Begin at the beginning

Blogs are often linked to hobbies and sharing with like-minded people with similar passions. The Pizzaphiles' passion is for pizza. The unexpectedly rich world of critiquing, analysing, appreciating that wonderful Italian food staple, the honest pizza. My first pizza was indeed of the Pizza Hut variety, in the days before stuffed crusts became an overly cheesy necessity. There's something about Pizza Hut that corresponds spot on with the 80s in both style and in substance- big, doughy, garish colours, a plastic feel and that leopard print pattern of melted and browned processed mozzarella cheese. It was of course the pizza of choice for the Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles and Ghostbusters and is a symbol of unadulterated Americana as enduring as McDonald's and Coca Cola.

Pizza Hut began in Kansas in 1958

this Pizza Hut advert from 1989

Rome 2010

There’s something thrilling about the slaking tartness of Campari when it’s hot and
torrid and you’ve just gotten off a budget airline flight. It’s even better when joined
by its most lethal bedfellows; sweet vermouth and gin to make a negroni and you
are gazing semi pie-eyed over the rooftops of Rome on a romantic bank holiday
weekend. For my companion, who is feeling under the weather and struggling with a
cold, we discover yet another merit of the classic aperitif, in that it acts as an effective
decongestant. We are now somewhat ready to play.
For the impecunious hedonist with a commitment to style, there are few better
places to stay and do just this, than the Hotel Adriano (www.hoteladriano.com)
whose centrality a few pulses from the Pantheon and pretty roof terrace are hard
to beat. Interiors are chic and simple and there’s always a buzz and a game of
chess taking place in the lobby. Fuelled by the added negroni buzz we jump on
some classic, one-gear bikes (provided by the hotel) and chance the cobbles and
our orthopaedic hopes. History, predictably, is all around in the Eternal City, and
directly opposite our abode is Obikà, (www.obika.it) which makes great claims
for being ‘history’s first mozzarella bar’. I warn my dear congested companion that
too much dairy can create more mucus, but he is happy to take the risk upon sight
of the seductive white balls. We gorge ourselves on a selection of ‘rotoli’; sliced
and rolled mozzarella stuffed with savoury fillings ranging from smoked salmon to
artichokes.
Maybe I’m an ageing hedonist who likes predictable pleasures but I still
love the unbridled loveliness of knocking back a couple of glasses of prosecco
in the Hotel de Russie courtyard (www.hotelderussie.it); a site perfect for
concocting lurid fantasies of how to make tons of cash to eventually spend every
day there. From there it’s a stones throw (or a wobbly bike ride) to the Hotel
Locarno (www.hotellocarno.com), a perennial Roman favourite which now has
a reinvigorated fashion scene in the Art Deco lounge bar. I wear my favourite dress
du jour, a Marlene Dietrich style floor-length gown, and, feeling like the glamorous
protagonist of a 1930s whodunit, I throw back a textbook negroni. My companion’s
experienced eye tells him at this point that if I do not eat a proper meal, and pronto, I
will start to become, hmmm, “come si dice ‘bit of a nightmare?’”
And so, we leave the bici and shimmy over to Testaccio,
former meat-packing district and Rome’s main hedonistic artery
which runs from Via Galvani to Via Monte de Testaccio. We settle in
at Angelina (www.ristorantenagelina.com), which manages to take ironic inspiration
from Angelina Jolie (no, seriously, look at their flyers for the aperitivo parties) while
still maintaining stylish integrity and pulling off something of an up tempo Shoreditch
house feel- all stripped wood, ceramic topped tables and elegant shades of white and
grey in the airy vaulted interior, while butchers' placards adorn the tiled walls.
Maybe Ange’s famed penchant for wearing vials of her lover’s blood strikes
accord with the neighbourhood’s gory history; until 1975 Testaccio was home to
Europe's largest slaughterhouse, and has now become the bleeding heart of the city's
contemporary art scene. Attractive crowds fresh from the ROMA art fair in the new
space at Macro Museo -the macabre ex- abbatoir across the road- jostle with fashion
mavens and the odd reality TV star.
In a part of town once famous for offal oriented dishes such as pajata (veal
intestines clinging together in their own imbibed milk) it’s a relief that there are
some less visceral dishes on offer such as cacio e pepe; an immensely satisfying and
simple dish of pasta drenched in pecorino cheese and lots of black pepper. A modern
presentation of a romana classic. For the carnivorous at heart there's a fine array of
high quality Danish and Texan grilled meats to choose from.Yee-haw! We make a
pact to try and return for the terminally chic Sunday brunch tomorrow on the terrace
Engines stoked on red meat, negronis and wine we scoot up the past
the traffic stained antique pyramid monument that marks the beginning of Ostiense;
an area that is ubiquitously gritty and industrial and therefore inimitably cool with
various projects by trendy architect Rem Koolhaus underway. It must be said that for
me, Italian clubs have always left a little to be desired, but the cream is
probably Goa (06 574 8277, Via Libetta) which attracts a convincing clutch of
international DJS and that unmistakable brand of electronic Euro with a touch of the
Balearic. Nadal chested men in singlets pump the air and more arty musos bob their
heads in appreciation over punchy cocktails. Being teenagers of the rave inspired 90s
we throw ourselves into enjoying the twisted electro churned out by a sound system
which is as punishing as any you might find in the old super-clubs of UK
yore. Perhaps I don’t dance with gusto to all things electro so much these
days but whether my all over aches can be put down to throwing shapes, cycling on
cobbles, or don’t tell me, the negroni diet, by the following morning I’m more than
ready for a massage in the darkened cocoon like rooms at new sybaritic
spa Kaami (www.kamispa.com) near Piazza Barberini, before a restorative long lunch
of cheeses, cold meats, wine and miniature portions of lasagne at Cul De Sac, a little
enoteca off the Piazza Navona that really can cure all
ills.(www.enotecaculdesac.com). We settle in next to a table of international jeunesse
doree who are having a boozy discussion in three languages and watch the passeggiata
pack amble by, just enough time for our stomachs to settle before gobbling down a
gelato at dreamy spot Gelateria del Teatro (Via S.Simone, 06 45474880) just off Via
dei Coronari where the intense, 75% cocoa cioccolato puro and organic concoctions
and gluten free cones knock the socks off the standard tourist traps such as Giolitti.
Back on the bikes to burn off some of this calorific creaminess- but we don't
get very far- seduced by the setting sun on the warm cobbles around the
Pantheon and because we are greedy hedonists in love, we ignore the tourist
trash and share a plate of perfect tonnarelli alla carbonara at old favourite
Maccheroni (www.ristorantemaccheroni.com)back in centro storico. Viva Roma!

