Vatican City: The Pasta, The People, and The Papacy
Vatican City: The Pasta, The People, and The Papacy
In the middle of Rome—flanked by the Borgo and Prati districts—lies the world’s smallest independent state: Vatican City. At a whopping 0.19 square miles (⅛ the size of New York’s Central Park), it may be tiny in size, but its reach is vast. As the seat of the Pope and the global headquarters of the Catholic Church, this microstate holds spiritual sway over 1.41 billion baptized Catholics worldwide, making it one of the most influential entities on Earth.
Of course, as one of the oldest and most entrenched institutions in existence, Vatican City doesn’t immediately scream “working-class food blog material”—or does it?
The Catholic Church has a long and complicated relationship with the working class. At times, it has stood shoulder to shoulder with the most brutal, anti-worker regimes on the planet. At others, it has reoriented itself toward solidarity with the laboring masses it claims to shepherd. There have been moments when the papacy itself has aligned with workers’ movements—offering not just prayers, but political weight.
Of course, the papacy is a political institution, and the decision of which man emerges from that balcony on St. Peter’s Basilica is rarely free from the politics of the moment. Each papal conclave reflects, consciously or not, the Church’s evolving relationship to power, people, and poverty—and sometimes, that story is told in pasta.
In today’s post, we discuss several street foods enjoyed by the people of Rome: Bucatini all’Amatriciana, Cacio e Pepe, Carbonara, Supplì, and Carciofi Alla Romana, as well as the so-called national dish of Vatican City: Fettuccine Alla Papalina. Using these dishes, we will highlight several Papal Conclaves that redefined the Church’s relationship with the global working class, as well as the behind-the-scenes struggles that animated those Conclaves.
And yes, I made a lot of pasta. Don’t worry—I froze most of the leftovers. But it was tempting…
Let’s dig in.
Bucatini all’Amatriciana: Rerum Novarum in Red Sauce
For centuries, in the hills around Rome, shepherds have enjoyed a simple pasta dish of Pecorino Romano, guanciale (pork cheek), and pepper called Pasta alla Gricia. However, in the region known as Amatrice, the arrival of the tomato from the New World prompted an evolution of this dish in the late 1800s, with the addition of tomato sauce and red pepper. Shepherds selling their produce in the City of Rome would bring this dish with them, and Roman trattorias would adopt it, often swapping out the spaghetti for bucatini to hold the sauce better. By the 1870s, Amatriciana became a Roman signature, its rise mirroring a seismic shift in the City of Rome’s soul.
This culinary shift mirrored a seismic change in the city’s power structure. In 1870, the newly unified Kingdom of Italy seized Rome from the Papal States, ending a millennium of temporal rule by the Church. Pope Pius IX, a staunch traditionalist, locked himself in the Vatican, declaring himself a “prisoner,” and spent his remaining years condemning modern ideologies—liberalism, nationalism, socialism, even streetlights—in a defiant defense of the old order.
The black nobility of Rome, who had tied their fortunes to the Papal regime, longed for restoration. So when Pius IX died in 1878, they pressed for a new pontiff who might reclaim the Church’s former political power. But the world outside the Vatican’s gates had moved on. Papal carriages gave way to electric trams, and once-noble halls became union meeting rooms. The urban working class, long suppressed, began rising—both in number and in confidence. And as they did, they carried bowls of Amatriciana, steaming with Pecorino and rebellion, through Rome’s streets.
The 1878 conclave was pivotal: would the Church double down on reclaiming its lost territory, or embrace a different mission, one aligned with its spiritual mission and social relevance? The cardinals gathered—for the first time ever in the Sistine Chapel, which would become the conclave’s permanent home—to make a decision that would shape the modern Church.
Their pick was Cardinal Gioacchino Pecci, an austere, scholarly man from the countryside near Rome—the same hills where shepherds perfected Amatriciana. He took the name Leo XIII, and under his guidance, the Church began to take its first steps toward a meaningful shift. In 1891, Leo issued the encyclical Rerum Novarum, an encyclical defending the rights of workers, the dignity of labor, and the importance of trade unions. It served as a sort of olive branch to the very class eating Amatriciana in Rome’s laboring districts that bordered the Vatican. In Trastevere, vendors sold Bucatini all’Amatriciana to workers striking against factory exploitation in the 1880s, the dish’s red sauce mirroring the blood of their hope.
