Last night at Thanksgiving dinner was when I was going to find out what an actual Italian pizza tasted like. Honestly, I didn't think they ate them here. I thought it was some kind of American abomination created by people pretending to be Italian.
In fact, pizza shops are everywhere. The little sit-down restaurant where we went had the most amazingly thin crusted pizza, almost like a cracker. Mine was onions, sausage and cheese. Very nice, not covered in the typical red sauce we get in the USA.
Across the street from our pizza restaurant was an Irish pub. Why? Because in Italy you need an Irish pub.
Their menu was a little more mainstream for the English-speakers in Rome: Turkey, stuffing, pumpkin pie. Not for us though. Not on this night.
By the end we finished off 3 pitchers of wine and and nine individual pizzas - one for each person. They were the typical 12" personal pizzas, but served on metal pie pans with a delicious puddle of olive oil at the bottom. I won't tell you that it was better than a Thanksgiving Turkey, but with all the activities up to that point and all the hiking from one monument to the next that day, it was easy to lose track of the fact that this was actually Thanksgiving.
Off we went then for the hotel. That is, until we spotted a pastry shop with chocolate tartufos in the window.
What's a tartufo, you ask? Or rather, what "is" tartufo? Who cares? They were wonderful. It was wonderful... chocolate and ice cream with nuts and some sort of cake stuff underneath.