Salt

Salt has been crucial to Roman cuisine since antiquity, so much so that the ancient Via Salaria was built specifically to bring it inland from the salt pans near Ostia. The Latin word sal even gives us “salary,” thanks to soldiers getting a salt-buying stipend called a salarium. While they probably weren’t literally paid in salt, the connection stuck. Ancient Romans preserved meat and anchovies with salt, laying the groundwork for prosciutto and garum . And Romans today remain devoted salt enthusiasts. I use sea salt from Trapani—the coarse kind for salting pasta water, and fine for seasoning food as I prep, cook, and bake.

Black Pepper

Pepper arrived in ancient Rome from the Far East via the spice routes from India and quickly became a high-priced addition. The historian Pliny even complained about Rome’s pepper spending habits, but that didn’t stop anyone. Unlike Sicily’s cinnamon-and-clove palate, Rome runs on pepper to this day, notably in Cacio e Pepe , where its bite perfectly pairs with salty Pecorino Romano. Freshly cracked, coarsely ground, or lightly toasted, pepper technique is serious business here. Always use fresh whole peppercorns. I’m partial to the fragrant black Sarawak variety from the brand Maricha sourced from Malaysia. Toasting it compromises the aromatics so I skip that step.

Herbs

Few herbs are more iconic in Roman cooking than mint. But we’re not talking just one type. Mentuccia, nepitella, and calamint are often confused, even in Italy, where names and plant varieties vary by region. In Rome, mentuccia typically refers to Clinopodium nepeta (also known as Calamintha nepeta), a wild herb with a grassy, minty, slightly oregano-like flavor. It’s essential in Roman dishes like Carciofi alla Romana, where it’s combined with parsley to season artichokes, and often appears in Trippa alla Romana . Nepitella is a synonym often used outside Lazio, especially in Tuscany, to refer to the same plant. The English term “calamint” usually refers to Clinopodium nepeta as well, though it can also include related species. Confused yet? To complicate matters, mentuccia and nepitella are sometimes mistranslated as “pennyroyal” in English, but Mentha pulegium is a different species, toxic in large doses, and not used in cooking. If you can’t find mentuccia, fresh mint is an acceptable substitute. Parsley also plays a central role in Roman vegetable dishes. Rosemary and sage season lamb roasts, marjoram occasionally appears in soups and braises, and bay leaves are used in grilled liver and stews. Basil is used sparingly (this isn’t Naples, after all) and dried oregano is mostly reserved for pizza sauces. With the exception of oregano and sometimes bay, Roman cooking favors fresh herbs added at the right moment to preserve their aroma and complexity.

Garlic

Garlic sparks endless Italian debates. Rome uses it strategically—neither as liberally as the south nor as heavily as in Italian American cooking. Instead, Romans toast it gently in olive oil for Ajo, Ojo, e Peperoncino , crush it raw into anchovy dressings, or mellow it roasted whole for slow-cooked lamb dishes. Knowing when to hold the garlic—and when to fold it—is the Roman cook’s trick. It’s your choice whether to togliere l’anima (remove the shoot inside, literally “remove the soul”) before cooking with it. In an informal survey, I determined that most Romans do.

Pecorino Romano DOP

Sheep’s milk cheese predates Rome’s empire, fueling armies with its salty umami punch. Ancient Romans loved it, and Cato the Elder even mentions it in De agri cultura . Modern Pecorino Romano is DOP (Denominazione di Origine Protetta) certified, which guarantees that it is produced, processed, and packaged in a specific geographical area using traditional methods. Accordingly, it is made according to strict rules: ewe’s milk, rennet, salt, and a minimum aging period of five months for eating, eight for grating. Despite most (97 percent) of Pecorino Romano coming from Sardinia these days, it remains Rome’s signature cheese. It defines carbonara, cacio e pepe, and amatriciana. Look for Fulvi brand, one of the few producers still based in Rome.

Parmigiano-Reggiano DOP

Cow’s milk Parmigiano-Reggiano may be from near Parma, but it found a home in Roman kitchens, too. Milder and nuttier than Pecorino Romano, it’s aged delicately between twenty-four and thirty-six months. Roman cooks often blend it with pecorino to tame the saltiness of pasta dishes, or they grate it into Suppli al Telefono and Lasagna della Domenica .