Leo spent his pontificate confined to the immediate area around the Vatican, unwilling to concede the notion of the Holy See’s independence, but he did so while moving the Church ever so slightly in the direction of the working class and social justice. The newest pope reportedly took the name Leo XIV as a deliberate nod to Leo XIII’s writing of Rerum Novarum.
Amatriciana is now considered part of the “Holy Trinity” of Roman pastas (alongside Carbonara and Cacio e Pepe). It’s robust, warming, and democratic—just like the idea behind Rerum Novarum itself.
I found Amatriciana both a joy to eat and a fun dish to make. One note with these pastas: trust the ingredients to do most of the work. The guanciale will flavor the sauce. No need to over-spice. Let the sauce speak for itself.
Bucatini all’Amatriciana Recipe
Description: A robust Roman pasta dish with a rich tomato and guanciale sauce, embodying the spirit of Rerum Novarum.
Serves: 4
Prep Time: 10 minutes
Cook Time: 20 minutes
Ingredients:
400g bucatini
150g guanciale, cubed
400g canned San Marzano tomatoes, crushed
1 tsp red chili flakes (or to taste)
50g Pecorino Romano, grated
1 tbsp olive oil
Salt to taste
Instructions:
Cook Pasta: Boil bucatini in salted water until al dente. Reserve 1 cup pasta water, then drain.
Render Guanciale: In a skillet, heat olive oil over medium. Add guanciale and cook until crispy (5-7 minutes). Remove excess fat if desired.
Make Sauce: Add chili flakes to the skillet, then stir in crushed tomatoes. Simmer for 10 minutes until thickened. Season lightly with salt.
Combine: Add pasta to the sauce, tossing with some reserved water for consistency. Stir in half the Pecorino.
Serve: Plate with remaining Pecorino sprinkled on top.
Cacio e Pepe: Black Cloud of Pepper
For centuries, shepherds in the hills around Rome have made do with what they had—usually just dry pasta, aged cheese, starchy pasta water, and cracked black pepper. From these humble ingredients came Cacio e Pepe (Cheese and Pepper), a dish so simple it almost mocks the idea of luxury. No garlic. No oil. No embellishment. Just salt, starch, and heat. By the early 20th century, this dish had made its way from hillside fires to the cramped kitchens of Rome’s working poor, where it was eaten in silence between shifts and strikes.
The early 20th century for Rome was one of immense tumult. World War I, the increased militancy of socialism, and the rise of the fascist movement all found their way to Rome’s streets. Pope Pius X followed up Leo XIII’s openness with a doctrinaire traditionalist papacy in the early 1900s, followed by Benedict XV, whose brief papacy was primarily concerned with pushing for peace during World War I. By the time the 1922 conclave was convened to select a new pope, Rome was aflame with partisans fighting in the streets, laborers marching for better pay, and fascist black shirts terrorizing those who dared to organize.
That unrest wasn’t abstract—it was lived and tasted. In the wake of the Biennio Rosso—the “Two Red Years” of 1919–1920—Rome had seen mass strikes erupt in its tram yards, printing houses, and factories. Dockworkers and steelworkers occupied their workshops. Demonstrators filled the piazzas of Testaccio and San Lorenzo, demanding dignity, fair pay, and the right to unionize. They broke bread—often stale—and passed around bowls of Cacio e Pepe, a dish that mirrored the moment: humble, sharp, held together by tension. When these uprisings were crushed—with the Church silent or complicit—the dish didn’t disappear. It hardened into a quiet emblem of survival under betrayal.
The conclave was torn between liberals who wanted a pope who was more forceful in promoting peace and social justice, and traditionalists who wanted to return to a church with land holdings that was more pastoral. They chose a Cardinal from Milan who was a compromise candidate, Ambrogio Ratti. He took the name Pius XI, and his election was the first of many compromises he would make in the face of power.
As his papacy took shape, so did Fascist Italy. Mussolini’s promises to restore order and national greatness brought crushing austerity to Rome’s poor. Cacio e Pepe became more than a favorite—it became a lifeline. While the Pope negotiated with power, the laboring class survived on pepper and cheese.
In 1929, Pius XI signed the Lateran Treaty with Mussolini, securing Vatican City’s independence and granting the Church sovereign authority for the first time in decades. But the cost was steep: independent unions were suppressed, and the Church aligned itself with a regime built on repression. To the workers outside the newly minted, opulent Vatican, Quadragesimo Anno—an encyclical issued in 1931 reaffirming labor rights—felt hollow. It offered support for workers, yes, but only within the hierarchical, corporatist vision of the fascist state. In Prati, vendors sold Cacio e Pepe to workers striking against wage cuts, as the Vatican a few streets over sold them out.
