

Da Baciare

A finire era la sorpresa del creme caramel. Per me una vera chicca. A casa i dolci o dessert non erano parte del menu casalingo. Probabilmente perché i miei avevano abitudini diversi. Se c'erano era perché i miei avevano ospiti importanti a cena. Altrimenti i miei finivano la cena con un caffè. Da Ettore era diverso. Non ho mai saputo ma penso che sia stato mio fratello a volere il creme caramel se c'era. E così mi sono accodato. Che bel modo di finire il pranzo per un bambino. Uno dei quei dolci con tanto del leggereza e carattere forte con il zucchero caramellizato, e ancora di più se leggermente brucciachiato con un tocco di croccantezza leggerissima, e il budino a mo di formaggio con tanti vuoti d'aria. Oggi un creme caramel del genere viene visto male. Sarà ma sono le caratteristiche di un creme caramel pieno di difetti allora che rimane nei miei ricordi, tra zucchero caramellizzato in maniera non omogeneo e la creme sbattuto di troppo per creare più vuoti. Evviva.

Da Ettore eravamo tra i pochi se non gli unici ad arrivare con la macchina. Altri venivano a piede nel quartiere. I miei hanno conosciuto Ettore quando stavano nello stesso quartiere o vicinanze, ma quando c'ero io ormai si erano spostato da un altra parte di Roma, dal quadrante opposto. Sabato a pranzo Da Ettore era quasi un rituale ripetuto di settimana in settimana, ma poi come tante altre cose, abitudini cambiano per svariati motivi. Ad un certo punto papà avrà deciso che non gli andava più di fare l'attraversata di Roma con il traffico e caos crescente. E così rimangano i ricordi di un tempo perduto.

Dopo più di mezzo secolo, Da Ettore è diventato Da Nonno Ettore. Come posto sembra congelato nel tempo con quell'aria da tavoli e sedie semplici, quasi con i classici tovaglie a quadrettini. La cucina invece è cambiato con i tempi. Oggi è piu da piatti romani tipici e le cose che la gente si aspetta di assaporare in un posto del genere. Comprendo anche se onestamente direi un peccato, ma solo così si sopravvive alla legge del mercato.

Il passato rimane nella memoria. I sapori vissuti sono sempre li in bocca a rendere difficile gustare piatti nuovi.

I just thought it made more sense to tell this story in Italian. Knowing that it's harder if not impossible for many of you who don't know Italian to enjoy it, I've included an English version. It is not a translation but rather how the story would be told if written in English as the original language and considering context. An interpretation it is not since yours truly is the author of both. For those bilingual, you get to enjoy both.

Tastes from a Bygone Time

The air felt as it always had at that time. A place where spring was always special with the warmth of the sun gently caressing you while the air remained refreshingly cool. It was a Saturday, hardly different from any other Saturdays. Dad never worked on the weekends and Mom looked forward to some rest although housewives really never had any time off. Lunch on Saturday was always an outing for the family, almost like a ritual. Mom wouldn't have to prepare lunch on the weekends nor were there dishes to do. Still she had to whip At most something simple was needed for dinner. Eating out was a luxury that Dad could afford, and me as young naive child took it for granted, it never seemed out of the ordinary, maybe even assuming that this is what everyone else did.

These were the early years of the Italian miracle, better known as "il boom economico italiano", generally understood to be between1958-1963. Rome had yet to be in the full swing of the miracle as it made it's way south from the industrial north. Restaurants and eateries weren't a complex industry at the time, it was still defined by traditional fare and local cuisine. While Rome wasn't lacking for places, my folks stuck to their habits and had their favourite places.

A Place

One place in particular remains, as if marked in stone, in my childhood memories. Not so much as just a place, but the delicious taste and aromasl that I can always recall with the slightest of unintended triggers. "Da Ettore" as the place was known was a trattoria which meant it was a family run business providing traditional fare with a clientele of locals from the neighborhood. Not a restaurant which had to be more upscale, with decor and service to go with the price. A trattoria you really couldn't go wrong. Dishes with simple ingredients and secret recipes of the nonna, served efficiently, and a price that wouldn't break the bank.

There was always a crowd at "Da Ettore" on Saturdays for lunch. To me as a child, "Da Ettore" always felt like it was a place that sat between buildings, somehow like a long corridor that was converted for the purpose. Indeed it isn't farfetched to imagine that creating the space wouldn't have been too difficult in those years when local laws and regulation were much more flexible and controls had a wider discretionary berth. The entrance was via a front yard making it perfect garden area for the many pleasant months that Rome always enjoyed. Beyond that, one could literally see all the way through Da Ettore as the main seating room was a slender rectangle. At the back end one could see the wall sized refrigerator as well as the wine barrel. There was also the doorway to the kitchen and it wasn't hard to make out the chaos that probably reigned there. You just knew from the constant chatter and shouting as orders were placed and expedited. And then, at the same end, was the adjoing smaller seating space, triangular in shape, and which led to a bathroom. Maybe it was better to call it a hole in the wall as it was just barely functional. This space could only hold a few tables, and in reality they were small one, more suitable for one or two at most. Sometimes three could fit in. Some natural light was possible but only because of the small windows typical of cellars.