Ricotta

Technically not cheese but a whey-based dairy product (its name means “re-cooked”), ricotta dates back to when shepherds wasted nothing. It’s an everyday staple: spread on bread or used to fill pasta. Roman ricotta, typically made from sheep’s milk rather than cow’s, also stars in festive sweets like Torta di Ricotta e Visciole . If you’ve got a local dairy farm or can drive out to Brothers Creamery ricotta, use theirs rather than the bland supermarket brands. In the US, cow’s milk ricotta is by far the most common. As long as it’s high quality, it makes a fine substitute for its sheep-based counterpart.

Anchovies

Romans have obsessed over anchovies for millennia, from garum (the ancient fish sauce) to the dressing used for today’s puntarelle salads. These salty, umami-packed little fish are often served straight up with bread and butter at wine bars and some trattorie. Quality anchovies from Spain’s Cantabrian coast are particularly revered (especially in salads) and are maybe the only foreign product that Romans universally recognize as superior. Regular oil-packed anchovies work fine melted in butter for pasta sauces, but if you’re eating the anchovy uncooked or on its own, reach for the good stuff in extra-virgin olive oil. Anchovies are more about depth than fishiness, vanishing into dishes to enrich and transform without overpowering, making them indispensable to Roman cooks.

Guanciale

Guanciale is the undisputed king of Roman cured meats: fatty, funky, and utterly essential. Unlike pancetta, which is pork belly, guanciale is made from pork jowl, giving it a richer, fattier bite and a deeper flavor. These days, it’s the only socially acceptable form of pork for carbonara, amatriciana, and gricia, though Romans love a good argument. Cured simply with salt and black pepper, it releases luxurious, porky fat when heated gently in a pan. Mastering guanciale means balancing crispness and moisture. Golden, rendered bits make the difference between an average pasta and a life-affirming one. Sourcing quality guanciale in the US can be tricky. I recommend upstate New York’s La Salumina and the Bay Area’s Fra’ Mani. Or you can substitute pancetta.

Extra-Virgin Olive Oil

Extra-virgin olive oil might be the defining ingredient of Roman (and Italian) cooking, mainly because lard’s PR took a nosedive. Ancient Romans used olive oil for everything: cooking, skincare, religious rituals, even lighting up the lamps in their villas. These days, the area of Sabina, northeast of Rome, produces some of the best stuff around. My pick is Azienda Agricola Fagiolo’s Cru di Cures, though I’m equally obsessed with my friend Joy Kull’s La Villana oil from Gradoli in northern Lazio. In Roman kitchens, extra-virgin olive oil isn’t only for cooking—it’s a condiment, drizzled generously over vegetables, soups, and grilled meats. Skip the industrially produced junk; a proper Roman oil should taste grassy, peppery, and just a touch bitter. When frying, I often use extra-virgin olive oil. It’s a myth you can’t (or shouldn’t) fry in it. Frying temperature is below its smoke point. I buy in bulk, so it’s not as expensive as it sounds. Otherwise, I fry in neutral oils like canola, sunflower, or grapeseed.

Canned Tomatoes

Italians might seem genetically predisposed to love tomatoes, but the fruit didn’t even reach Europe until the sixteenth century; it was initially greeted with suspicion (and a few poison scares). By the eighteenth century, tomatoes had won southern Italy’s heart, eventually migrating north and becoming essential in Roman dishes like Amatriciana, Coda alla Vaccinara , and countless ragùs. Whole peeled canned tomatoes (pomodori pelati), particularly from Campania, offer the rich, deep flavor essential to these dishes. But here’s the thing: The famed San Marzano DOP tomatoes aren’t always worth the hype, especially considering the industry is rife with fraud, sketchy labor practices, and mafia connections. Instead, I stick with producers I’ve personally vetted, like Gustarosso. And don’t sleep on domestic producers like organic Bianco DiNapoli tomatoes from California! Also, steer clear of canned chopped tomatoes; those are usually made from underripe rejects. Whole tomatoes let you spot and toss any questionable bits yourself. I mostly use whole canned tomatoes and crush them by hand, but a few of my pizza recipes call for passata (unseasoned tomato sauce).

Peperoncino (Chile Pepper)

Like tomatoes, chile peppers came to Italy from the Americas in the sixteenth century. While southern Italy leans heavily on pastes and dried chile flakes, Romans prefer fresh or dried whole peperoncini, little, fiery chiles that provide brief and mild heat to balance fatty, rich dishes. Crushed red pepper flakes are common, too.

