If you ever want to see a Roman absolutely lose their mind, read aloud the ingredients from the carbonara recipe in the 1956 edition of Ada Boni’s landmark cookbook Il Talismano della Felicità: pancetta, butter, onion, white wine, eggs, Parmigiano-Reggiano, parsley, and black pepper. While her condiemnto captures the basic structure—eggs, cheese, and cured pork—the details would spark a full-blown identity crisis in today’s Rome. These days, there’s a sacred canon: guanciale (pancetta only in emergencies), Pecorino Romano (don’t even think about Parmigiano-Reggiano), black pepper, eggs (mostly yolks), and dried pasta—spaghetti or rigatoni only. No alliums, no herbs, no vino. Capito? Despite its now-orthodox formula, carbonara is a relatively recent addition to the Roman canon. In postwar Italy, recipes were fluid, ingredients varied by availability, and everyone’s nonna made it a little differently—often scrambled. Believe it or not, some Roman grandmothers never made the dish at all. It wasn’t until the late twentieth century that carbonara was codified, becoming a symbol of the city itself. In Rome, the purity of carbonara is generally protected, while outside, even in other parts of Italy, it’s gone rogue. Peas, cream, bacon, and even tofu have made appearances in various chefs’ interpretations. And while most Romans will scoff at these versions, the evolution of carbonara reminds us that even the most sacred dishes have a history of change. Even within Rome’s walls, some long-standing deviations exist: in the Jewish Ghetto, kosher kitchens adapt the dish with carne secca (cured beef) in place of guanciale and omit the cheese; and at Al Moro, their carbonara-adjacent cult classic, spaghetti alla Moro, calls for smoked pancetta and dried chile flakes. What matters most is using great ingredients and mastering the technique: silky, not scrambled eggs, crisp guanciale, and a salty, peppery punch. Inspired by versions at Baccano, Salumeria Roscioli, Santo Palato, and Pipero, I use the double boiler method so the eggs take on a creamy, zabaione-like consistency.