Customs, ancient and new, thrive in Catholic Italy

I have returned to chilly Scotland from a week in sunny Italy, and — oh! — the contrast. The only improvement to my way of life is my electric coffee machine. In Italy I had recourse only to a metal object that sat on the stove and grudgingly spurted a quarter cup of coffee into its upper storey and to local café-bars, where one raises eyebrows if one requests milk in one’s coffee after noon. In Scotland I can glug whole mugs of milky coffee at any hour of the day with ease and impunity.

My husband and I had rented an apartment in a seaside town north of Rome but went most days by train to the Eternal City, which Mark prizes for its churches and I for its lunch. I do not mind where we go in Rome as long as we are seated in an enotica, ostaria, trattoria or even ristorante of good repute by 1:15 p.m.

Our first lunch of the week, consumed on Sunday after Mass, was at GourmIndia, Ristorante Indiano, 350 metres from the Colosseum. The veggie samosas were too mild, but I was delighted by the aloo gobi and sag paneer, which were pungent and delicious. Needless to say, we were lunching with long-term residents of Rome, people who do not feel obligated to feast on such Roman foodstuffs as fried zucchini flowers and saltimbocca every time they eat out..