Triumph in Rome
Originally written by my mom in July 2011 in an email to my dad.
It was a new day in Rome. After visiting churches, museums and galleries every day, Avery and Mom were ‘Baby Jesused out.’ This day they were going shopping. Leather bags, Faux-kleys, and souvenirs were waiting to be found and purchased. They got to the city center of Rome by 11 o’clock. It was a hot day. As they walked through the deserted streets, they wondered, “Where have all the shops gone?” They walked on. Cafes and restaurants were bustling with families out for lunch, but no shops were to be found. Avery and Mom were puzzled. Where have all the little shops gone that lined each street? They headed toward the well-known shopping districts of Rome, and still found stores closed all around them. It was then they realized that the stores were all shuttered because it was Sunday in a city of Catholics!
Avery was discouraged. They had been doing a lot of walking on the trip and their feet were worn out; even at the start of the day. They were no closer to finding their purses or Aaron’s faux-kleys. She sat down on the step of yet another closed store and moaned. Mom suggested they have a gelato pick- me-up.
Renewed by the gelato and the sight of a shop being opened, Mom and Avery headed toward the Spanish Steps, a trendy area filled with boutiques by all the top named designers. Gucci, Armani, Prada… But as they peered through the shiny glass windows at the prices in Euros, they became even more discouraged that they would find their purses and sunglasses.
By three, they were worn out and discouraged. The day felt wasted. They would have to head back to the hotel shuttle pick-up point, clear across town, empty handed. Under the blazing sun, Avery declared, “We need a triumph, just one victory.” Mom asked, “If we’re not shopping anymore, can we at least get Jewish Pizza?” She had heard about this concoction (candied fruit and nut bar) on a Rick Steves’ audiocast. Avery replied, “Yes. The Jewish Ghetto is right near our pick-up spot.” They headed through the winding, non-rectangular streets toward their new destination.
A few streets later, they were lost. Avery said, “Oh, oh. Why are we at the river?” She whipped out her map and found that they had gone West instead of South. They corrected their path and were in familiar territory again. Avery confirmed, “We’re at Piazza Navona.” Mom thought, “Hmmm, weren’t we here three hours ago?” Yes, they have been going around in circles. Onward they trudged until they came to a park that they recognized. This park was located across the street from the Jewish Ghetto!
It was already 4:30 and Mom was worried they were not going to get the Jewish Pizza in time before the shuttle pick-up at 5:15. “It’s right in there!” Avery insisted, stabbing the map into the air. They rushed into the series of alleyways she had pointed toward. There were no stores, no restaurants, and no people. Avery studied the map again and navigated to the Synagogue. Soon they saw some signs of life. First one, then a whole row of businesses seemed to materialize out of the deserted streets. Avery rushed to the first café, eagerly scanning the pizza section of the menu for Jewish Pizza. “I don’t think they have it here,” she reported. “It’s a pastry!” Mom said, “You have to look in the desserts.” They popped into another eatery. Avery said to Mom, “I think you’re going to have to ask for it.” Mom asked the bartender with a yarmulke, “Do you have Jewish Pizza?” They guy pointed to the restaurant next door and said, “Pizza next door.” She clarified, “JEWISH Pizza!” to the man. His face became puzzled, and he shook his head in befuddlement. He had clearly never heard of such a thing as ‘Jewish Pizza.’
Avery was tired and collapsed on a bench. “You go look for the Jewish Pizza and I’ll sit right here,” she said. Mom made her way quickly down the row of eateries. She spied a cafe, a block away. Perhaps, they may serve Jewish Pizza there. As she got near the café, she came upon a bench where a middle aged lady was sitting and eating what appeared to be Jewish Pizza! She asked the lady where she bought it and the lady pointed to an unmarked building at the corner. Mom went inside the store where she encountered the sternest old ladies. She looked at the pans and found the one that held the same kind of bars that the lady on the bench was eating. As she got a closer look, she thought, “This batch is burnt especially around the sides. Maybe I should try another store.” She decided to just buy one piece and hoped that it wouldn’t be a piece from the edge.
Five minutes later, Mom came dashing back to Avery’s bench, a small white bag clutched in her sweaty fist. A gleeful smile was on her face. “Go over there and I’ll take your picture,” Avery said. Mom spread her arms in a giant V, raising the Jewish Pizza in triumph above her head.
Mom joined Avery on the bench. She broke off a piece of the Jewish Pizza. It was charred on the top and was small, brown, and ugly. In Avery’s chunk there was a neon green bit of what appeared to be candied pineapple. The teal green could be seen through the pizza and looked totally unappetizing. “It’s OK.” Avery said. Mom was too thrilled to say anything negative.
What they didn’t know was that the non-descript storefront is the last remaining Kosher bakery left in Rome. Furthermore, while the bakery is open on Mondays through Thursdays from 8am to 7pm and Fridays from 8am to sun down, it is open only in the morning on Sundays. The pastry is not available in the USA and addicts plead with their friends journeying to Rome to bring them back a “fix”. It was serendipity that Mom happened upon the woman eating Jewish Pizza on a bench in the Jewish Ghetto and to get directed to the only place in Rome that sells the confection at a time when the bakery is normally closed. To score a piece of Jewish Pizza, Pope Benedict’s favorite dessert, was indeed the “triumph” that Avery sought on that Sunday. Upon further research online, Mom found that she had eaten manna from heaven.
Here’s an excerpt from an article about the bakery:
Grazilla Limentani, three of her granddaughters, and a niece churn out several batches of pizza ebraica every day to keep up with an unflagging demand for the sweets, evident in the line that often snakes out onto the Ghetto’s main drag, via del Portico d’Ottavia. Beginning with a coarse mixture of flour, fat, and sugar, the bakers knead in the fruit and nuts; then they add just enough sweet marsala wine to form a soft dough, which is baked in sheet pans until the brick-shaped cookies emerge from the oven with a burnished patina that has become a Boccione trademark. Blistered and lumpy, pizza ebraica isn’t a looker, but its salty-sweet flavor and dense texture, punctuated by tangy fruit and crunchy nuts, has won countless acolytes, including Pope Benedict XVI, who surprised the Limentanis two years ago with a thank-you note for his favorite dessert.
Here are examples of testimonials found online:
“… the praise herein is not enough to describe the taste and satisfaction they bring to those fortunate enough to partake of the sensational products.”
“These pastries are among the most wonderful things I have ever eaten. They may not look like anything special, but believe me. The stuff that dreams are made of. I think these are now a tie for my favorite dessert in Rome…”“We spent a month in Rome and once we discovered it, we went to the “Jewish Bakery” for “pizza” every day it was opened. We were addicted. We even bought some to take to our parents in Cleveland. I will never forget how good the pizza was and how mean the ladies serving it were!!”
“So this is my best friend’s favorite thing in the whole world. It is her 30th birthday this year, so I will try to perfect the recipe for her. We went to Rome in October and we went to the Jewish Ghetto to get it, and carried it with us, carefully wrapped for a week for a safe return to the US.”