Despite the chill in the March air, there were plenty of people lining up for gelato at Giolitti, one of the oldest and most famous gelaterias in Rome. Even though I wasn't as excited about gelato as I was last year in Florence, when I had never had it before, I decided to find out what the Giolitti fuss was all about. Even the street outside the shop was hard to navigate, jammed with people old and young, tourists and Romans, half trying to get out with towering ice cream cones, half trying to get in. I made it through the door and to the end of the line in front of the cash register - you have to pay first, then give the receipt to the men dipping gelato - and finally made it to the front, where I ordered a cono piccolo.
Then came the next challenge - deciding on flavors. Fortunately, there was such a packed crowd between me and the counter that I had plenty of time to watch people passing by with their cones and make my choice. Dark, light, and bright looked good, and apparently a dab of cream on top was free, so after debating the virtues of amarena (slightly alcoholic cherry) versus fragiole (strawberry? raspberry? not sure), I chose the cherry, paired with chocolate, topped with panna. As you can see above, the metal basins of gelato were all emptying at an incredibly rapid pace, and every so often a guy would come through the doors behind the server, give a shout, and slide a new batch into place. This was really some of the best gelato I have had - maybe it was the addition of the panna, but I think it was actually lighter and creamier than most, well-worth the fuss.
My other gelato venture of the trip was much lower-key. Fior di Luna, a tiny shopfront somewhere in the neighborhood of Trastavere, was deserted except for the girl behind the counter. But there were signs proclaiming "artigianale" and disclosing the points of origin of each flavor of chocolate gelato, so I figured it must be high quality. I probably should have chosen one of those Venezuelan or Ecuadorian chocolates, but instead I got a small cup of two of my favorite flavors, zabaglione (winey custard) and pistacchio (you can tell it's the real thing when it's more brown than green). Interestingly, the zabaglione melted a lot faster than the pistachio. They were both very intensely flavored and pleasant to eat while strolling through the quiet neighborhoods and piazzas toward the river.
My other gelato venture of the trip was much lower-key. Fior di Luna, a tiny shopfront somewhere in the neighborhood of Trastavere, was deserted except for the girl behind the counter. But there were signs proclaiming "artigianale" and disclosing the points of origin of each flavor of chocolate gelato, so I figured it must be high quality. I probably should have chosen one of those Venezuelan or Ecuadorian chocolates, but instead I got a small cup of two of my favorite flavors, zabaglione (winey custard) and pistacchio (you can tell it's the real thing when it's more brown than green). Interestingly, the zabaglione melted a lot faster than the pistachio. They were both very intensely flavored and pleasant to eat while strolling through the quiet neighborhoods and piazzas toward the river.
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