Ironically enough, securing the independence of the Vatican gave Pius XI, now a world leader in his own right, the ability to start issuing criticisms of the totalitarianism growing outside the walls of the Vatican. He began to issue stark rebukes of the Mussolini regime and the Nazi regime in the lead-up to his passing in 1939. However, this led to fear of reprisals against Catholics in Nazi Germany especially, and the 1939 Conclave went in an even more traditionalist route.
The 1939 Conclave saw the selection of Cardinal Eugenio Pacelli, a Roman through and through whose family was tied to the “Black Nobility” of the Papal States. He was known to be a skilled diplomat who could skillfully weave his way around the complexities of the world that were growing in the immediate lead-up to World War II. He took on the title of Pius XII and promised to continue the path laid down by his predecessor. He knew how to navigate a world on the brink of war. He also knew how to stay silent.
Stay silent Pius XII did, refusing to issue criticisms of the Nazi regime as it openly engaged in the brutality and murder of Jews, refusing to issue criticisms of Mussolini, and openly coming out against more militant labor unions as World War II brought the continent of Europe into war yet again. A more charitable read of Pius XII was that he was able to utilize churches in Germany to hide Jews from being taken by the Gestapo as he stayed quiet on the international stage. Either way, the Catholic Church ended World War II as an institution with a state, a state of fancy towers and golden thrones, just a street away from a working class that was surviving off the simplest of pasta dishes, geographically close, but more separated than ever.
Cacio e Pepe is a deceptively difficult dish to master. Getting the right amount of pasta water is crucial to ensure the sauce is not too watery. Also keep in mind that the hot pasta will cook the cheese as soon as the sauce hits it. Be careful that it doesn’t clump. Also don’t be afraid to ignore the amount of pepper here and drown the dish with it. This should be read as a pepper minimum.
Cacio e Pepe Recipe
Description: A minimalist Roman pasta dish featuring Pecorino Romano and a bold black pepper kick, symbolizing resilience.
Serves: 4
Prep Time: 5 minutes
Cook Time: 15 minutes
Ingredients:
400g spaghetti (or tonnarelli)
200g Pecorino Romano, finely grated
2 tsp black pepper, freshly ground
Salt to taste
Instructions:
Cook Pasta: Boil spaghetti in lightly salted water until al dente. Reserve 2 cups pasta water, then drain.
Toast Pepper: In a dry skillet over medium heat, toast black pepper for 1 minute until fragrant.
Make Sauce: In a bowl, mix Pecorino with ½ cup reserved pasta water to form a paste. Add more water if needed.
Combine: Add pasta to the skillet with pepper. Off heat, gradually add Pecorino paste, tossing vigorously and adding pasta water to achieve a creamy consistency.
Serve: Plate immediately, sprinkling extra Pecorino and pepper.
Fettuccine Alla Papalina and Carbonara: Cream for the Elite, Eggs for the Street
Carbonara is often considered the crème de la crème of Roman pasta dishes today—but it wasn’t always this way. In fact, it didn’t really exist before the 1940s. Its origins are debated: some say it evolved from a pasta eaten by coal miners (carbonari) in the mountains around Rome; others credit American GIs, who asked Roman chefs to combine their rationed eggs and bacon with pasta and cheese. Either way, by the mid-1940s, a dish of guanciale (pork cheek, if you remember), egg yolks, and Pecorino Romano had taken root as a staple of Rome’s working class.
Pope Pius XII was a staunch traditionalist—but he was still human. He wanted to try this new pasta that had captured the appetite of the Roman people. There were two problems: first, the Pope had a delicate stomach. Second, the papacy was far too important, in the eyes of the Vatican, to be seen indulging in a dish so deeply associated with street food. (Oh, how things change.)
So the Vatican chefs got to work. Guanciale was swapped for the leaner, nobler prosciutto. The eggy sauce was mellowed with cream. Pecorino Romano, that sharp peasant cheese, was replaced with the milder Parmesan. And to set the dish apart, spaghetti was substituted with fettuccine—wider, softer, more refined. Thus was born Fettuccine alla Papalina: the Pope’s personalized pasta, rich and palatable, removed from the austerity of its working-class cousin.
