What to Eat in Rome: Local Classics, Street Food, and Where to Find Them

I grew up in Testaccio, where the slaughterhouse workers invented half the dishes tourists now eat near the Trevi Fountain. My dog Pepe has stolen more supplì than I've hosted cooking classes, and I've hosted hundreds. When friends visit and ask where to eat in Rome, I take them to the places where the owner will argue with you about pasta water, where the tables wobble, and where you'll eat the best meal of your trip because nobody's performing for you.

This is that conversation. The real one about why carbonara has rules, why the Eternal City still builds every single day around lunch, and how Roman food culture is just Romans being themselves, loud and unapologetic, at a table. These are the Rome experiences that matter most.

Classic Roman Dishes: The Eternal Debates

These are the Roman dishes that define us. Every family has their version, every neighborhood claims theirs is best, and every single one of us has stopped speaking to someone over technique. These are the classic dishes locals use to judge a kitchen.

Carbonara: Rome’s Most Defended Dish

My friend Marco owns a wine bar in Monti. He's forty-three, been married twice, has a Ducati, and once punched a guy for putting peas in carbonara. That's how seriously Romans take this dish.

Carbonara is eggs, guanciale (cured pork jowl), pecorino romano, black pepper, and nothing else. The egg yolk mixture coats the dried pasta like silk. Crisp guanciale adds crunch. Anyone who tells you it needs cream is selling you something Romans wouldn’t call carbonara.

When I host my market-to-table classes, carbonara is what scares people most. These recipes might be simple, but they’ve fueled generations of arguments and some of the most amazing food you’ll ever taste. The eggs can scramble if your pan is too hot. The pasta water ratio has to be exact. But when you get it right, when that first bite is creamy and sharp and the guanciale fat melts on your tongue, you understand why Romans will stop speaking to relatives over recipe debates.

![Carbonara with creamy egg sauce, black pepper, and crispy guanciale pieces]()

Armando al Pantheon serves the best carbonara I know outside of home kitchens. The family's been running it since 1961, and they grate the pecorino romano so fine it disappears into the sauce. Book online weeks ahead for dinner, or show up right when they open at 12:30 PM. This is where tourists and locals alike come for the best carbonara, and the long hours mean they serve it from lunch through dinner without compromise.

Cacio e Pepe: Three Ingredients, All Skill

If carbonara is the test, cacio e pepe is the thesis defense. It's just pasta, pecorino romano, black pepper, and pasta water. It's the dish that made my friend Giulia cry when her father died because he'd taught her his water-to-cheese ratio the week before and she'd never written it down.

The best cacio e pepe in Rome comes from places that have been making it longer than you've been alive. I know a trattoria in Testaccio where the owner is seventy-eight and still won't tell anyone how he gets the pecorino to emulsify without clumping.

You'll see chefs do the tableside thing, tossing cacio e pepe in a giant wheel of pecorino romano. It's beautiful theater, and when done right it makes the best cacio e pepe you'll ever taste.

Amatriciana and Gricia: The Tomato Debate

Romans argue about whether Amatriciana or Gricia came first. Amatriciana has tomato sauce. Gricia doesn't. Both have guanciale and pecorino romano. Both taste like Sunday afternoons when you were small and the whole building smelled like pork fat.

![Amatriciana pasta with rich red tomato sauce, guanciale, and grated pecorino]()

I make Amatriciana when I need to feed people I love, because the tomato sauce stretches the portions and the guanciale fat makes everything taste like home. Emma Pizzeria serves a proper version near the historic center. There’s communal seating, so you’ll end up talking to locals about whether Gricia is just lazy Amatriciana. (It's not. That's fighting words.)

Carciofi alla Romana and alla Giudia: Artichokes Two Ways

Spring in Rome smells like fried artichokes. Every market stall piles them high, still muddy, leaves tight. My grandmother used to trim them with a knife older than my mother, cutting away the tough outer leaves until she found the pale heart. Then she'd either braise them (carciofi alla romana, the Roman style that uses mint and garlic) with olive oil until they fell apart, or fry them twice (carciofi alla giudia) until they opened like bronze flowers and crunched between your teeth.

The Jewish Ghetto version, alla giudia, is the one tourists photograph. But alla romana is the one I crave, braised until the leaves pull apart like wet paper and taste like spring itself.

When you visit Rome in spring, eating artichokes isn't optional. It's the entire point of the season. Fava beans appear too, eaten raw with pecorino romano and olive oil as a snack that tastes like grass and salt and everything good about April. These Italian specialties define visiting Rome when the weather turns warm.

Saltimbocca and Coda alla Vaccinara: Fast vs Slow Comfort

Saltimbocca means "jumps in the mouth." Veal cutlets topped with prosciutto and sage, cooked in white wine and butter until the meat is so tender you barely need to chew. My mother made this when she wanted to prove she could cook fast and fancy at the same time. It's one of those Italian specialties that looks complicated but takes twenty minutes.

![Braised oxtail stew in rich dark sauce with vegetables in rustic bow]()

Coda alla vaccinara is why Testaccio matters. Oxtail braised with tomatoes, celery, and cocoa powder for four hours until the meat falls off the bone. We ate what wealthy Romans wouldn't touch and turned it into something people now book tables weeks ahead to try. The best version I know comes from a trattoria where you can smell it from the cobblestone street outside. It's one of those meat dishes that tastes better the next day.

