Anyone who’s ever attended a Roman wedding knows that the claim “You can’t have a bad meal in Rome” is a straight-up lie. Terrible catering monopolies have cornered that market, pumping out factory-made mediocrity for huge profit. Shockingly, these same culprits run the food at the Stadio Olimpico, where VIP lounges serve up troughs of terrible dishes to Rome’s richest fans, who happen to have awful taste.

For everyone else, the pregame meal is provided by the city’s rough-and-ready kiosks, affectionately dubbed zozzoni (literally “very filthy things”), or by the camion bars, grim food trucks selling dry porchetta sandwiches, bottles of Ceres beer, Bacardi Breezers, and shots of Borghetti, Rome’s cult coffee liqueur. It’s definitely not fancy, and it’s barely good, but at least it’s honest.

There’s no elegant way to eat a sandwich from a zozzone, and that’s the entire point. You grab something dripping in mayo and oil, scarfing it down before making your way to the entry turnstiles with a few plastic containers of Borghetti in your pocket to fuel you through ninety tense minutes inside the stadium.

Getting to the Olimpico is half the experience: squeezing into crowded trams echoing with chants, or crossing Ponte Duca d’Aosta amid waves of giallorosso-clad fans (Lazio merda). As you approach the stadium, grilled meat and greasy fries scent the air, mingling with the smoke from the stadium’s flares in team colors. The zozzoni and camion bars are already hard at work fueling the faithful.

After a win, you might stick around for another drink or greasy sandwich. The only viable option after a loss is heading straight home for mom’s spaghetti.