In Rome, pasta alla carbonara isn’t just a dish — it’s a standard. People don’t really ask if it’s good. They ask if it feels right. And for a Roman, that difference is obvious right away. Over the years, I’ve eaten carbonara all over the city: central restaurants, small neighborhood trattorias, even at people’s homes.
At first, I thought it was just personal taste. Then I started noticing something more specific: some carbonaras worked immediately, others didn’t quite land. They weren’t bad — just slightly off, like polished versions missing that unmistakable Roman identity.
