<p style="clear:both;"><img class="alignright size-full wp-image-579" title="mangia" src="http://davidhewson.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/mangia.jpg" alt="mangia" width="316" height="237" />I mentioned guianciale in my last post. If you’re in Rome and want to see it for yourself just pop along to the <a class="offsite-link-inline" href="http://anticatavernamangiabene.it/index.php" target="_blank">Antica Taverna</a> restaurant in Via Monte Giordano, between Governo Vecchio and the Via Coronari. There you’ll find a lovely collection of cured pig’s cheeks swinging from the ceiling, alongside garlands of garlic, right in the middle of the dining room. Nor are these for show. Chefs will wander out from the kitchen and grab them over the heads of punters as needed.</p>
<p style="clear:both;">The Antica Taverna (da Paolo e Viorica to give it its full title) styles itself proudly as being a provider of ‘Cucina Romana’. But so do a million other places in Rome, many of them dreadful. This place is real though. I’ve been there in the dead of winter when it’s had just one foreigner in the house, me. I’ve been there in warmer times too, when hordes of trainee Vatican priestlets from Germany and beyond hog the tables stuffing themselves silly. Doesn’t matter. This is somewhere special, albeit in a very downbeat way.</p>
<p style="clear:both;"><span class="thumbnail-image-float-right ssNonEditable"><span class="thumbnail-caption" style="width:252px;">Plenty of tables outside - and in winter too, under cover</span></span>This is real, working class Roman cooking. Artichokes boiled or deep fried. In winter puntarelle, raw chicory stalks with anchovies. Rabbit with black olives, lamb sauteed in vinegar. This is a place that loves its stews, and doesn’t bother taking things off the bone either. One time, after a memorable meal of rabbit and and lamb, all of which had to be carefully picked off the bone, I mentioned these dishes to a restaurateur friend in England. He’s French and loves the idea of boney stews. Why not put them on the menu in Kent, I asked? He shook his head: people would just complain.</p>
<p style="clear:both;">So if you’re the sort who complains about food you have to fiddle with give the Antica Taverna a wide berth. But I think you’d be missing something. There’s an unmistakable warmth about this place that goes beyond keeping customers flowing through the door, an effortless friendliness that, for me, is peculiarly Roman. It’s also got the kind of interior every Italian restaurant hopes to copy, probably from a book, but here is just a natural extension of its own character. The pig’s cheeks, the garlic, the bottles, the photos on the walls… if I ever have to recommend a restaurant for a movie or TV adaptation of these books then Antica Taverna will be high on the list — if it has enough spare time to fit in a film crew.</p>
<p style="clear:both;">Some words of advice. Avoid the house wine which is straight out of the barrel (I was amazed tonight when a priestlet there so fell in love with it that he ordered two ‘bottles’ to take home — what is the Church coming to?) The seafood antipasti is to be avoided — straight out of the packet. I still fail to understand why this restaurant, which can handle artichokes, rabbit and lamb with ease, always seems to stumble on the very Roman basic of saltimbocca. But it does, so I wouldn’t bother. This is too good a Roman dish to be trifled with.</p>
<p style="clear:both;">The food varies from average to excellent, but with starters at four euros and main courses such as rabbit with black olives and cauliflower for seven I doubt anyone can really complain. Besides, like all real restaurants, this is about more than the food, which I suppose is the point of this article. The Antica taverna is about the feel, the welcome and the warmth, all of which has been exceptional every time I’ve set foot through the door. Don’t go expecting a gourmet experience, just something that will stick in the memory as purely Roman.</p>

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