Pius XII died in 1958 and left behind a church more separated from the working class than ever. With masses said in Latin still, the Church taking the side of the elite in labor affairs, and it staying neutral in the face of fascism during World War II, there was a wide belief that the Church needed to modernize. To this end, the Conclave picked Angelo Roncalli, a Milanese cardinal, who at the older age of 76 was expected to be a caretaker pope while the church internally debated how to best move forward. Roncalli took the name John XXIII and surprised everyone.
First off, John XXIII began to expand the College of Cardinals, picking the first Cardinals from the continent of Asia. He began to engage in dialogue with the Communist countries of Eastern Europe. He initiated communication with other faiths, such as Judaism and Orthodox Christianity. He published “Mater et Magistra,” an important encyclical on the 70th anniversary of Rerum Novarum that expanded upon the church’s beliefs in support of laborers, advocating for a robust social democracy. He also published another encyclical, Pacem in Terris (Peace on Earth), that advocated for human rights and the common good as the goal of society. He then convened Vatican II, a council to discuss the complete overhaul of the Catholic Church in October 1962.
As cardinals dined on the rich fettuccine of the Vatican while discussing how to best bring the Church closer to people, laborers ate Carbonara from the stalls around the Vatican, striking for better pay in the Roman heat. In 1962—the same year Vatican II convened—Italy saw a wave of wildcat labor actions, including the massive Fiat strikes in Turin. While that industrial uprising began in the north, its spirit coursed southward. In Rome, postal workers, municipal cleaners, and even Vatican-employed custodians began quietly organizing, emboldened by the national unrest.
In working-class districts like Trastevere, Testaccio, and Garbatella, workers ate bowls of Carbonara between shifts or after dawn pickets, their hands still ink-stained from strike flyers. Street vendors sold it hot and cheap from carts near the Vatican walls. Fettuccine alla Papalina, meanwhile, remained a dish of the Vatican’s refined palate—creamy, delicate, and far removed from the soot and sweat of Rome’s factories and kitchens.
And yet, something strange happened. Even Papalina began to drift into the streets. By the mid-60s, both Carbonara and Papalina could be found in the hands of taxi drivers, postal clerks, and striking teachers. Forks twirled with divergent meanings: Carbonara as grit, Papalina as irony, both as sustenance. The Vatican was modernizing on paper, but in the alleyways and lunch counters of Rome, the working class was still feeding itself—loudly, proudly, and often with a side of protest.
John XXIII died soon after the first session of Vatican II. The 1963 Conclave ensured that Vatican II was completed, but the Cardinals wanted to move in a more cautious direction. They picked Cardinal Giovanni Montini (Pope Paul VI), a Northern Italian who was associated with Pius XII, to finish Vatican II’s reforms. While it brought the church into the modern era, discarding the Latin mass and improving relations with other religions, John’s more far-reaching reforms were left by the wayside. The Church’s support for working-class movements and human rights remained on paper, but Rome’s laborers lacked the critical support from the Church that was present under John.
By the mid-60s, Carbonara once again reigned supreme as the Roman workers’ pasta of choice.
When cooking both these dishes, remember the hot pasta will cook the eggs. Only use the pasta water sparingly. Let the ingredients do the work.
Fettuccine alla Papalina Recipe
Description: A creamy, elegant pasta dish crafted for Pope Pius XII, featuring prosciutto and a luxurious sauce.
Serves: 4
Prep Time: 10 minutes
Cook Time: 20 minutes
Ingredients:
400g fettuccine (fresh or dried)
100g prosciutto crudo, thinly sliced
1 small onion, finely chopped
2 egg yolks
100ml heavy cream
50g Parmesan, grated
2 tbsp butter
Salt and black pepper to taste
Instructions:
Cook Pasta: Boil fettuccine in salted water until al dente. Reserve 1 cup pasta water, then drain.
Sauté: Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add onion and cook until soft (5 minutes). Add prosciutto and cook for 1-2 minutes until slightly crisp.
Make Sauce: Whisk egg yolks, cream, and Parmesan in a bowl. Season with black pepper.
Combine: Lower skillet heat. Add pasta to the prosciutto mix, tossing to coat. Remove from heat and stir in the egg-cream mixture, adding reserved pasta water if needed for creaminess.
Serve: Plate immediately, topping with extra Parmesan and pepper.
