Food and Friendship in Frascati
Frascati was my introduction to Italy if we don’t count Rome’s airport and train station. I wanted to ease into my six-week Italian adventure but also knew I didn’t want to travel very far on the day my flight arrived. From Rome’s Termini Station, Frascati is 30 minutes by train ride but seems like a world away.
Frascati sits in the Alban Hills south of Rome and is one of the towns in the area collectively known as Castelli Romani (Roman castles). The area is famous for its food and wine, outdoor recreation, and historical sites.
Jet-lagged, I arrived in Frascati on a sunny September afternoon. I checked into my Airbnb near the cathedral and promptly broke the cardinal rule of beating jet leg: don’t take a nap. After a three-hour snooze, I forced myself out of bed and into the hilly streets of Frascati to get my bearings during golden hour.
From the bustling piazze to sleepy side streets, I was enchanted. Teenagers gathered on the steps of St. Peter’s Cathedral. Old men sat silently side-by-side on the bench in Piazza Paolo III as children ran around the fountain and young professionals walked their dogs while smoking their cigarettes. I made my way to the promenade at Piazza Marconi to join the locals for a passegiatta. As I strolled along, the sun set over Rome in the distance. The golden light slowly gave way to bathing Frascati in blue.
I glanced across Boulevard Vittorio Veneto at the Monument of the Fallen. Flanked by lampposts and palm trees, with Villa Aldobrandini on the hill behind, it was postcard-perfect. I took in the view to my left and right and breathed in the cool air, the locals’ chatter my soundtrack for the evening. Sono qui, I thought to myself. I am here. I am here. In Italy. Just me. I did it. And I knew I was going to love it.
Jo: Frascati’s Unofficial Ambassador
From the moment Jo responded to my email inquiring about her cooking class, I knew I would have a blast with her. We met at a bar in Piazza del Mercato. Within minutes it was clear that everyone knows and wants to talk to Jo. She is the self-described “ambassadress” to Frascati—her mother is from the town, and her father is British, so she grew up bilingual and has called Frascati home for most of her life. In the bakery and around town, Jo introduced me to her local and expat friends, sharing little tidbits about how they know each other. How lucky was I to be the only person signed up to cook with Jo that day!
After a cappuccino at the bar, we visited the nearby bakery and butcher. We returned to Jo’s apartment to leave the groceries before heading to the outdoor market in a neighboring town, where she bought eggplant, zucchini flowers, porcini mushrooms, and clams. Hers is still the best spaghetti con vongole I’ve eaten (“It’s because I use more clams than most people,” Jo revealed)!
Back at her apartment, Jo taught me how to make a simple chickpea soup, fried zucchini blossoms stuffed with anchovies and mozzarella, saltimbocca, clam spaghetti, and more! And of course, she served chilled Frascati wine. After the second glass, I stopped taking notes. Luckily Jo emailed me the recipe at the end of the day.
After a few hours on our feet, we took a rest in Jo’s living room. We discussed her business, astrology, family . . . there seemed to be no topic off-limit. I think we may have known each other in a previous life. Jo says that she loves having young people around because it keeps her feeling young, but every time I’m around her, I feel like I can hardly keep up with her.
Just when I thought we were winding down, she called her friend Michelle who runs the Easy Frascati blog. It was through Michelle’s website that I found Jo’s cooking class. “I want you to meet my new friend Stephanie,” Jo said over the phone as she invited Michelle for aperitivo at La Stanza del Duca, The Duke’s Room in English. You can read more about this darling tea room on Jo’s blog, but the short story is that it pays homage to Cardinal Henry Stuart, Duke of York, a bishop who lived in Frascati in the late 18th and early 19th centuries. I probably should have ordered tea given the setting, but I opted for a spritz instead.
As evening set in, Jo’s husband Pino met us to say “hello” and give Jo a ride to dinner at her mother’s place. Jo and I have seen each other twice since then, and I am grateful that she takes me under her wings every time I visit. A few weeks after this cooking class, on my last night in Rome, I had aperitivo with Jo, Pino, and their friend Giancarlo (who, though we had just met, gave me memorable advice, “You can’t process divorce from the mind. You have to do it from the heart.”). And a few months later, on my second visit to Frascati, I spent the evening with Jo at her home, catching up while sipping crisp white wine and making seafood risotto.
On that first night after our day together I walked through Piazza San Rocco and looked out to where the sun had just set over Rome. I went back to the promenade to admire the fountain. Sono qui. I am here. In Italy. And I’ve made a friend.