The one and only Peter Fry
Rome & Naples with my dad, drinking plenty of wine and eating plenty of anchovies
Hello, dear ones!
It’s a month of visitors, and my current guest is the one and only Peter Fry, my dad. He’s staying in an Airbnb studio just down the hill from the Academy in Trastevere, right by my favorite wine shop Les Vignerons. We bought a bottle of Lazio white there that the owner urged us to try, and brought it up to the terrace of the Academy on Friday evening when I got out of work. Up there, we met Bill, a visiting photographer and author with a calm, warm demeanor, who joined us for a glass. The best part of cooking and living here has been happening upon and getting to know people within the Academy, from the Eritrean-Italian-Belgian-American kitchen staff to the international artists and scholars and their collection of sweet kiddos.
Some of the fellows organized a party on Friday night, and I stopped by after dinner with my dad to find the sweetest, funniest sight. There was a legitimate DJ set-up, blue lights, and a dance floor — with the backdrop of a regal Academy sitting room with a high ceiling, tall windows, and a fireplace. I now have a secret handshake with my tween buddy Alice, the daughter of two architect fellows, and got invited to her April birthday party (big deal!). I also danced with a whole assortment of serious academic sorts, who just needed some Rihanna to get loose, it seems.
The party marked the end of a long week of cooking, including one dinner menu that I loved so much that I can’t not tell you about: carciofi alla giudia, pappardelle al ragù d’anatra, and baci di dama.
Earlier in the week, our farmers delivered a few cases of fat carciofi, or artichokes, mauve and green with rounded leaves and generous hearts. So as an antipasto for dinner, we prepared them in the Jewish tradition (alla giudia), which means that we fried them. We folded the outer leaves in and splayed out the inner leaves until the artichokes resembled peonies — open and flouncy. Then, we minced garlic cloves and wild mint, and rubbed the mixture inside the artichokes, along with some salt. We fried them until a knife could puncture their cores with ease, then fried them again in hotter oil until crisp. A sprinkle of salt, and out they went onto plates: one artichoke per person.
For the main course, we served fresh pappardelle that my fellow intern Marie lovingly (and painstakingly) rolled out, pressing sprigs of fennel fronds into the dough. Giorgia took the lead on the ragù d’anatra, or duck ragù — a saucy, rich affair that I kept “tasting for salt” every time I walked past the skillet. We plated as a team (it’s not easy to serve up 60 plates of hot, fresh pasta all at once), sprinkling each serving with grated Parmesan and chopped fennel fronds.
Last but not least: baci di dama, a cookie from northern Italy consisting of two buttery, hazelnut biscuits pressed together with dark chocolate. I took the lead on dessert, which was a bit fussy due to the crumbly shortcrust batter, but they worked out well (even if they were a bit messy). I snuck some salt into the batter, which the recipe did not include, because what’s the point of chocolate and hazelnut without salt? Hot tip: the best kitchen snack is a toasted hazelnut, a morsel of dark chocolate, and a pinch of salt, popped straight into your mouth from your palm.
As for the rest of the weekend, on Saturday morning my dad and I took the train to Naples, only an hour away from Rome. We were clueless travelers, missing our first train and switching to the next, and blindly wandering around Naples. The only two things I knew I wanted to do were eat Neapolitan pizza and see Caravaggio’s “The Seven Works of Mercy,” and we did both! My dad’s addition to the list was to see the shrine to Argentine soccer player Maradona. We were naive to think there was only one; the city is obsessed with Maradona, and there’s a shrine around every corner. My little brother Malcolm has been itching to go to Naples for a long time, and I understand now, as the city’s infatuation with soccer matches his own.
There’s no shortage of pizza places in Naples, but I decided on Attilio, where food writer Katie Parla suggested I go. It was hectic, old-school, and very Neapolitan, and the pizza was excellent, with an airy crust and reserved toppings. My favorite was the simplest we ordered: a pie with tomato sauce, mozzarella, and anchovies. Our next stop to see the Caravaggio was worth the visit (aren’t Caravaggios always worth the visit?), and I don’t have anything original to say about it, so I’ll leave you with that.
From our limited hours exploring Napoli, I’d say that it lives up to its reputation: scruffy and crowded, but also soulful and striking. I have to admit that when we got back to Rome that evening, I was glad to be back, and felt at home in this city.
Today, I slept in, then met my dad in the Jewish quarter for lunch at Il Pompiere. I can’t imagine a more perfect place to eat on a Sunday than a dining room on the second floor of a 16th century building with white tablecloths and a high ceiling. It was elegant but not fussy, and the tables were full of intergenerational families dining together. The table behind ours sat one such family, and after our meal, we walked outside to find its two youngest members sitting on the corner with their iPhones and vapes. Ha. Anyway, the food was exceptional, particularly the fried squash blossom stuffed with mozzarella and anchovies, the carbonara, and the crispy endive. I want to go back again and again. And tonight, we’re returning to La Gensola in Trastevere for dinner with my beloved third grade teacher Iva and her partner Perrin, who happen to be in Rome! We are eating so well.
It’s such a treat to have time with my dad in Italy, and I don’t take it for granted.
Thank you for reading!
With love,
Phoebe
Visiting you during spring vacation is exactly what the inimitable Peter Fry would do! Aren’t you both blessed?! As per your trip to Naples, have you watched Elena Ferrante’s My Brilliant Friend? It’s fantastic, in both written and film formats, and it’s set in old Naples. Definitely worth the foray. I’ve been to the opera in Naples, and although I don’t remember a thing about the opera, he experience of the building is one I’ll never forget. Ciao!