Sora Margherita is a very small, very good restaurant in the Jewish Ghetto of Rome. In my opinion, Sora Margherita is one of the best restaurants of Rome and has given me several of my favorite restaurant moments. The restaurant can only hold about 30 - 40 people and they serve two sittings each night. A favorite for the local Romans, a tourist needs to speak Italian and a reservation is a must. The restaurant is so small that the house-made pasta is rolled out every morning on the tables in the main area – the kitchen is just too small to get everything everything else done at the same time. From the outside, Sora does not look like a restaurant and most would walk by never suspecting anything is going on inside. There are beads blocking the front door and recycling bins nearby. Make no mistake though – this is an incredible place to eat with a focus on traditional Italian and Roman food. The deep fried artichoke (only available when they are in harvest) is a Roman treasure and there is simply nothing like it. A wonderful way to start a meal as it is served on a simple plate on a bit of paper. You can order something else off of the handwritten menu but it is better to let the staff help with the daily specials and their suggestions. On our second trip to Rome, the hotel concierge informed me – to my great pleasure – that I was speaking Italian well enough that we could have dinner at Sora Margherita. Marco made it clear that I needed to only speak Italian when we entered the door and that we would enjoy a truly great meal. I did and we did. The waitress offered five daily plates for us to enjoy with a local wine. Every single aspect of the food was absolutely amazing. They placed us in the back corner of the room with my back to the wall. I handled all the communication as my wife and son had no Italian at their disposal. The waitress recognized this immediately. She played a game with my family, teasing them with, “Eat… You must Eat”, as she tapped her finger on the table. She would smile at me, wink and walk away as my wife jumped back into the plate of the moment. Everything about the meal was incredible but the thing that stayed with us from that moment and to this day was the meatballs. Oh my God – the meatballs. The flavor was so intense, they were so tender as to be impossible, and the sauce flavors lasted five minutes with each bite. All we could do was look at each other with amazement of what we were eating. I offered compliments to the chef and was told the 90 year old mother knows of what she does. She certainly does. For two years we referred to Sora Margherita as the best meal of our lives. Two years later and and my wife and I were back in Rome. Marco was still the hotel concierge (and one incredibly good looking man, according to every woman in the hotel – yes, even my wife). This time I told Marco we were going back to Sora and he arranged the taxi. We arrived to the nondescript door to see the owner struggling with two young women and the more-than-apparent language barrier between them. I don’t look at all Italian and the man looked at me with complete anticipation that I would add to his distress. Instead, I broke into italian and the man smiled. He asked if I spoke english and whether these two Romanian women could sit with us for the evening. We gladly agreed and we were positioned at the perfect table to watch the Americans in the corner receiving the same treatment we had only two years earlier. A perfect meal, complete joy on their faces, and the same waitress playing the same game. I don’t know her name and she noticed me looking at her as she walked by our table. She appeared annoyed so I found the picture of my wife with her from our previous visit. I offered to show her something – and presented her my cell phone. She grabbed it from my hand and ran through the restaurant showing the picture to others. “Look how beautiful”, she said. She ran back to the table, looked my wife in the eye and spoke to her in Italian. As only my wife can do, she smiled back and said in a disarming way but also completely unrelated to the topic, “I would like the recipe for your meatballs. Can we have the recipe for the meatballs?” Now I had two women speaking in different languages and having no idea what each other was saying. The waitress looked at me and I translated. A bit confused, she laughed and walked away. Within a few moments, she was back. Looked me straight in the eyes and now surrounded by other staff and asked if I was ready. I replied yes and she began to tell me the recipe. As she was describing every ingredient and every step in the process, Betsy continued to ask, “Are you getting this? Are you getting this?” I asked a few questions along the way but did indeed get the wonderful gift of the Sora Margherita Polpette recipe. Most of my questions dealt with the ingredients as Italian pork, eggs and milk, for example, are quite different from American equivalents. We said our goodbyes, hugged and kissed and off we went. It required about 3 attempts before I approached the flavor and consistency of the Sora Margherita Polpette but they are a bit famous now with our friends. Most people say they are the best meatballs they have ever tasted and I give Sora Margherita and their great people all the credit.. BTW - I later learned – in a conversation in Italian language class – that Sora is a Roman word for sister. I had no idea.
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Dennis SmithHome Chef and Wine Snob Archives
October 2021
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