As Rome Recedes From View, an Italian Culinary Rondo Is Savored in the Sky

ROME — Dependably they return each night after the Aperol-orange or possibly gladiator-battle red, but in any case seldom undramatic Roman sea sunsets. It is the unsung aquatic passeggiata of sleepy Fiumicino: The fishing boats gliding back to their tenuous nest in the murky terminus of the Tiber, nets full of whatever the Tyrrhenian Sea deigned to turn up that day, weather-beaten hulls jostling the side of the quay like so many restless ghosts. A thing as simple as unloading the day’s catch is in a country like Italy transformed into something more. It could be a painting that steals your heart, a new flavor that once savored you just cannot live without, or some unidentifiable fusion of emotions that hits you like an earthy Appennine perfume.In this correspondent’s case that fragrance is dangerously bound up with nostalgia for vanished youth and fossilized passions, both silent monsters lurking in this land of achingly beautiful landscapes — Venice, anyone? Positano or Puglia? — never quite tamed by the quixotic sweep and passage of Italian time. A recent pass through Fiumicino reminded me how much I am merely putty in Italy’s reliably warm but ever-fleeting embrace. After plucking some overdue frequent flier fruit from the vine I was able to upgrade a segment of my journey to Califorbia from Greece on a relatively new Italian airline. That would necessitate an overnight at Fiumicino, which of course is better known for its planes than its fishing boats. A perfect scoop of stracciatella gelato notwithstanding, I did not eat well at Fiumicino. In my hotel I flipped on the television to see a show about four Italian amici enjoying a fantastic Italian meal — too depressing, but as sometimes happens while on the roam a high would soon follow the low. Indeed, nothing could have prepared me for the feast on board my ITA Airways flight from Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino Airport to San Francisco. It was easy to overlook during the pandemic, but Alitalia ceased operations in late 2021 and reemerged as ITA Airways, which has a modern fleet and, New York-based road warriors take note, a codeshare partnership with Delta. At a press event held at the Consulate General of Italy at New York in September, the airline’s Massimo Allegri said that “The United States is our first international market, and we offer multiple services from New York, Boston, Washington, Miami, Los Angeles, and San Francisco to our Rome Fiumicino hub. With 122 weekly flights, we aim to become the reference carrier from America to Italy and via Rome to Europe for the Italian community and the international business communities in North America.”At a time when Rome has wisely decoupled itself from the conformist commercial predations of Beijing, it is refreshing to see the national airline incorporate some genuine Italian flair. In my experience that started with the warmest of welcomes, despite the early hour, at the check-in counter at Fiumicino’s Terminal One. Noted were uniforms designed by Brunello Cucinelli, a zippy in-flight safety video featuring members of the Italian Olympic team, and some in-flight amenities created by an Italian spa hotel group, QC Terme.After breezing through passport control — American citizens can simply scan their passports and get going — the long-haul portion of my journey started in earnest with some unanticipated Italian panache at ground level. Such was the vibe of the Hangar Lounge, a newish pre-flight hangout sleekly styled with Poltrona Frau armchairs and B&B Italia seating, and a double wall of Campari bottles suspended over a glowing Willy Wonka-esque elliptical bar. Another lounge, named after Rome’s Piazza di Spagna, features two bars: The traditional kind and another one that serves homemade pizza which though I did not try I understand is molto bene. An ITA Airways Airbus A350-900 takes off. Photo courtesy ITA Airways/Airbus.There are things one generally tries to avoid doing at 7:30 in the morning in an airport, but when a snazzy Italian lounge enters the frame must not obeisance be made to an enterprising mixologist’s matinal whims? While I eyed the Hangar’s Espresso Martini I actually tried the Fly Up, a wake-up (sort of) cocktail of Campari and gin blended with lemon and pomegranate juice. So in a state of impaired sobriety only somewhat tempered by a last-minute double dose of Lavazza 1895 Noble Volcano espresso I lumbered onward and on board ITA’s A350 airplane, which sported the name of Italian soccer great Roberto Baggio. I was promptly handed a menu that was formulated by an Italian chef who boasts two Michelin stars, Gian Piero Vivalda. With the introductory note that Mr. Vivalda’s signature dishes exemplify his “richest, most evocative and traditional fall culinary philosophy,” I concurred, and only add that the Italian sourcing of ingredients is impressive and assiduous. Things were off to an intriguingly autumnal Tuscan start with an antipasto of celeriac flan accompanied by a thyme-scented golden apple cream. That’s creative comfort food at any altitude. The primi took it to the next level and was also seasonally on-point, comprising mini raviolis filled with Mantua pumpkin nestled on a cream of robiola cheese from Roccaverano in the Piedmont region, topped with a light balsamic vinegar and almond crunch. That would have been enough for me, but next came a mini-voyage to Sicily on a plate in the form of a saffron-accented sea bass filet cooked in its skin and accompanied by a Tarocco orange sauce — made from a particularly luscious type of Sicilian blood orange. Purple potatoes and stir-fried fresh spinach leaves added some healthy gusto to the dish. It was the next dish that had me swooning: Dark chocolate Bavarian cream (Italy is part of the EU, after all), with a mandarin gelée and coffee glaze. That may not sound like much but the peculiar alchemy Mr. Vivaldi brings to this dessert transports. Tucking into it above the clouds may have something to do with it, but to me the juxtaposition of a clear and not overly sweet gelée with the pillow of light cream, itself perched atop a sort of light cookie crumble, was like the memory of a late summer’s swim in the Lago di Bracciano outside Rome long ago. Chapeau to this chef. ***Italy puts me in its thrall but somehow on guard too because deep down I am sure this place knows better than me. Rome still buzzes and the moody Tiber still flows. The food culture speaks for itself. Less celebrated are the myriad innovations that come from the exuberant Italian intelligence: for some that means fashion and Ferraris, for others like me it’s a Sophia Loren restaurant in an airport and Pocket Coffee. If it took a layover and a flight on an Italian airline to remind me of such things, only I am to blame for forgetting. Pour more vino, somebody, and pronto.Unpacked is a periodic travel column from Mr. Grant in which he highlights a destination of interest to today’s curious traveler.

