Sun, sea, and good food is what gets Italians ticking; unite the three for il pranzo al mare (lunch at the sea) and you’re in for a full-on, real-deal Italian experience. Some may call it la dolce vita and rightly so–lunching with the sea breeze blowing in your hair and with soft sand beneath your toes is doubtlessly leisure at its finest. Yet there is even more to it than that. One’s first pranzo al mare marks the passage of winter to spring, the moment from which it all goes uphill. In Italy’s blessed balminess, the season’s first seaside lunch can even happen as early as March.
And luckily, embarking on such an escapade is an easy feat. The country’s infamously long and narrow boot-shaped size means that one is never further than two hours from the shore at any given point. For some, like my Rome-based self, this journey from door to sand takes a mere 40 minutes. From sand to restaurant to boozy, food-filled bliss… Well, that’s another story. Time is then yours to revel in as you watch the waves wash up, take in the chitter and chatter, savor each mouthful of food, and simply soak in the day till the sun comes down.
I had my first encounter with the Roman seaside not long after I moved to the capital eight years ago. It was early spring–a cold, crisp yet gloriously sunny morning in March–and a newfound Italian acquaintance suggested we go to the sea. Sunscreen in my bag and swimsuit well-prepped beneath my clothes, I took the plunge and leaped into the big blue mere minutes after arrival. Emerging from the icy waters, I looked to the beach where my friend, donned in gloves, hat, and puffer jacket, watched with dumbfounded dismay. “But we came for lunch!” he yelled my way. Goosebumps all-over, I grinned and gave him a wave. “Questi inglesi…” (“these English…”), I heard him say.
As we sat down for lunch, it became clear that what he lacked in nerve for March-time swimming, he made up for in appetite. The antipasti came rolling in: crudi di gamberi rossi (raw red shrimp), insalata di mare (seafood salad), and alici marinate (marinated anchovies), which made me vow to boycott the jarred, overly salted ones ever since. Next came the moscardini fritti (deep-fried baby octopus) and garlic-brushed bruschette laden with telline (baby clams). Onto the primi; he took risotto and I, the spaghetti. Both cooked ai frutti al mare (with the fruits of the sea) and both so equally delicious that neither could take the prize. The aforementioned food-filled bliss was not achieved in full until our secondi had been devoured: spigola con patate (grilled seabass with roasted potatoes) that, despite its utter perfection, did have me tempted to jump back into the sea and reboot.
The maritime hamlet of Fregene, host to this very first pranzo al mare, was once inhabited by the Etruscans, and it remains to this day a firm favorite amongst their ancestors. Its five-kilometer stretch of beach, which is dotted with restaurants from end to end, provides the Roman people (and me!) with the perfect lunchtime getaway nine months of the year. Nowadays, my early-year swims have somewhat diminished, traded in for socially acceptable summertime dips. My tolerance to sun and wine, thanks to regular doses of both, has much improved, and the same must be said for my capacity to partake in multi-course meals. Trips to the sea, although forever a treat, are now the most faithful and familiar of joys, and, taking my (sun) hat off to my Italian pal, I concur: it really is all about the lunch.