Lazy Courgette and Spring Green Chilli Pasta

Ingredients


1 leek, chopped
1 courgette, grated
zest of half lemon
teaspoon of chilli flakes
sprinkling of pinenuts/sunflower seeds
2 crushed garlic cloves
any pasta
slug of white wine
olive oil
parmesan/ gran padano/pecorino grated
creme fraiche (optional)


Heat some olive oil and add the garlic and chilli flakes, cook for 2 mins max on low heat.


Add leeks, lemon zest, seeds or pinenuts and cook for another 5 mins, adding wine in last minute.


In the meantime, cook the pasta- wholewheat is nice and keeps things low carb(ish) and healthy feeling- pour a glass of wine or beer, have a fag and check facebook, download a song.


By this time the pasta should be ready al dente, so drain and conserving a little of the water, add to the veg mix and heat for 30 seconds. If something a little creamier is desired and the fridge provides, then add half a tub of creme fraiche at this point and cook for an extra 2 mins.


Pile on the shavings of hard cheese a choix and season with salt and pepper.


Great for when time is of the essence (between episodes on a binge of The Wire?) or to soak up that midweek bottle of rose' before setting a 7am alarm.

Time to Try Turin

A hand slips down my exposed back while a warm and gravelly voice seductively whispers, 'Don't move... I'm just going to get some more ice.' I'm a little flushed and heady from the alcohol, hypnotised by the firefly string of fairy lights that illuminates the square and fail to realise that my chair is rocking slightly on the cobbled streets beneath. Strains of a non descript Latin-American beat quiver in the night air around me. Though it's well after midnight, the parade of bright young things is only just gathering momentum. And then the voice comes closer, offers me another glass of Barolo. 'So darling, imma gonna see you later at de warehouse party okaye'. I think I'm in love with this town, if not quite as amorously inclined towards Arturo, the swarthy owner of the Free Volo bar.
But I'm not in some funky favella backwater of Rio, or sampling late night Seville cafe culture. I'm in the Northern Italian city of Turin, not generally known for its ebullient nightlife. In fact, most Italians would scoff at the idea of a weekend break in this Baroque building site, conveniently located for a spot of nearby skiing but not for much else. Mention you're headed north to the foot of the Alps and you're generally met with the response 'poverino' or 'poor old you'.
In some ways they have a point. The summer months are miserably muggy and plagued by a deluge of mosquitoes of biblical proportions. But let’s face it, any Italian city is a sweltering misery for a tourist in August.
Back to the balmy night when the humidity has dissolved enough to offer the swarming merry-makers of the Roman Quarter some respite. The evening begins like every other evening in Turin; with an aperitivo. For the uninitiated, this is a very pleasant Northern Italian invention which incorporates more food and alcohol into the daily routine. It’s an Italian alternative to the after work snifter in the pub, but rather than pork scratchings, the locali offer up an abundant banquet of complimentary food at no extra cost to your glass of wine. To be fully indigenous I chose to have a Campari, which along with vermouth was born in the sub alpine region. We’re hanging out in Le Drogherie, an old Renaissance apothecary tucked away on Piazza Vittorio Veneto, a huge square near the river bank at the bottom of Via Po.
The sharp bitter alcohol slakes my palate and is thoroughly refreshing, I’m ready for another but reluctant to fill up before dinner. The gastronomical delights of the region are next on the evening’s menu, and Turin does dining well. The restaurants bustle with an art deco glamour but we skip the traditional Risorgimento fare (boiled meats and sweetbreads ) and have a pizza at Sfashion Café, an eaterie dedicated to satirizing the silly world of fashion.
