Food Notes: 7/8
Beach pizza, red sauce joints, weed killer, and more!
Beach pizza is the best pizza. We wrapped up our tour of Tuscany with a short stay in Ostia, a Roman-era beach town. Ostia is to Rome what Far Rockaway is to New York City: a local beach for local people in close proximity to the airport.
On my first trip to Italy twenty-five years ago, I stayed with my cousins in Vitinia, a small suburb just outside of Rome. Vitinia’s local commuter train connects to Rome at the Piramide Station in Rome, so named for the Pyramid of Caius Cestius. This modest pyramid is built into the wall of Rome outside the Porta San Paolo, and served as the entry point into the ancient city my first time there.
The opposite end of the train line is Ostia where you’ll find public beaches and beach clubs side-by-side. Back in 2000, my cousins sent me, my brother, and my friend Erik out to the beach. We accidentally ended up on a private beach club beach. The attendant eventually ran us off the beach of a rock jetty onto the public beach.
We ended up at Spiaggia Libera il Curvone, the “free, curve,” beach. There weren’t that many people swimming there with us, although there was a leathery topless woman chain smoking and laying out on old newspapers.
Twenty-five years later Ostia is slightly nicer. We rented a little apartment two blocks from Spiaggia libera Verde, the green beach. Although it was free, it was “fully equipped.” A lifeguard stood watch, and a beach bar offered chairs and umbrellas for rent, plus you could get an Aperol spritz.
The beach was crowded. Central Rome was well over a hundred degrees, and Ostia only slightly cooler. The water was surprisingly warm, too, which probably doesn’t bode well for the future of humanity. (Thanks Jeff Bezo’s for bringing 90 private jets to Venice).
\While we could have spent the day sipping spritzes at the beach bar, we had a four-year-old in tow, so instead we ate picnic lunches from the local cafe. My wife picked up a couple pieces of Roman pizza — thin focaccia bread topped with a bit of tomato, and sandwiches made with the same.
The sandwiches were pretty simple, just a few slices of meat, maybe shavings of cheese, and Arugula. As the sandwich sits, the fat from the meat melts a bit into the bread, making for a tasty little beach sandwich.
All of this is chasing the memory of the sandwich we made back in 2000. Erik and I were headed into Rome to see Vitinia. My cousin served us the darkest cups of espresso each morning, and pulled out a fresh focaccia bread to make sandwiches. What really surprised us though was when she produced a leg of prosciutto and sliced off meat. Then out came a half wheel of Parmigiana and she sliced off some cheese. We assembled the sandwiches, wrapped them in foil, and carried them around all morning. When we finally unwrapped them in a shady spot overlooking the Forum, the meat, cheese, and bread had fused together into a salty, savory deliciousness. I’ve been chasing that ever since.
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