The Roman Trattoria That Ruined Me for Carbonara Everywhere Else

There are restaurants you eat at, and there are restaurants you think about on the flight home. This one is firmly the latter. Tucked down a cobbled lane in Trastevere, it has the kind of confidence that only comes from forty years of doing one thing properly.

Start with the cacio e pepe — it arrives glossy, peppery, and emulsified to the point of witchcraft. The carbonara is the platonic ideal: no cream, just guanciale, egg, and pecorino doing exactly what they were put on this earth to do.

Service is brisk and warm in that very Roman way that can read as rude if you're not paying attention. Pay attention. Order the house white, let them bring you what's good, and do not — under any circumstances — ask for parmesan on the seafood.