Carbonara Recipe
Description: A classic Roman pasta dish with guanciale and a rich egg-based sauce, a favorite of the working class.
Serves: 4
Prep Time: 10 minutes
Cook Time: 15 minutes
Ingredients:
300-400g (about 10-14 oz) spaghetti (or other long pasta like bucatini or linguine)
150-200g (about 5-7 oz) guanciale (cured pork cheek), pancetta, or good-quality bacon, cut into small cubes or lardons
4 large egg yolks (some recipes use 2 whole eggs and 2 yolks)
50-75g (about 2-3 oz) Pecorino Romano cheese, finely grated (Parmesan or a mix can be used, but Pecorino Romano is traditional)
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Salt, for pasta water
Instructions:
Cook the Guanciale/Pancetta/Bacon: Place the cubed guanciale (or your chosen pork) in a cold, dry pan over medium heat. Cook slowly until the fat renders and the pork becomes crispy and golden brown. This usually takes about 8-10 minutes. Remove the crispy pork with a slotted spoon and set aside, leaving the rendered fat in the pan.
Cook the Pasta: While the pork is cooking, bring a large pot of salted water to a rolling boil. Add the spaghetti and cook according to package directions until al dente (slightly firm to the bite).
Prepare the Egg Mixture: In a medium bowl, whisk together the egg yolks (and whole eggs, if using) with the grated Pecorino Romano cheese and a generous amount of freshly ground black pepper. Some recipes suggest adding a tablespoon or two of the hot pasta water to the egg mixture at this stage to temper it slightly.
Combine Pasta and Pork Fat: Once the pasta is cooked, drain it, reserving about 1 cup of the pasta cooking water. Immediately add the hot pasta to the pan with the rendered pork fat. Toss well to coat the pasta. Remove the pan from the heat.
Create the Sauce: Pour the egg and cheese mixture over the hot pasta. Toss vigorously and quickly. The heat from the pasta and the residual heat in the pan will gently cook the eggs and melt the cheese, creating a creamy sauce that coats the pasta. Add some of the reserved pasta water, a tablespoon at a time, if needed to reach your desired sauce consistency. Be careful not to add too much at once, or the sauce might become too thin.
Serve: Divide the carbonara among bowls. Top with the crispy guanciale/pancetta/bacon and an extra grating of Pecorino Romano cheese and freshly ground black pepper, if desired. Serve immediately.
Supplì: Cheesy Hot Roman Summer
Supplì—fried balls of tomato sauce-flavored rice with a molten mozzarella core—have been a staple of Rome’s streets since the early 1800s, when Napoleon’s troops brought French croquettes with them. The streets of Rome were nothing if not full of culinary ingenuity and would use the croquette as a means to use up leftover risotto, adding a tiny bit of mozzarella in the middle. French soldiers would exclaim “Surprise!” as they bit into them and found the mozzarella in the middle. Over time, this was Italianized to supplì, and the molten balls of mozzarella and rice became a Roman icon. One can imagine walking down Rome’s charming, hot Mediterranean streets and grabbing a few from a street vendor, the grease staining the paper and your fingers.
Of course, in the summer of 1978, Rome’s streets were anything but charming. That June, union workers across the city protested a stagnating economy, rising unemployment, and creeping austerity under the shadow of the Years of Lead—an era marked by political violence, kidnappings, and assassinations. In May, former Prime Minister Aldo Moro had been found murdered by the Red Brigades, stuffed in the trunk of a car. Neo-fascist violence, supposedly retaliatory but more often indiscriminate, fueled fear and instability. Tensions were high, and many believed democracy itself hung in the balance. In the working-class quarters of Ostiense and San Lorenzo, demonstrators carried signs denouncing state repression and privatization. Many grabbed a hot, greasy supplì—easy to carry, easy to share, and easier still for a food blog writer to turn into a symbol of resilience. Rice bound by tomato and cheese, fried until golden: a dish made of leftovers that had survived war, revolution, and reconstruction. However, in the halls of the Sistine Chapel, the College of Cardinals were getting ready to light incense instead of smoke bombs.
Pope Paul VI, who had been Pope since 1963 and oversaw the latter half of Vatican II’s reforms, had died. During his papacy, the church had changed substantially. The College of Cardinals had effectively gone international, expanding to different continents and walks of life. However, the Church’s support for labor had waned amid Italy’s crises, and in Latin America, Vatican II had birthed Liberation Theology, an approach to Catholicism that had married Catholic social teaching with the Marxist liberation movements that had been gripping the region since the early 1960s. Detractors felt as though it was a Marxist bait and switch, seeking to use Catholicism as a vehicle for Marxist revolution. Supporters felt as though its focus on liberation of the poor and downtrodden was the ultimate fulfillment of Leo’s Rerum Novarum.
