Repeat after me: Not every meal needs to be an adventure.
Before
I write this exhausted. I have spent four days on my feet, walking back and forth across Rome, and having my ankles repeatedly brutalised by its savage, merciless cobblestones.
It is my last night in Rome, and theoretically, I should be looking for somewhere a bit special to eat. I should be looking for a meal that I remember for a long time. Instead, I’m just going to flop inside the first half-decent restaurant I can find within a couple of hundred metres of my hotel.
This, I concede, is not very YOLO. It is also the sort of thing that travel writers shouldn’t admit to. We should be seeking out the best, the most interesting and the most authentic, right?
Some people have seemingly ceaseless energy, and a desire to not waste a single second of a city break. They constantly want to seek out the best, and turn their few days into an unceasing barrage of perspective-altering stimulus. The idea of just going to any old restaurant, rather than somewhere invigorating and intrepidly delicious, is seen as the realm of the weak and unadventurous.
But, right now, I am weak. And I’ve had enough adventure. I also suspect there are more of me than there are of the break maximisation obsessives. I want a reasonably enjoyable meal, plus a glass of passable house wine, and I want to put as little effort as possible into getting it.
This, I suspect, is something that has played a part in the near-death of the guidebook. A guidebook can pick out the best restaurants in town, and it can pick out the best restaurants in each neighbourhood.
What it can’t do is pick out the best restaurants within 400 metres of your hotel. This is something Google Maps is exceptionally good at. Bang in “restaurants near me”, filter it so it’s those that are open, and go for the nearest that has a 4.0-plus rating. Or 4.5, if there are lots to choose from and you’re a little pickier.
You’ll rarely get a great meal like this, but you’ll rarely get a bad one either. And when you are too knackered to consider a Metro ride halfway across the city, this is a technological godsend.
After
I write this slightly less exhausted. I have had a meal and a glass of wine, and the world is now a less daunting place. I ended up at Ponte e Parione, a traditional, family-run Roman restaurant with a 4.6 rating on Google Maps. It’s one block to the west of Piazza Navona. And, crucially, a short walk around the corner from my hotel.
I had a lasagne, because I fancied a lasagne. It was pretty good. And that’s as much of a restaurant review you’re going to get, because it’s unlikely to make it into any article or guide I write as a result of this trip*.
However, because I didn’t have to dredge up much extra energy to go there and eat that lasagne, my mindset towards tomorrow has already changed. I’m now thinking I’ve got enough time to go and look at the ancient stadium underneath Piazza Navona before heading to Termini Station. Had I trekked to somewhere better and more worthy of mention, I would be nailed on to just get up a bit later and head straight to the station.
This is where the value of the decent restaurant close to the hotel truly comes in. For the weary, knackered, energy-sapped tourist, it is a temporary ceasefire or tactical retreat. It serves the same purpose as sitting on a park bench or café terrace for a while instead of hurtling off to cram in another beautiful baroque church.
We all need to tap out occasionally and take the easy rather than the ideal option. There’s no shame in that. A judicious “that’ll do” can regenerate the fuel required to do more later on.
*That said, there was a woman by the door hand-making pasta, which is a fairly appealing gimmick that you don’t often see.
