Sara Govero
Google
If you’re in Rome and you find yourself lured into a restaurant with laminated menus in six languages and a guy outside yelling pasta pizza wine, RUN. Run far. Wander instead, like a lost poet with a grumbling stomach, into cobblestoned labyrinth of Rome. That’s where you’ll stumble upon La Bottega de Cesare, a place so anti-touristy it might actually judge you for being there.
This isn’t your we have 85 things on the menu and none of them are good kind of place. No. Cesar’s got, like, 20 options. Maybe fewer. You either want it or you don’t.
Let’s talk about this pizza. I got the one with olives and capers because I believe in strong, salty opinions, and mamma mia, it delivered. The dough? Listen. You think you’ve had good dough? You haven’t. You’ve had bread-flavored regret. This crust is holy. It’s crispy, airy, slightly chewy, and somehow doesn’t sit in your stomach like a rock made of sadness and gluten. It’s not poison like American bread. It’s the kind of bread that loves you back.
Every bite tastes like the chef gave up on Michelin stars and decided to win hearts instead. There are no signature cocktails, no QR code menus, and no fake Parmesan.
So go. But don’t you dare find it easily. You’re supposed to get lost first.