Originally Alfredo

When one thinks of Italian food, several staples come to mind: spaghetti, lasagne, fettuccine alfredo, and, of course, tiramisu and espresso. This is a tale about all of these except spaghetti and lasagne.

In the lead up to our Italy trip, my boss’s father, Philip, casually mentioned that we had to go to Alfredo alla Scrofa. I knew we didn’t have a lot of time in Rome, so I told him we would try. Not satisfied with this answer, he explained “but you must. It’s where fettuccine alfredo originated.”

Mi scusi?

He smiled, knowing he had hooked me. “Yes,” he continued, “it’s where fettuccine alfredo originated and simply must go there. It’s what you do when you go to Rome—you go to Alfredo’s, you eat alfredo, and then maybe see a few historical things. Please promise me you’ll go.”

I triple promised and then checked with Ann & Cait to see if they were on board—and of course they were because hello! fettuccine alfredo!

On our first full day in Rome, we spent the morning exploring the Vatican and St. Paul’s cathedral. Realizing we were only about 20 minute walk from pasta bliss and looking for a late lunch, it seemed like the perfect solution. We wound our way down the cobbled streets along the Tiber, amongst the street vendors, and surrounded by the ancient grandeur that is the very essence of Rome. The good news: we found it! The bad news: they were finishing lunch and were in the process of closing until dinner. We felt disheartened, but conveyed to the gentleman at the door we came all the way there to try to alfredo and would definitely be back when they opened for dinner.

In true Italian hospitality or perhaps sensing we might burst into tears right then and there, the gentlemen ushered us inside. Since we were there for the alfredo, he was insistent that we stay for lunch. We thanked him profusely and asked if we might get some vino as well. He laughed, assured us vino was always available, and showed us to our table. He explained alfredo was served family size, which we told him was perfect and deferred to him about our wine selection.

He returned a few minutes later with chianti and promised us that food would be out shortly. True to his word, soon a huge platter of pasta came out. We watched the server expertly mix the sauce into the pasta, and then served us from the platter.

It was, quite simply, one of the most delicious things I have ever eaten. The fresh noodles were cooked to al dente perfection. The sauce was creamy, buttery, and silky, but had a lightness about it that I had never tasted in an alfredo.

Somehow—probably on a pasta high—as we were finishing the last of the pasta and trying not to lick the plate, we took the waiter up on his offer of tiramisu and espresso.

While the alfredo was definitely the star of the show, the tiramisu was heavenly as well. It was the right balance of layered coffee, chocolate, and cream. It paired oh-so-well with the espresso.

Alfredo. Plus wine. Plus tiramisu. Plus espresso. Plus amazing friends. Plus history of the restaurant. Plus ambiance of being in Rome. Easily, one of the best meals I’ve ever had in my life.

Our only regret was that we didn’t make it back before departing Italy.

Therefore—if I can piggyback and expand onto Philip’s advice—when you go to Rome: go to Alfredo’s, eat the fettuccine alfredo and the tiramisu, maybe see some historical sites, and enjoy la dolce vita.

And in case you want to bring that delicious goodiness back home with you to eat any time, the restaurant offers cooking classes to make pizza, alfredo, and pastries. https://www.alfredoallascrofa.com/cooking-class

buon appetito!

An Extra Shot

For those of you who are unaware, coffee is what makes me a whole person.  Don’t bother writing in with [insert crazy argument here]…all I will read is blah, blah, blah COFFEE blah, blah, blah.  I will then make a cup of coffee, thank you for the suggestion, and go about my day.

Anyway, I’m only mentioning this to those of you who have never had the pleasure of knowing Morning Me before coffee: she ain’t pretty.  And the point I’m so long windily trying to make is that it is a rare occasion where I turn down a cup of coffee.

As mentioned in my prior post, there was an announcement that my delayed flight would soon be boarding.  I was torn in two.  Coffee or getting to the gate on time?  Okay, there wasn’t that much tearing…especially given there was no line at the cafe three gates away (probably because most people don’t drink a lot of coffee at 8:30pm….except perhaps the baristas, who were, in fact, bouncing off the walls).  I asked for a breve latte.  Actually FIRST I asked how many shots where in the size I wanted.  Three.  Wow…really?  That’s fantastic.  Then I order a breve latte.  All the baristas stopped momentarily to see if I was actually a person.  A real-live-ordered-breve-and-no-skinny-anything latte.

Then the barista at the register said something magical: would you like an extra shot?  It’s free.  I’m sorry, FREE COFFEE?  Oh honey those are THE TWO BEST sequential words on the planet (except for maybe FREE BEER or FREE WINE).  It’s coffee and it’s free.  I know that extra shots are not normally free, but who am I to argue with a barista who was being extra nice [read: don’t go visit and start demanding extra free shots].  Too bad there wasn’t a lottery place in the airport, I would have totally played because I was feeling so lucky.

I think normal people might balk at 4 shots of espresso at 8:30pm.  But not me.  Oh no, not me!  With gusto I said “of course I do…that would be fantastic!”  I didn’t even question why it was free, I just went for it (I mean, really who would turn this down???)  As I was gushing my profuse thanks I could see a realization of the late time start to sink into the barista’s brain and I could read his sudden perplexed expression like a book:  no, no decaf–all regular please!

IMG_1993 IMG_1990

Thankfully my gate was near by because it was so creamy and so delicious, I needed to sit down.  Colectivo Coffee is a Milwaukee based coffee and roasting company who has been contributing great coffee to the fine folks in and visiting Milwaukee since 1993.  You can even go to their store on Humbolt Avenue and watch the whole roasting process–which is not only fascinating, but smells amazing!  Trust me, if you’re in the Milwaukee area visit one (or more of their stores)–you won’t be disappointed: the freshly roasted beans shine through in every cup they make.

My coffee reverie was interrupted by nice flight attendant, who very graciously announced final boarding for my flight.  Once in my seat with my seat belt buckled and tray table in its upright position, the aforementioned reverie continued until the last drop of creamy coffee was gone.  And before you write in and chide me about 4 shots of espresso at 8:30pm, just know that after I finished my delicious breve, I napped allllllll the way to MSP!

Expresso

As in the funniest part of this fabulous diagram, not the actual abomination of a mispronounced word. Inquiring minds want to know: what does your coffee say about you?

Me? Depending on my mood, I’m a triple espresso or black coffee kind of girl, although every great once in awhile, my friends have to remind me to wipe the foam off my lip…

IMG_2367.PNG