While municipal workers rallied outside on the streets with their hot mozzarella balls, the Church came to its own crossroads. Continue the path of Vatican II, or say enough is enough and settle on the reforms already made? The cardinals picked “The Smiling Pope,” Albino Luciani, a Venetian who came from a humble background. He chose the names of his immediate two predecessors, John and Paul, to become Pope John Paul I. His father was a socialist laborer, and this impacted his position toward Liberation Theology. While he did not vocally embrace it, he didn’t decry it, and his early actions as pope oriented his papacy to be one closer with the people protesting in the streets of Rome rather than the nobility of Cardinals within the walls of the Vatican. He was preparing to embark on a papacy focused on social justice and the implementation of Vatican II’s reforms, even seeming open to revising the church’s long-standing opposition to contraception.
Unfortunately, tragedy struck. On the night of September 28, 1978, the 34th day of his pontificate, he learned that a young group of neo-fascists had fired on a group of youth reading the communist newspaper L’Unità outside the party headquarters. He had retired to his room to read and died of a heart attack that night. The last words he spoke aloud were “Even the young are killing each other” to a bishop who was present.
That October, the Sistine Chapel was again filled with red cardinals’ vestments, as the streets outside were filled with the red of workers’ demonstrations. The conclave met for this “Year of Three Popes,” looking to pick someone as pope who was younger and could last in his position.
For the first time in centuries, the Conclave looked outside Italy for their answer. They chose Cardinal Karol Wojtyła from Poland, who would give a more global perspective to the church and take the name John Paul II. However, his country being under a Communist government that was hostile to Catholicism painted his perspective, aligning him with the right-wing governments of Thatcher and Reagan, but against Liberation Theology. Rome’s workers watched, supplì in hand, June’s demonstrations lingering with only symbolic support from the Church even as it supported such workers’ movements as Solidarity in Poland.
John Paul II’s papacy stretched to over 25 years, bringing the church into the new millennium. Supplì continues to be a popular Roman street food to this day.
When making supplì, I made it both fried in oil and air-fried. Fried in oil presents a crispier exterior and is probably superior. Another thing you may want to do is take the risotto base and cool it in the fridge to let it bind together ahead of rolling the balls.
Supplì Recipe
Description: Rome’s beloved rice croquettes, stuffed with mozzarella and fried to golden perfection, often called "al telefono" for the cheesy strings.
Makes: 10-12 supplì
Prep Time: 30 minutes
Cook Time: 20 minutes
Ingredients:
200g Arborio rice
400ml tomato sauce
500ml vegetable or chicken stock
1 small onion, finely chopped
100g mozzarella, cut into small cubes
50g Parmesan, grated
2 eggs, beaten
100g breadcrumbs
2 tbsp olive oil
Vegetable oil for frying
Salt and pepper to taste
Instructions:
Cook Rice: In a saucepan, heat olive oil and sauté onion until soft. Add rice and toast for 1 minute. Stir in tomato sauce and stock gradually, cooking like risotto until rice is soft (20 minutes). Stir in Parmesan, season, and cool completely.
Shape Supplì: Take a small handful of rice, flatten it, place a mozzarella cube in the center, and form into an oval, sealing the cheese inside.
Bread: Dip each supplì in beaten egg, then coat in breadcrumbs.
Fry: Heat vegetable oil to 180°C (350°F). Fry supplì in batches until golden (3-4 minutes). Drain on paper towels.
Serve: Serve hot, ideally with a side of tomato sauce for dipping.
Carciofi Alla Romana: Braised Hope in Hard Times
The spiky, green leaves of the artichoke have a long history in the City of Rome. With herbs and spices stuffed between the leaves, braised with olive oil and wine, artichokes prepared Roman-style, Carciofi Alla Romana, have been part of cucina povera, the food of the poor, for centuries. Their growing season is typically the peak of spring, and in 2005, the Church had to contend with a second Spring harvest, that of a new pope.