Mobile phones were still part of science fiction, and even a landline phone wasn't exactly the purview of everyone. Calling to reserve just wasn't even imagined. One just had to come and hope for the best. Many times it boiled down to what Ettore was willing to do and that in itself depended on how the day was turning out for him.

We ended up in this small space more times that I could really remember. It was far from being the best, but I guess we really didn't complain as the only alternative was to head somewhere else and try our luck again. Might as well stay and enjoy a trusted fare. My folks and my older brother ordered pretty much the same things every Saturday, and this only served to reinforce certain tastes and aromas, leaving sweet and tender memories. This space also catered to a middle aged woman, who lunched alone, with a dog whose pedigree doesn't come to mind but certainly it wasn't the size of chiwawa. Mom was adverse to small dogs in particular, probably a phobia of sorts.

Refrigerators were just beginning to be a home appliance that some Italian households could afford, but places like Da Ettore had a commercial one that provided some flexibility. As a consequence everything was sourced fresh and used on a daily basis. Everything was prepared accordingly. A microwave reheating would have been laughable. Planning was probably difficult and wasn't really needed. If Ettore ran out of something, it would simply be "finito" or finished as simple answer. Diners simply ordered something else rather than the prompt counter reply of today "Ma come?", sort of "What do you mean!?" retort. While the concept of the customer is always right wasn't exactly in the mindset, honesty has its place in any relationship.

A Classic and More

What could be simpler than a dish of spaghetti with tomato sauce? You would think, but Ettore had one that was heavenly in its simplicity.The spaghetti pasta was in between being the larger measure of spaghettone and the standard sized spaghetti, probably due to the small local production methods rather than something on a large industrial scale. Something that couldn't be found today. By tradition it was always "al dente", if not it was certainly always on the side of getting to the right "al dente" rather than overcooked. It was always piping hot and I've never figured out how this is possible unless it goes from the kitchen to the table in in less than a minute. It had to literally fly. The richness of the tomato sauce is something unmistakable which could only be done with fresh ripe tomatoes, prepared early in the day, hours before the first customer arrived. It wasn't dense and it wasn't watery. It had a fine texture of pieces of tomatoes. The taste was pure. It had hardly a hint of any added sugar. These were ripe tomatoes whose balance of sweetness and acidity was perfect for the sauce. There was that bit of tanginess that would cause the taste buds to water the mouth as the sauce was tasted. Years later many would acclaim the tomatoes from San Marzano near Naples to be the only ones deserving of perfection. I'm sure Ettore made do with what he could source from the local market stalls and maybe Rome was an easy stop from San Marzano as they made their way up north. Still, the real clencher was a third ingredient all together. It was a sizable portion of butter that melted its way with the piping hot spaghetti. It was flavorful as only real butter can be, not the clarified butter nor the one produced on industrial scale. The melted butter made the tomato slightly creamer but more importantly it made the tomato sauce coat and stick to the spaghetti so that it all became one rather three ingredients in the same dish. It's a way of what the Italian call "mantecare". While the formal translation of this would be whip/whisk, these are hardly ever mentioned in the context of pasta dish preparations by non-Italian chefs. It's the technique used to amalgamate the ingredients into subtle texture. It takes time and patience to do it properly. Ettore killed two birds at once with the butter, a delicious aroma, and a simple way to "mantecare" as you twirl the spaghetti with your spoon and fork with the tomato sauce eagerly sticking and filling any surface nooks and cranny.

I always had my own plate of this goodness. I'm sure my folks always ordered mine as a half portion but I doubt Ettore ever measured this out precisely, probably more like grasping a little less spaghetti than usual to throw into the boiling pot of water. All in all maybe it was a little too much for a kid, but I was always on the heavy side, or as I would say - never been thin. Some say that "spaghetti al sugo di pomodoo" is what unites Italy with the butter being from the north. For sure Ettore didn't cook as an art, he simply provide easy and honest fare to satisfy appetites without having to fork over a fortune. He didn't create, he just cooked with what the daily fresh market had to offer. Today most places merely have spaghetti with the tomato sauce with basil rather than butter. If there is butter as delicacy it's bound to be a type from the northern area of Trentino making its taste a kin of the northern alp cheeses. I'm sure Ettore's butter was quite local and maybe from just around the corner block. Whatever, this was the one single ingredient to create the magical taste and memories.