Street Food Worth Burning Your Fingers For

Street food in Rome is the meal most of us eat three times a week, standing at counters wrapped in paper. This is eating in Rome at its most honest. If you want a day that tastes like the city, build your route around market stops and pizza counters, then mix in a few things to do in Rome between bites.

Supplì: Crunchy Rice, Melting Mozzarella

Supplì is risotto mixed with tomato sauce and mozzarella, shaped into an oval, breaded, and fried until the outside crunches and the inside leaks cheese in strings. Romans call it supplì al telefono because the mozzarella stretches like old phone cords.

My preferred spot is a stall in Testaccio run by three generations of the same family. They fry them to order. You eat them standing, wrapped in wax paper, burning your fingers because you couldn't wait thirty seconds. Pepe, my dog, has learned to sit very close to me when I'm eating supplì.

Pizza al Taglio and Trapizzino: Fast, Filling, and Local

Pizza al taglio means pizza by the cut. You point, they weigh it, you pay by the gram. Forno Campo de' Fiori is famous because their pizza rossa (just tomato sauce and olive oil) is almost sweet from good tomatoes, and the olive oil pools in the dimples. Go before noon or accept the long lines. This is the best pizza in Rome if you measure by how often locals eat it.

![Pizza rossa slices with pooled olive oil and tomato sauce at bakery counter]()

Trapizzino is a triangle of pizza dough stuffed with Roman stews like chicken cacciatore, oxtail, or eggplant parmigiana. Invented in 2008, but it caught on because it solved a problem: how do you eat a full meal while walking? When I'm running between hosting tours and picking up my son, a trapizzino works.

Sweet Treats and Desserts: What to Order

Romans eat sweet things in the morning with coffee, or we end a meal with something simple. The best desserts in Rome are never trying to impress you.

Maritozzo, Tiramisù, and Gelato: Spotting the Good Stuff

Maritozzo is a soft brioche bun stuffed with whipped cream so thick it doesn't collapse when you bite down. You eat it for breakfast, dipped in espresso, standing at a bar at 7 AM. My grandmother said men used to hide engagement rings inside the whipped cream.

Ai Tre Scalini makes a tiramisù that's less sweet than most tourist versions, with dark chocolate shavings on top. It's the kind of dessert that ends a long dinner without making you regret the pasta course.

For the best gelato, look for dull colors and flavors that don't pile into tall peaks (that's added air and stabilizers). Real pistachio looks grayish, not neon. My son's favorite place makes a dark chocolate flavor with olive oil that tastes savory and sweet at once.

Neighborhoods Where Food Still Tastes Like Rome

Every neighborhood in Rome has its own eating rhythm, its own favorite restaurants, its own arguments about which bakery makes the best pizza rossa. These are the places where local dishes still taste the way they're supposed to.

Testaccio’s old slaughterhouse shaped what the neighborhood eats today. The market here is where I shop for my classes, where Signora Carla knows how I like my pecorino romano cut. When people ask me where to eat in Rome like a local, I bring them to this local place.

The Jewish Ghetto is best in late afternoon when the light hits the synagogue and bakeries pull fresh trays. The air smells of warm baked goods, from ricotta tarts to braided challah, still cooling on the racks.

Trastevere has cobblestone streets and ivy-covered walls but too many tourists. Slip into the side streets and you’ll find outdoor tables filling as the light softens. Skip restaurants with photo menus. Head to places where locals are waiting for tables. Monti is younger, quieter, full of wine bars serving natural wine and small plates. It’s where Romans go when they want to eat well without fighting crowds near the Vatican Museums.

Tourist Traps and Spots That Deliver

The Trevi Fountain is gorgeous. The restaurants around it will rob you. Walk ten minutes in any direction from major tourist sites and you'll find better food at half the price. Walk two blocks off any postcard view and the mom-and-pop kitchens start to appear, real hidden gems in Rome that don’t need to shout for your attention.

Armando al Pantheon deserves its reputation. It’s been open since 1961. The carbonara tastes like my grandmother's kitchen and the cacio e pepe is flawless. Tables go fast at Armando al Pantheon. Plan ahead. My neighbor's daughter works there, and she says they go through forty eggs every Sunday before lunch ends.

Emma Pizzeria near Campo de' Fiori is fine. Good pizza in a nice location with consistent quality. Ai Tre Scalini in Monti serves generous portions of Roman classics at fair prices. A local place that tourists discovered, which means it's crowded but the food is still good.

Trust your instincts. If a place feels like a trap, with aggressive staff pulling you inside and menus in eight languages, it probably is.

Eat Like You’re Already Home: That’s Roman Food

Food in Rome isn't about checking boxes. It's about understanding that a meal is a conversation, that carbonara has rules for reasons, and that the best dishes are the ones your neighbor's grandmother still makes every Sunday using the same pot she's used for forty years.

When I host guests through my market-to-table experiences, I tell them what I'm telling you now. Eat where you see Romans eating. Ask questions. Mop up sauce with bread. Order the same pasta dish three days straight if you love it. The Italy experiences you'll remember aren't the expensive ones. They're the ones where you stayed too long at a marble counter, drank too much red wine, and let a stranger tell you about their nonna's ragù while you both just ate.

Visit Rome. Eat like we do. Leave with a full belly and stories worth repeating. That's the real Rome food guide, and it's been working for centuries. Come hungry. Leave full. Remember the black pepper.