The city of Rome has so many historical attractions that, in this note, I won’t mention any of the classic must-see monuments for first-time visitors to the Eternal City.
I’m going to tell you about the Roman gem in the Prati neighborhood, a place where you can get a small glimpse of how the residents of this millennial city live their daily lives: what they eat, how they interact, and how often they visit: Mercato Trionfale.This large covered market originated at the end of the 19th century, when it was an open-air market on Viale Giulio Cesare. In the 1930s, it moved to Via Andrea Doria, becoming part of the neighborhood’s urban growth.
In 2009, the modern market opened in its current building, a glass and concrete structure designed to improve services and hygiene, with an underground parking lot and other facilities.
Today, it has 270 stalls with the most varied food you could wish for. If you don’t find it here, it might not exist; a stroll through this market will welcome you to the paradise of Mediterranean food.
Chronicle: a Saturday at Mercato Trionfale
It’s Saturday morning, and both I and many people with traditional Monday-to-Friday jobs choose Saturday to walk around and do their shopping at the same time in the huge Mercato Trionfale in Prati. Tomorrow it will be closed, and even though I don’t need many things, I don’t want to miss the outing.
With my Roman husband, born in the Borgo Pio neighborhood, going to this market is practically a tradition. We meet his mom there, who knows the market like the back of her hand. For me, who grew up in a small Argentine town where we’re not used to markets like this, going to the market with my husband and mother-in-law is fascinating: it’s like being part of an interactive cultural and culinary museum.
There are several entrances: we always use the one on Via Santamaura, but my mother-in-law uses the main entrance on Via Andrea Doria, because the bus drops her right at the door.
Like many others we see passing by, my mother-in-law is prepared to buy a lot. With her rolling cart, we first stop at the small café in the back, where we have breakfast at 11 a.m. with cappuccino and a tramezzino filled with cooked ham and mozzarella. It has become a habit to start our Saturday morning shopping at this little café. They offer different huge soft bread sandwiches (“tramezzini”) with various fillings, and large cornetti with Nutella or pistachio.
Even though the place is crowded, my mother-in-law finds room to greet the guy and place her order quickly. Once we’ve eaten, the expedition begins.
—“Ma che prendiamo per pranzo?” —one of the first questions we ask. Alessio wants a tasty pasta with fish, I usually go for a small selection of cold cuts and cheeses, and Graziella wants to treat us both.
We first pass by the fruit and vegetable stand run by Mrs. Albania, who treats us very well. Her stall is one of the biggest, with more vegetables than fruits, and a selection of tomatoes of all sizes and colors. Then we go to buy taralli, olives, bananas, and some other interesting items at Andrea’s stand.
My husband’s friend has worked in this market for years and has three stalls with top-quality artisan products that complement each other. Andrea is always “a palla,” as Romans say, meaning he’s going a thousand miles an hour, running from stall to stall, shouting through the aisles and talking to multiple people at the same time. When he sees us, he greets us and chats a bit while guessing what we want.
—“Ti faccio un misto di taralli?” —he asks me, knowing I found the paradise of small round grissini in different flavors. A simple delight from Puglia: oregano, fennel, pepper, and olive oil. I say yes and he fills a plastic bag. Alessio secretly asks him to throw in a spicy one among the others, which he finds hilarious when, by mistake, it burns my tongue.
Amid the shouts of customers shopping, we get in line to buy fish. This stall is in the back and occupies a significant portion of space; they need room to display large tuna, salmon, clams of various sizes, anchovies, shrimp, etc. It’s clearly a family business: two teenagers are already helping their parents — the mother at the register, the father cutting the tricky pieces, the kids serving customers. In total, about six or seven people, all in continuous shouting with small conversations:
—“E come sta la nonna?”
—“Mamma wants me to tell you that last time the piece you gave her wasn’t good.”
It really feels like being in a movie. Sometimes the tone rises and I think they’re going to fight, but then they suddenly start laughing and we get caught up in it.
Alessio orders vongole for pasta and a mix of seafood to complete a mega pasta allo scoglio, one of our favorite summer pastas.
We still need pecorino romano, the best cheese in Italy, made from sheep’s milk and aged, used for certain pastas in particular, like pasta alla carbonara, my favorite, with egg and guanciale. With the cheese lady, my mother-in-law chats for a long time; we always buy from her and she already knows our names. While Graziella talks, we decide whether to buy prosciutto or not. We move to another stall a bit further away where they also sell meat, and we get burgers and two huge bisteccas.bién venden carne, y nos pedimos hamburguesas y dos mega churrascos que acá llaman bistecca.
The cart is full and we’re starting to get hungry. Time to leave, but not before stopping by the forno to get a nice piece of pane sciapo —yes, unsalted—for the bruschette. While placing the order, we run into a couple of friends with their dog and his mother, who, like us, are enjoying a Saturday morning shopping in the family.
Between the smell of freshly baked bread, cheeses, fruits, and fresh fish, I can’t help feeling that we’re part of something bigger: a community that celebrates everyday life through food. Every shouted greeting, every laugh, every quick joke between stalls makes me feel that Mercato Trionfale isn’t just a place to shop: it’s a place where stories, flavors, and happy moments of ordinary people mix together.
With the cart full, stomach growling, and that feeling of belonging to the Roman routine, we say goodbye to the market. We walk through the streets of Prati, among the bustle of people, traffic, and the occasional street vendor, and I think: just an ordinary Saturday that, unintentionally, becomes one of those memories that stick to your heart and your taste buds.