This tendency towards self- deprecation and piquant irony is a trait I notice which sets the people of Piedmont apart from their fellow countrymen, who take all things in their dolce vita most seriously. The shops and trendy boutiques in the Quadrilatero Romano are still open and too much of a temptation after a few glasses of the succulent regional wine (corpulent brews like Babaresco and Barolo) so I get left to the amorous advances of the hearty Arturo while we wait for the clubs along the river to ignite into action.
It’s down to the Murazzi, the banks of the river flooded with revellers and late night watering holes under the arches of former boathouses. It feels like a cross between Brighton and Ibiza, and just as mainstream. A little further along from the river is the Docks Dora, a site of ex-factories and industrial warehouses, fertile ground in many cities for sophisticated underground culture to flourish. Turin is no exception. It has the intellectual nonchalance of Berlin coupled with the gritty chic of London’s Dalston and the energy of New York’s Lower East Side. Achingly hip some might say. Venues with names like Hiroshima Mon Amour host denizens of club culture like Belgian musical pioneers Soulwax and their deck spinning antics as 2 Many Djs.
There’s a sense of individuality in dress senses, styles and tastes here in Turin that isn’t so apparent in other Italian cities. I feel at home in my louche London look as opposed to sticking out like a sartorial sore thumb. Of course, despite the Northern European cool, Turin is still an Italian city and the residents still do have a fondness for watching girls go by. I even think Italian mosquitoes are influenced by their Mediterranean hosts, as a few managed to get inside my underwear, which failed to charm me.
After an imprudent amount of alcohol I find ways to calm my hangover the following morning with chocolates and contemporary art. Turin is fast becoming a premier hub of contemporary artistic production and is home to Italy’s first museum of contemporary art, in Rivoli, a romantically crumbling castle just outside the city, complete with avant-garde restaurant and thought-provoking displays.
Back in town it’s time for a glass of prosecco and some chocolates under the chandeliers of the historic cafes around Piazza San Carlo where everyday scenes evoke the glamorous days of the duchy of Savoy.
To be honest, I can’t decide whether I prefer the traditional to the modern in this town. Turin fuses baroque charm with the innovative and contemporary in fashion, film, music and nightlife like no other Italian city I know.
While romance failed to blossom during my visit, somehow I developed a crush on this most under-rated of Italian destinations. It's easy to get seduced by wine and chocolates, sexy and sophisticated nightlife and the no nonsense sense of humour the Torinesi have to offer. At just over an hour away from London, there's plenty more reasons to head back for another winter fling.

Rome's Hedonistic Highlights in 24hrs

Freni e Frizioni- ambrosial breakfast cappuccino and croissants in a former mechanic's garage

Centrale Montemartini- classical statuary displayed provocatively on the machinery of this former electricity plant in gritty yet chic Ostiense

Santa Maria del Popolo- pop in to gaze at the pinchingly lovely Caravaggio canvases

TAD- quick shop in boutique concept store on Via del Babuino

Gina- light lunch amid the city's calorie conscious style mavens by the Spanish Steps

Acanto day spa- indulgent massage behind the Pantheon

Radisson SAS- steal a furtive hour's sunbathing by the rooftop pool

Via del Governo Vecchio- shopping for vintage bargains in Omero e Cecilia

Societe Lutece- aperitivo hour beckons and a reviving glass of prosecco and buffet of healthy snacks with centro storico's bright young things

Maccheroni- dinner with lashings of red wine

Rivendita- an after dinner coffee, a couple of handmade chocolates and a quick flick through some second hand books

Bar San Calisto- quick post prandial chat at this rough and ready Roma institution , and a livening jagermeister, the night is still young

Rialto Sant'Ambrogio- skip over to the Jewish ghetto, for live music, DJs and all sorts of cultural night time antics.