In the Bleak Midwinter

It was a cold, raw day, which may be par for the course in northern Europe but is decidedly unpleasant here in Rome. Earlier in the week we’d agreed to go down to the Farmers’ Market in the old slaughterhouse to see if I could score more than 1 kg of flour at a time. So off we walked down across the river, where some weird filming was going on by the banks of the Tiber, and across to the ex-Mattatoio. The Farmers’ Market was in full swing, with kids clambering over manky old bales of hay. Inside, an avenue of provender, and about a third of the way in The Squeeze turned to me and said “It’s just the same old stuff, isn't it?”

And it was. Nice looking veg, and breads, some great cheeses and fresh-squeezed oil up the wazoo. But no flour in bulk. And nothing you couldn’t have found at almost any decent alimentari. We’re spoiled, for sure.

So we took ourselves further into Testaccio and dithered for a while and eventually had a delicious lunch of farro and bean soup at the Volpetti tavola caldo. Warming fare that blocked the raw cold for an hour or so.