Those who visit Italy, learn quickly that restaurants do not have main courses on the menu but rather a "primo piatto" followed by a "secondo piatto", sometimes loosely translated as first and second courses. So a "un secondo piatto" at Da Ettore holds a special place in my memory. I was too little to have my own, seeing that I already had the pasta, so it was me tasting and eating whatever Mom and my brother would pass on to me. My brother, being older by eleven years, helped my mom to care for me. One could say he's a born salesman as he very creative in making believe that everything he was eating was great and also good for me as well as enjoying it. At Ettore this was even easier seeing that everything was actually quite good.

A Grill

The dish was a "lombatina di vitello ai ferri" or grilled veal steak. It was probably the second most expensive dish on the menu, the first being a filet mignon if Ettore had it. These days a veal steak can hardly be found on the menu in restaurants in Rome. Those who have it really have a "lombata di vitello ai ferri" which tends to be cut as thick steak making it closer to like a hefty T-bone. Ettore served the thinner version which was much easier to cook to perfection. One was never asked a choice for its level of doneness, the only acceptable way was for it to be cooked to a rosy pink center so that it remained soft and tender rather than being dry and tough. The gas kitchens of that era only had iron skillets and grills for cooking meat which is the perfect material. None of the more modern alloys and innovations were yet even contemplated for the market. The veal steak would be grilled to perfection with the wonderful taste of the caramellized surface texture and a touch of juices coming to the surface. Even the veal steak fat would be rendered providing the unique aroma and taste the makes veal different from beef and pork. Just the aroma emanating from the kitchen as the veal steak was on the grill was enough to be a mouth watering agonizing wait.

And then there was the salad. A quintessential side dish but Italy is not home to something like a Ceasar's Salad, or at least so it was decades ago. First it was mainly fresh and crunchy romaine lettuce. Maybe mixed with some heart of lettuce. Second the salad condiment wasn't a choice, by tradition it was extra virgin olive oil and wine vinegar. Sometimes it would be served with the oil and vinegar to be added to one's preference. A touch of salt closed the deal. Balsamic vinegar had yet to be exported outside of the Modena area. As a child as well as a young adult, I just abhored any type of greens and vegetable in general. This was a red line for me and while my brother tried every which way possible to get me to try the salad, I became the petulant child. Only many years later, in light of health issues, I began to include in my diet the only thing I was willing to accept, a simple green salad, much alike what my memory of Da Ettore's salad was. That's the extent. I'm still distant from the bitter taste of rucola salad. Indeed I will go the distance to painstakenly remove any if I find them mixed in with the romaine salad.

More than a Kiss

Then came the best part. The creme caramel, or caramel custard, as dessert. Dessert as in cakes and the sorts wasn't really part of eating choices at home. My folks typically ended meals with a caffé, Italian coffee. If we had guests over for dinner, then yes, dessert would be offered. But aside from that it wasn't customary. I would have to think that it was my brother who discovered creme caramel at Da Ettore and it would become a dessert of choice. I'm quite sure I fell in love with from the very first taste. Couldn't be otherwise. What a wonderful way to finish lunch for a child. A caramel custard isn't complicated but at Da Ettore it was light and flavorful with caramelized sugar top that was on slightly on the burnt side with some bits of crispness. The custard itself had this funny texture with all sorts of small pockets of air. By today's standards for a caramel custard, the one at Da Ettore would be considered poorly prepared, the sugar caramelization overdone or inconsistent, and the custard whisked too much creating the pockets of air rather than being smooth throughout. Sure, but it's the "defective" version of Da Ettore than remains etched forever in memory and the delicate taste of all those defects. I wouldn't have it any other way.

At Da Ettore we were probably among the few if not the only family that came by car. My folks came to know Da Ettore when they first resided in the neighborhood, and they just continued even though we had moved to the opposite side of the city. The Saturday lunch was almost a constant ritual, but as with many other things in life, over time habits changed for all sorts of reasons, and at some point going from one side of the city to the other end with the increasing traffice and chaos, just for lunch probably became less enticing. And so what remains are the memories of such strong aromas and tastes.

After half a century, Da Ettore has become Da Nonno Ettore or By Grandfather Ettore, and the place seems frozen in time with the simple tables and chairs. Meanwhile the cuisine has changed with the times. Mostly traditional roman fare that a modern patron would expect to find in such a place. Understandable if one is to survive as palate evolve, but it's a pity.

The memories remain. The tastes are indelible. They are always there and any and all dishes I try have quite a hard time against these memories, exactly as depicted by Pixar's 2007 classic - Ratatouille.