If you land in Rome, the meal you must order and eat and then, like a miracle, become a fan is Cacio e Pepe. It is a simple dish: pasta, Pecorino Romano cheese (finely grated so that it can melt and becomes a smooth sauce), sprinkled with pepper, ground from peppercorns and sometimes toasted. Oh, did I mention there's a creamy sauce? It is delicious.
For our first dinner in Rome, we order the Cacio e Pepe and lasagna. (We are never on a diet in Italy.) We're not worried about Theo.
In our hotel room, Theo has already eaten. In Italian--he has a scodella (bowl) filled with croccantini al gusto di pesce (a crunchy dried food, flavored with fish. In this case, Theo always prefers tuna. So, he is a well-fed cat.
Our waiter is lovely. We desperately want to practice our Italian and, we discover, our waiter wants to practice his English. So, we have a curious conversation together. We speak Italian to him and he responds in English. It suits both our needs.
Our table, practically in the middle of a crowded Italian side street is the perfect place to people watch. Thousands of tourists stream by, even though we purposefully choose a restaurant not near the Trevi Fountain where we're staying. Still, Rome is a big draw for tourists who are looking for good food and a jaunt through history, and the town is alive tonight.
Theo is amazingly well-behaved until he isn't. He ignores the chattering tourists and, I think he ignores our food. We literally gorge ourselves, enjoy every bite, totally unaware that Theo, who is resting under our table, is busy plotting his next move.
Dan jumps up from our table before we're finished eating to grab a photo of the restaurant. I go with him to supervise. (No, we're not very sophisticated. As we're sitting there, we can't believe we're actually here . . . in Rome . . . on a beautiful night . . . eating a delicious meal in a lovely restaurant.) A photo will cement the memory we can't even believe is being made.
Theo makes his move. Who knew that a tuna fish loving cat would go for Cacio e Pepe? But the creamy evidence is painted around his mouth.
"Theo!"
The wonderful thing about Italy and Rome is that anything goes. No one is surprised that Theo is on the table eating Cacio e Pepe. I see the woman next to us smile and shrug. Tourists who pass by glance over but they're too busy eating their gelato to look startled.
"No big deal," Dan says in Italian. "No harm done."
"Hai ragione," I respond like a wanna be Italian. (You are right.)
Theo retreats back to his spot under the table, uses his paw to clean his evidence-prone face, and doesn't even look guilty. Rather he looks self-satisfied, satiated.
What happens in Rome must stay in Rome, I resolve. Well, almost.