Pope John Paul II was a globally adored and ubiquitous figure by the time of his passing in 2005. Pope since 1978, he had come to signify a globalized, faster-paced world. However, in his later years, he had noticeably declined. The world was changing, and it would require the Church to change with it. To navigate these changes, the Conclave picked a German, Joseph Ratzinger, who was a scholarly figure with immense knowledge of the history of the Church. He addressed the crowds in St. Peter’s Square with the new title of Benedict XVI, saying, “The Church is alive—and the Church is young,” as the artichoke harvest of spring was underway.
The Church may have been alive and young in his estimation, but Benedict was not. He assumed the papacy at 78, and his views on the Church were quite traditional. He viewed Vatican II as more of a reaffirmation of the church’s tradition rather than a call to change it. His presentation was even traditional, restoring some of the pre-Vatican II vestments to restore a regal sort of papacy. He was a smart man, but one who was more connected with the past of the church rather than its future. By the end of the 2000s, the Church was rocked by a scandal of sexual abuse, for which he was widely criticized for his response, and Rome itself was rocked by a financial crisis. Italian unemployment rose to 8.4% by 2010. As Benedict turned to tradition, Roman workers turned to carciofi alla romana, which once again took its place as a dish of workers who were hit hard.
In 2013, at the advanced age of 85, Benedict became the first Pope to resign his post since 1294. Ostensibly due to health, it may have been due to the external and internal pressures of the papacy. In an era of Occupy and a Global Church, it may have clearly been time for a new messenger. In the background, Rome’s workers were in a state of constant unrest. 2011 saw general strikes as workers protested austerity measures. Even the farmers picking artichokes in the hills outside Rome would join in. The 2013 conclave proved to be a crucial one.
The cardinals picked Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio, an Argentine, to be the first Pope from the Americas. A Jesuit, his emergence from St. Peter’s Basilica in a simple white robe rather than the ornate vestments of previous popes drew a stark contrast. He also took the name “Francis,” the Patron Saint of the lost, with no additional numeral, and took a simple apartment rather than the ornate chambers associated with popes of the past, immediately casting himself as a Pope of the people.
As the artichokes once again came into season, Francis issued an encyclical that signaled a rebirth for the Church. His very first was Evangelii Gaudium, an encyclical that criticized wealth inequality. By 2014, he openly supported workers’ rights, standing beside the workers demonstrating in the streets of Rome, their hearts tender and braised by crisis as the carciofi sold in the stalls on the streets.
Francis did not stop there, becoming a pontiff who criticized the greed of capitalism, the culprits behind climate change, and global warmakers. In some readings of his statements, he seemingly supported the notion that Jesus would see himself as a communist. But, more accurately, he stated that communists were following values that should be associated with Catholicism. His positions deeply shook the traditionalists of the Church but brought the Church closer with the poor of the world, especially with the rural poor of his home in Latin America. The workers eating carciofi were Francis’ people, and his papacy was marked by that of activism.
He died on April 21, 2025, leaving behind a church oriented closer with the people it serves. His successor, Robert Prevost, a man of dual Peruvian and American citizenship born in Chicago, chose the name Pope Leo XIV to harken back to the writer of Rerum Novarum. It is artichoke season again, and time will tell if he is a Pope of the carciofi like Francis was.
Carciofi alla Romana is an interesting dish to cook. Rome’s artichokes (Globe Artichokes) do not have the fuzzy choke that is present in artichokes more easily found here. Make sure you snip the stem, take off the outer leaves, and cut down about a third of the artichoke. Then stuff the inside and let the braising do the rest.
Carciofi Alla Romana Recipe
Description: Tender artichokes braised with herbs and garlic, a Roman spring classic that’s both rustic and refined.
Serves: 4
Prep Time: 20 minutes
Cook Time: 45-60 minutes
Ingredients:
4 large globe artichokes
1 lemon (for acidulated water)
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped
1 tbsp fresh mint, chopped
100ml dry white wine
100ml olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Instructions:
Prep Artichokes: Fill a bowl with water and lemon juice. Trim artichoke stems, remove tough outer leaves, and cut off the top third. Scoop out the choke. Place in lemon water to prevent browning.
Season: Mix parsley, mint, garlic, salt, and pepper. Stuff this mixture between artichoke leaves.
Cook: Place artichokes upside down in a deep pan, fitting snugly. Add white wine, olive oil, and enough water to cover halfway. Cover and simmer on low for 45-60 minutes until tender.
Serve: Serve warm or at room temperature, drizzling with cooking liquid.
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