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By Root 502 0

lines filled with the grime of a hard life. Romans, with a few exceptions (such as the bourgeois residents of Parioli), like to think of themselves as working-class. Their often deep dislike of the Vatican, intensified rather than muted by a religiosity and a respect for the sacred that they have made very much their own, springs in part from a collective social memory of oppression. It permeates the smallest details. Not least among these is the distinctive Roman diet; a butcher pointed out (and this was a claim I heard several times) that Roman specialties of offal-the famous pajata (stewed intestines), coda vaccinara (oxtail), trippa (tripe), and coratella (chopped heart and innards)-reflected the fact that the princes of the church took all the best pieces for themselves. Little regular meat remained for the masses, and the butcher claimed that the unusually thin slices that characterize his craft reflect that paucity.

But note how Romans here snatch self-respect from humiliation: the slices are thin, yes-but the butcher describes them as delicate and fine, reflecting a culture that concedes nothing to deprivation. A Roman expression decrying stinginess and greed-"We don't eat so that we don't have to shit" Nun magnamo per nun cagal6 )-also reflects the conviction that the Vatican deprived the people of their daily bread to build its wealth. I heard this proverb in the context of a complaint that the Vatican inherits the homes of those heirless but wealthy unfortunates in whom the terror of eternal damnation can be made to induce paroxysms of piety in anticipation of their departure from this earthly coil.

It is not, after all, as though Romans are indifferent to the quality or quantity of what they eat; they are not ascetics by cultural choice. To the contrary, food is one of those areas in which Romans revel in their distinctiveness-a space of cultural dialect, no less the object of derision by outsiders than their rough speech. A salad of young chicory shoots in an anchovy-flavored vinaigrette (puntarelle~-like the dishes of offal, a poor people's food-is virtually unknown fifty miles from the capital. And food is the anchor of memory; a man facing eviction from the house in which he was born recalled, in a moment of despair, "chicken with peppers and the strange smell of exquisite things"-whereas today, he said, they simply eat a sandwich, a common, ready-made convenience such as one would find anywhere.

The local diet is austere in terms of prestige, and reflects a history of poverty, but it also serves as a proud marker of Roman distinctiveness. Romans insist that its defining richness is not some elaborate set of sauces but the agile, split-second timing of its production; it is, in other words, a living tribute to manual dexterity and quick wits rather than to monumental recipes moldering in leather-bound tomes. It is very much a part of social interaction, which is why festive meals are often recalled; and the precise tempi of its production insinuate a refined artisanal sensibility that is, again, ingrained in bodies and memories and reproduced in a delicate appreciation that the more luxurious cuisines of other regions might drown in rich and creamy sauces.

Many Roman dishes also recall the cultural significance of the Jewish community, itself a monument to past poverty and deprivation and today credited with having conserved ancient recipes that would otherwise have been lost centuries ago. Other dishes, in an unholy but tasty alliance with these culinary emblems of the Ghetto, reflect the products of the pig farmers in the Amatrice hinterland. Both these genealogies are, let us again recall, genealogies of poverty and deprivation. Both have proved extraordinarily resilient. Their intermingling represents the habit of accommodation that Romans stereotypically, and repeatedly, attribute to centuries of evading the cruelties of papal power. There is still a widespread feeling that the Vatican's presence is oppressive, so that it is necessary to hold back from criticism or resistance-"because, if you don't,