Antico Carbone

Trastevere, but that part where tourists haven't yet colonized every corner. We went on a Saturday in February, without a reservation — and luckily the tables weren't all taken. L'Antico Carbone is a small, warm place, nothing pretentious about it. The service? Roman and courteous. Yes, it still exists.

Let's start with the antipasti because that's where things really went well. The carciofo alla giudia was executed as it should be: opened wide, crispy leaves, nothing to complain about. And the puntarelle — among the best we've had in Rome, with a sauce we almost licked off the plate. The bread from Forno Santini was excellent too, the classic Roman kind that you eat with genuine pleasure.

Then the first courses arrive, and that's where it drops. Amatriciana and gricia, both with hand-rolled tonnarello — the wrong choice if you ask me. It's pasta that's too thick, it doesn't hold up to al dente cooking when fresh, and ends up smothering the sauce instead of letting it shine. The guancial was cut like matchsticks, leaning toward boiled, zero crunchiness, and had little flavor. The gricia was downright bland. The amatriciana though — the sauce itself was good, perhaps one of the best-balanced versions with pepper we've tasted. A shame about everything else.

We skipped dessert: nine euros for tiramisu or a maritozzo seemed excessive for Rome. They offered us a limoncello at the end of the meal, a nice gesture, though it felt a bit forced.

But then you get the check: two euros a head for bread, two for cover charge, three and a half for water. Eleven and a half euros paid just for sitting down. A bit much.

Would we go back? For the puntarelle, yes. But with our eyes wide open.