Artichokes

In Rome, artichoke fever peaks from January to early May, when the tender Carciofo Romanesco del Lazio floods local markets. This IGP (Indicazione Geografica Protetta) protected variety boasts spineless leaves and a tender, meaty base. Sure, you’ll see carciofi romaneschi used loosely in labeling, but the real deal tastes unmistakably Roman, whether braised gently or fried crisp. Unless you’re in Rome during artichoke season, you might struggle to perfectly replicate Carciofi alla Romana or Carciofi alla Giudia —but hey, it’s worth trying. Just look for young, tender artichokes and believe in yourself!

Chicories

Romans have an unmatched love affair with bitter greens, and no veggie holds more sway than cicoria. At the market, cicoria could mean wild or cultivated chicory, basically whatever’s bitter and green. Quickly blanched, then sautéed with garlic, olive oil, and chile, cicoria ripassata in padella is Rome’s go-to side dish. Puntarelle, the bolted stalks of Catalonian chicory, get shaved thin and tossed with anchovy vinaigrette into Puntarelle alla Romana , Rome’s iconic winter salad. Find them at farmers’ markets in the Northeast and Pacific Northwest.

Dried Pasta

Rome is proudly a dried pasta city; fresh pasta is beloved but less practical for feeding the masses. From Rigatoni con la Pajata to Spaghetti alla Gricia , Rome’s iconic pastas rely on dried shapes to handle rich, glossy sauces. Buy the highest-quality pasta you can afford. My picks are from Pastificio dei Campi, Faella, Mancini, and Benedetto Cavalieri. Besides proper shopping, the secret is mantecatura, the vigorous tossing of pasta with sauce and starchy pasta water, creating a silky emulsion that transcends the humble ingredients. There’s logic behind which shapes pair best with sauces, and Romans aren’t shy about reminding you.

Eggs

In Roman cooking, eggs are transformative. Take carbonara: Eggs, guanciale fat, and Pecorino Romano emulsify into Rome’s iconic creamy sauce, no cream necessary, just the balance of timing and heat control. Egg whites give pasta dough strength; yolks lend rich silkiness. Opt for pasture-raised eggs from hens fed a non-GMO, organic diet when possible. Yolk color reflects the hens’ diets: Natural feeds like marigolds or corn yield yolks with vibrant orange hues. But it’s worth noting that many industrial producers, both in the US and Europe, feed their hens synthetic additives to influence the color of their egg yolks!

Abbacchio (Suckling Lamb)

Romans eat lamb with reverence. The tradition of abbacchio (young milk-fed lamb) goes back to pre-Christian rituals and remains a centerpiece of Roman feasting, especially at Easter. Unlike the grass-fed lamb found in most of Italy, the milk diet produces tender, subtly sweet meat without gaminess. Befriend a farmer or butcher and snag the youngest lamb you can. True abbacchio is seasonal, fleeting, and unmatched. If that’s not in the cards, regular lamb will still get you most of the way there.

Quinto Quarto

Roman meat consumption is built on offal. The city’s quinto quarto (“fifth quarter”) tradition originated in Testaccio’s slaughterhouses, where nobles got prime cuts, leaving butchers with heads, tails, and organs. Rather than sulk, Romans turned scraps into iconic dishes. Trippa alla Romana simmers honeycomb tripe in rich tomato sauce and is finished with Pecorino Romano and minty mentuccia. Coda alla Vaccinara braises oxtail with celery and tomatoes. Rigatoni con la Pajata and Coratella are acquired tastes, and worth the effort to seek out. Except for tripe and oxtail, which are easy enough to shop for in the US, sourcing other cuts of offal often requires charm, luck, or a resourceful butcher.

Legumes

Legumes are the backbone of traditional Roman cuisine, the kind of food that kept Romans alive before meat was a daily luxury. Chickpeas, lentils, and beans star in countless soups, stews, and pasta dishes. Pasta e Ceci is winter comfort, chickpeas breaking down into a creamy garlic-and-rosemary-infused sauce. Its hearty cousin, Pasta e Fagioli , layers rich, earthy borlotti beans into fragrant vegetable broth. Lentils take center stage in Pasta e Lenticchie , a straightforward soup perfect for cold days. Romans favor borlotti beans, those pink-and-white speckled beauties sold already shelled at markets, more than other varieties; borlotti turn nutty and brown when cooked and are generally more common in Rome than cannellini. The recipes here call for dried beans, which deliver deeper flavor and perfect texture. Cooking times will vary depending on how long you soak the beans and how fresh they are.

Vinegar

Roman food can be rich and leave you starving for some acid to brighten things up. You won’t always find it, but a few dishes like Abbacchio alla Romana and Pollo alla Cacciatora offer some tangy relief. Always use high-quality wine vinegar. Save the balsamic for Bolognese, Modenese, and Emilian food.