I have a confession to make. It took me a very long time to cozy up to eating pastries in Rome. When I lived in Paris, not a day would go by without a stop for an éclair or a pain au chocolat. But here in Rome, from the time I first lived here when I was twelve years old, displays of Roman pastries, or even the dessert part of menus, just never held my attention.
And, if you think about it, when you come to Rome, is your first thought to eat pastries? No, it’s pizza or pasta, or some other form of savory carbohydrate. And when it comes to the sweet side of things, I’m sure you are more likely to Google “best gelato in Rome” than “best cornetti.” Right?
To my mind, the pastries always looked to be trying too hard. Deep-fried and filled with pastry cream? Deep-fried and topped with powdered sugar? Or at the other end of the spectrum, hard dry cookies that could only begin to become attractive after being dunked in a cup of tea or glass of sweet wine, or both. I was never even tempted to try anything, so completely unappetizing did they seem.
But all that changed one rainy evening in Rome. I was walking through Trastevere with a friend who was living here for the year while working on his dissertation at the American Academy. Since he had been working on Baroque architecture for years (dissertations take a long time to write), he knew the alleyways of Rome pretty well. We were headed to the one theater in Rome that showed English language films at the time, the Pasquino. Known mostly for its retractable roof, which they would open during the summer, it was in all other respects a typical Italian cinema. And so, like all other cinemas in Italy there were no candy stands or popcorn for sale in the lobby, which meant my friend wanted to grab a snack before we went in.
Even though it was pouring down rain, and we were steps from the cinema, he force-marched us all across Piazza Santa Maria in Trastevere to a small pastry shop on an even smaller alley. I’d never been there before since the dusty windows never looked that promising. But he kept going on about getting a bignè di San Giuseppe because this was the last day he could get one. Bignè di San Giuseppe are made only in the days leading up to the festival of Saint Joseph, on March 19. Since it was March 18 this was going to be his very last chance to enjoy this treat.
And so we squeezed into the small shop and he gleefully ordered one of the deep-fried, cream-filled pastries I had been avoiding. It even had a maraschino cherry on the top, for god’s sake. But his joy seemed so complete as he bit into the unwieldy bignè that I decided that maybe looks could be deceiving. Since he wasn’t sharing any of his, I broke down and bought my own. And standing in the dim corner of this dusty pastry shop I finally got it. Although the pastry was fried, it was not greasy at all. And the cream that filled the center was eggy, but not overly rich. And what seemed at first glance like a massive amount of sweetness to finish was gobbled up before I knew it.
From this point on I made it pretty much my new hobby to try all those pastries I had been avoiding for so long. Fried, cream-filled, ricotta-stuffed—it was all good. I was particularly fascinated by the many holiday treats I had been missing out on all those years. This is when the pastry shops go into high gear, preparing seasonal treats for Christmas, Easter, Carnevale, and varied saint’s name days.
If Rome is not particularly known for its inventive sweets, Sicily certainly is. And, in fact, some of my favorite places to head for a pastry fix trace their origins back to Palermo.
Dagnino has got to be one of the strangest and most wonderful places in Rome. This Sicilian pastry shop is absolutely stuck in a time warp that takes you back to the late ’60s. The setting is in a sort of underpass/mall that runs beneath a modern building from one street to another, a block from Piazza Repubblica. If you didn’t know it was there, there’s no way you would stumble upon it.
Why do I love it so much? First of all, the above-mentioned time-warp thing. The interiors have all the original decoration and furnishings: banquet seating, vintage murals, marble floors, and cloth-covered wooden tables.
I also love the colors. On a cold and windy February afternoon there is something about the pastel tones of bright pink gelato di campagna, the moss green cassata, and glistening candied clementines that just makes me happy. I mean, who doesn’t love looking at a bright and shiny row of marzipan tomatoes?
And the sound track to my reveries? A pianist (I kid you not) playing away on a shiny grand on Sunday afternoons.
But back to the pastries, which are what bring me here in the first place. While I usually go for one of the Sicilian specialties—a mini cassata or a cannoli—I’m just as likely to load up on whatever seasonal holiday sweets are on offer. If they have any sort of fried pastry stuffed with sweetened ricotta, just buy it, and ask questions later
Every neighborhood in Rome used to have at least one pasticceria, a place that would turn out cakes and pastries daily that would be bought up pretty much by people living in the neighborhood. When I first moved to Rome, ours was located right on the corner of Via Baccina and Via dei Serpenti. Pasticceria La Licata had been there since 1965 and was run by a couple from the neighborhood. This is where I ordered Sophie and Emma’s first birthday cakes, and where we always stopped on the way back from the park for a sweet treat.
Sadly, once the mother died, the place closed. One daughter and son now run a very successful bar down the street. But the one son who was the pastry chef just couldn’t make a go of it. Rising rents in the center of Rome meant that he had to look for a space farther out of town. And so, like many other pastry shops in the center of Rome, ours closed down. (The space is now a fast-food sushi shop.)
Thankfully there are still a few of these old-fashioned, traditional places left in some of Rome’s more residential neighborhoods. And since they are so few and far between these days, the ones that are left are incredibly popular and have a huge following of fans.
Regoli is one of these. I can’t seem to walk within a ten-block radius of this pastry shop without making a beeline for one of their incredibly rich, cream-stuffed, flaky delights.
Regoli is a family-run pastry shop that specializes in rich, cream-filled pastries that aren’t always part of the Roman repertoire. The bavarese may be my downfall. I can’t resist the two flaky layers of pastry that hold together a virtual slab of heavenly cream. The fagottino alla ricotta is a similar delight, switching in chocolate-studded ricotta for the cream.