As Rome Recedes From View, an Italian Culinary Rondo Is Savored in the Sky

As Rome Recedes From View, an Italian Culinary Rondo Is Savored in the Sky

More from the New York Sun

Bessent Declines To Defend Lutnick After Commerce Secretary Comes Under Fire Amid Nvidia Scandal

Accusing Warren of Being on ‘Warpath’ with ‘Tomahawk,’ Prosecutor Demands Preservation of Records Related to Trump Probes

NASA Asks Humans To Celebrate Voyager 1 Milestone With Nighttime Light Show

Stone Island Is What Luxury Fashion Ought To Be

The Perils of Ambiguity in ‘Here There Are Blueberries’

Frailty, Thy Name Is Radiohead

At Midpoint, Annual Climate Summit Leaves Activists With Little To Celebrate

Trump’s Tiny Trucks and Cars Are Coming to America

More from the New York Sun

Bessent Declines To Defend Lutnick After Commerce Secretary Comes Under Fire Amid Nvidia Scandal

Accusing Warren of Being on ‘Warpath’ with ‘Tomahawk,’ Prosecutor Demands Preservation of Records Related to Trump Probes

NASA Asks Humans To Celebrate Voyager 1 Milestone With Nighttime Light Show

Stone Island Is What Luxury Fashion Ought To Be

The Perils of Ambiguity in ‘Here There Are Blueberries’

Frailty, Thy Name Is Radiohead

At Midpoint, Annual Climate Summit Leaves Activists With Little To Celebrate

Trump’s Tiny Trucks and Cars Are Coming to America