Roman Delight
Even oppressive heat can't dampen the joy of Rome
As the year quickly moves to a close—I can’t believe 2025 is in two weeks!—I finally had a moment to do a bit of a retrospective look at my trip to Italy this year. It was a whirlwind, but it seemed the perfect time to go, though others might not agree. Crowds of tourists milled around, holding their phones up and occasionally stopping to wipe their brows. The summer Roman heat is a solid reminder that nature is always in control.
Never-ending conversations continued, undisturbed by the dreamy aqua waters swirling in ancient fountains. These peaceful, centuries-old vessels seemed to lean into quiet contemplation, ignoring the tourists rumbling nearby.
Seeing the fountain made me think back to an even hotter time in Rome: the heat wave of 2003, when Phil and I were there on our honeymoon. I always remembered the heat of the hours-long line to see the Vatican and Phil putting his foot down that 17 of the top 20 sites in Rome was probably good enough, given the weather (we trudged onto the remaining 3 for me!)
A few years after our honeymoon, we found ourselves in Rome again, in the winter, having fled Manhattan as our hallways were torn up for new air conditioning units. The hotel called a car service to take us to the airport. That’s how we met Gianluca Silvestri, owner of Essequadro. We’ve stayed in touch since. I reach out to him when I travel to Italy and this time was to Rome, Abruzzi, Naples, and Procida.
Gianluca’s colleague Francesca made a reservation for me at Babington’s, a tea room and restaurant, with enough time to check in after I landed and walk over to it. Visiting Babington’s felt like a pilgrimage – I’d been there before and savored its gentle and warm space. I came across this tea room on an early visit to Rome while visiting the Keats-Shelley Memorial House on one side at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. Babington’s, nestled on the other side, has been there since 1893.
There’s no better place than Babington’s to sink into a wooden chair in the corner of a restaurant that evokes the hospitality and charm of an earlier era. It is quaint, offering teas, cakes, and a substantive menu on a plaque outside. I stepped inside and took a deep breath of relief. The heat of the day had finally gotten to me, too.
I watched red-faced customers join me, collapsing in their seats, exhaling in relief, grateful for a chilled drink and a chance to put down their belongings for a short while. I ordered a cool Niçoise salad and an unsweetened peach tea. The drink arrived, cold against my fingers, water beads trickling down the glass.
The salad arrived, a colorful mix of eggs, cheese, walnuts, olives, peppers, and celery. I liked that I could easily recreate this at home. I skipped dessert, tempting as it was, but left with some loose peach tea leaves and a teapot.
After Babington’s, I wandered through the shops before challenging myself to run up the Spanish Steps in the heat (this has to be the influence of CrossFit). In no time, I returned to the hotel and went to the gym for a quick workout. Before I knew it, though, I was late for a dinner reservation. I had the hotel call to say I was a few minutes behind. This was a better idea than I thought, especially when I saw a line gathering and the restaurant turning people away. I darted inside, where one table remained for a single diner.
Though I do not eat much meat, I took the waitress up on her recommendation to try the veal. The server, with dark hair and lines on her face, was friendly and warm. She said, “Excellent choice. It’s so tender you won’t believe it.”
I ordered broccoli, sticking to my habit of having vegetables with every meal. It complemented the veal and mashed potatoes. And the veal? She was right. It was so tender it could be cut with a butter knife. It slid on the fork, and the taste was smooth and soft, requiring little chewing. How in the world is this made?
“Milk. We let it simmer for 7 hours.”
Nice!
But was it just milk? What else? Bits of ham.
It wasn’t until I’d gotten home, unpacked, and caught up on a few things that I could try the boiling technique in my kitchen. I poured the milk into the Instant Pot and lowered the chicken in. I added a bit of Mrs. Dash spices, paprika (my go-to for nearly everything; it’s the influence of going to Hungary multiple times for a book I wrote), and extra virgin olive oil.
After 4 hours—my Instant Pot doesn’t go more than that—the chicken turned out soft and tender, almost a bit too tender in a few pieces that fell apart when I picked them up too quickly.
The veal in Rome was tender and firm, and I came close to making something similar. I carefully removed the chicken, placed it on a soft roll, and slathered it with barbecue sauce. Here, I learned that Roman cooking could master even a tough bird, as that is usually what I end up with when I cook chicken.
Inspired by my veal meal in Rome, I experimented more, boiling chicken in water instead of milk. The soft and tender results brought back memories of that perfect Roman veal. Cooking meat and poultry with water or milk has become my way of bringing a taste of Rome to the Fischer Kitchen.