Er Buchetto in Rome, Italy
A neighborhood stalwart since 1890, this time-worn cubbyhole —in Roman dialect buchetto means “little hole”—near Termini Station feels almost miraculous, peddling its reassuringly classic €4.50 porky panini amid the surplus of overpriced tourist spots. Decorated with pig memorabilia, old menus, and yellowed newspaper clipping, this dens, barely large enough for three tables, is known for its epic porchetta—that is, a whole pig deboned, rubbed with rosemary, then rolled up and roasted to a juicy perfection. It arrives to Er Buchetto every day from Ariccia, Lazio’s porchetta capital in the Castelli Romani area southeast of Rome. Enrobed in its golden crackling skin, the porchetta here is displayed like a relic in a massive glass case attended by the taciturn knife-wielding proprietor, Alessandro Fioravanti. A fifth-generation porchetta maestro, he deftly slices the meat for each order. Into a plain crusty white roll goes a perfect ratio of tender flesh, unctuous fat, and brittle skin to be plonked down in front of the customer on butcher paper with nary a condiment. Besides porchetta panini there are simple cheeses, salami, and sott’oli (olive oil pickled veggies). Try it all with the refreshing white vino sfuso (wine on tap) from Castelli Romani, which Er Burchetto’s old regulars quaff with long-practiced ease.
A neighborhood stalwart since 1890, this time-worn cubbyhole —in Roman dialect buchetto means “little hole”—near Termini Station feels almost miraculous, peddling its reassuringly classic €4.50 porky panini amid the surplus of overpriced tourist spots.
Decorated with pig memorabilia, old menus, and yellowed newspaper clipping, this dens, barely large enough for three tables, is known for its epic porchetta—that is, a whole pig deboned, rubbed with rosemary, then rolled up and roasted to a juicy perfection. It arrives to Er Buchetto every day from Ariccia, Lazio’s porchetta capital in the Castelli Romani area southeast of Rome.
Enrobed in its golden crackling skin, the porchetta here is displayed like a relic in a massive glass case attended by the taciturn knife-wielding proprietor, Alessandro Fioravanti. A fifth-generation porchetta maestro, he deftly slices the meat for each order. Into a plain crusty white roll goes a perfect ratio of tender flesh, unctuous fat, and brittle skin to be plonked down in front of the customer on butcher paper with nary a condiment.
Besides porchetta panini there are simple cheeses, salami, and sott’oli (olive oil pickled veggies). Try it all with the refreshing white vino sfuso (wine on tap) from Castelli Romani, which Er Burchetto’s old regulars quaff with long-practiced ease.
