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Brontè Dee Jackson. Roman Daze
Roman Daze. La Dolce Vita for All Seasons
Prologue. How a raffle ticket changed my life
Chapter 1. Liars, food wars and spring in Italy
Chapter 2. Cara Garbatella, darling Garbatella
Chapter 3. Francesca and Rita
Chapter 4. Il Cambiamento, The Changeover
Chapter 5. Why I regularly need to leave Rome
Chapter 6. A day off in Rome
Chapter 7. Escape to the hills
Chapter 8. La Liberazione, Freedom
Chapter 9. Foreigner
Chapter 10. Sunday is an Italian day
Chapter 11. The city under the sun
Chapter 12. Does it count as exercise if it finishes in a café?
Chapter 13. How to recognise and take advantage of a money laundering enterprise
Chapter 14. My perfect Italian weekend
Chapter 15. Il primo bagno, the first swim of the season
Chapter 16. Summer loving
Chapter 17. August! Agosto!
Chapter 18. Life is a cabaret, my Roman friend
Chapter 19. Positano
Chapter 20. The changing of the guard
Chapter 21. A tale of two tailors and autumn in the city
Chapter 22. Is this an earthquake or is the building just collapsing?
Chapter 23. Long live the piazza!
Chapter 24. Yes, Rome gets cold
Chapter 25. A Roman New Year’s
Chapter 26. Ghetto diving
Chapter 27. Giorno di San Valentino, Valentine’s Day
Chapter 28. Winter blues
Chapter 29. In hibernation and hiding
Chapter 30. Emerging
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Bronté Dee Jackson
“It took only three days to fall in love with Rome. Like all infatuations, I expected it to wear off. I decided that I would leave when I no longer noticed the Coliseum. I am still waiting.”
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Being such an amazing restaurant you may assume that it would be hard to get a table on such short notice. It probably would be if it was easy to see, find or even identify as a restaurant. It is located at the bottom of an apartment block, the kind that is everywhere in Rome. This particular apartment block, however, was built as part of an architectural competition and is well-known in the area – it was built and is used as public housing. It has the usual washing hanging from many of the windows and the occasional yelling match being conducted in or around it. Yet down a circular drive, off the street, almost into the bowels of the building, there is a small, average-looking door that you may not immediately recognise as a restaurant.
You will only find it if you stop while walking past one day and notice there is a small sign on the fence of the public building that says Er Timoniere (Roman dialect for ‘the boat driver’) and then you ask your husband what it means, and your husband tells you, and then you wonder why there is a sign saying ‘the boat driver’ on the outside of a building. Unless you walk towards a door at the bottom of the building that is lit up, even though your husband is dragging you back, saying, ‘Don’t go down there, it’s probably someone’s house,’ then you would probably never find it.
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