If you are invited to a dinner, nothing can beat arriving with one of Regoli’s famous cakes. Their ricotta tart is one of the best in Rome. Seasonal treats include the chestnut-filled monte bianco and the cream-filled individual tarts topped with wild strawberries.
One of my favorite bakeries in Rome is barely more than a counter in a dusty shop. Although its official name is Boccione, everyone just calls it Il Forno del Ghetto, or the “Jewish Bakery.” I’ve been going there since I was twelve and lived down the street, and the burned sugary smell will lead you there from anywhere in the neighborhood.
The sisters who stand guard behind the counter, usually bickering among themselves, bake only about eight things, some changing with the Jewish holidays. Their specialty though—and what people wait in line for—is the pizza ebraica, a mix of dried fruit and nuts barely held together with a slightly sweet dough.
Piazza Pio XI 10, 39-06-637-4947
Sicily meets Switzerland in this neighborhood classic, up and behind the Vatican. Don’t miss the mini cassate. If you happen by for breakfast, don’t miss their Danese, their version of the iced Danish. And make sure you get one of their elaborate cream-filled cakes (that’s where Switzerland meets Sicily) to go.
Via Emanuele Orlando 75, 39-06-481-8660
Another Sicilian import, this shop has pastries that are as sweet as the owners are surly. But don’t let the gruff manner dissuade you. Sicily is the thing here, so go cannoli, cassata, and anything with almonds. And for Carnevale don’t miss their sfincie di San Giuseppe, a massive choux pastry stuffed with sweetened whipped ricotta.
Via dello Statuto 60
Hands down, one of the best pastry shops in Rome. (See discussions here.)
Via delle Luce 21
This hard-to-find cookie shop is located on one of the back alleys of Trastevere. Before the neighborhood became known for its touristy nightlife, it was the center for small-scale productions like Innocenti, founded more than a hundred years ago. The white-capped ladies mix flour, sugar, and a handful of other ingredients to come up with more than 50 kinds of mouthwatering biscuits.
Piazza del Paradiso 56
Andrea de Bellis, who used to provide pastries for some of Rome’s best restaurants, has finally opened his own shop near Campo de’ Fiori. Rich and elaborate modern cakes and pastries.
Via San Teodoro 88, 39-06-699-20945
Cristalli di Zucchero has become one of the city’s most popular stops to indulge in sophisticated pastries. Don’t expect anything like a Roman, or even Italian, experience here. The exquisite pastries definitely come out of a French and northern European tradition. But the creative twists make their creations all their own. I always stop by on my way to the farmers’ market next door.
Via del Portico d’Ottavia 1
The “Jewish Bakery.”
When it comes to Italian pastries, I always leave the cooking to professionals. I’ve never attempted anything near creating a cannoli, frappè, or cassata. There is one Italian pastry, though, that I think I do better than any Italian: the crostata. A crostata is the most basic and rustic of Italian tarts, and you can find them for sale in almost any bakery. The thing is, I think they are all pretty horrible. They are almost always made with margarine instead of real butter, and so the crust ends up tasting like cardboard. And even the homemade crostata I’ve had are so stingy when it comes to butter that they are just dry and almost always disappointing.
My secret, if you haven’t already guessed, is butter, and good butter. Italian butter is the one thing I almost never buy, since it often has a slightly gamey taste to it. Instead, I prefer imported butter from Denmark, France, or Germany.
The traditional filling for a crostata is jam, such as the crostata di marmalata below, but I often make one that is filled with sweetened ricotta.
Makes one 10-inch crostata
Crostata Crust
1 cup (110 grams) all-purpose flour
½ cup (60 grams) whole wheat flour
7 tablespoons (110 grams) unsalted butter, softened
2 egg yolks, at room temperature
½ cup (100 grams) sugar
Pinch of salt
Filling
One jar of jam (about 1 cup)
⅓ cup chopped nuts (optional)
Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Line a 10-inch tart pan with a removable bottom with parchment paper.
Put the flours into a large bowl, and make a well in center. Add the butter, egg yolks, sugar, and salt to the well. Mix the wet ingredients in the well with your fingers, then slowly start mixing in the flour. Just use your hand, and eventually the heel of your hand, to mush it all together until it forms a ball. This only takes a few minutes.
Let the dough rest for 10 minutes, then push it out into the prepared tart pan. Don’t try to roll it out, just spread it out to the edges with the palm of your hand to form an even crust.
At this point the crust is ready for any jam filling. Empty out the jar (about 1 cup) of jam into the unbaked crust. Spread it out with the back of a spoon. Top with the nuts if using. Place on the middle rack of the oven and bake for about 25 minutes.
Let cool completely before serving.
Makes one 10-inch crostata
1 recipe Crostata Crust (see previous recipe)
1½ cups fresh whole-milk ricotta
¾ cup (150 grams) sugar
1 large egg
2 cups fresh raspberries
1 cup chopped semisweet dark chocolate or chocolate chips
Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Line a 10-inch tart pan with a removable bottom with parchment paper.
Place the crostata dough in the pan, spreading it out with the heel of your hand until it covers the bottom of the pan and a bit up the sides.
Bake the crust for about 15 minutes, or until it starts to turn golden. Remove from the oven and let cool. Leave the oven on.
Whip the ricotta with a fork until smooth. Add the sugar and egg and stir until incorporated and smooth. Fold in the berries and chocolate.
Fill the tart shell with the ricotta mixture, return it to the oven, and bake for about 25 minutes, or until set. Let cool to room temperature and serve.
