Proloco Dol Centocelle

I went for lunch expecting to have "the amatriciana." I arrive and the place is nice, sort of a gourmet delicatessen with a restaurant attached, retro décor that works.

I start with buffalo mozzarella and prosciutto crudo. The buffalo is fine, no complaints there. The prosciutto though... my goodness, what salt. Way too much. And look, I'm from Emilia, I know what I'm talking about when it comes to prosciutto. This one has zero sweetness, just salt piling on salt. Odd for a place that claims to focus on quality ingredients.

Then the amatriciana arrives and, well. There we go. The pasta too al dente—and I usually eat it al dente, but this one really put up a fight. Sparse sauce, dense as it is, like they dispensed it with an eyedropper. The guanciale is good as a raw ingredient, that much is true, but there's barely any of it and it's cooked all wrong: half almost crispy, half soft. In short, not what you'd expect.

Oh, the tiramisu. That one was actually nice. Two savoiardi dunked in coffee, cream on top not too heavy, a dusting of cocoa. Made to order, I'd say, nothing memorable but at least I can't complain about that.

The service was polite but kind of in their own world, let's say.

For twenty-nine euros on its own I was expecting considerably more, especially from a staple dish like amatriciana. Will I go back? Eh.