Italian dressing: Embracing the simple pleasures of Rome.

Publication: South Florida Sun-Sentinel (via Knight-Ridder/Tribune News Service)

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COPYRIGHT 2001 South Florida Sun-Sentinal

Byline: Thomas Swick

ROME _ A bumpy flight over a dark Adriatic, then a drizzly train ride into the city. The slick streets were an inspiration to my cabbie.

My room was a narrow space with a bed, and a window giving onto a melancholy courtyard. After two weeks in Croatia, four straight hotels with views of the sea, it had come to this. I inched my way down in the elevator and headed out into the soggy night.

The sign of a spaghetteria glowed at the end of a dark street. I walked inside and picked up a menu. The listing of pizzas ran for four pages, that for spaghetti took up seven. I ordered a spaghetti arrabbiata and a glass of chianti and taking my first sip thought: "Ah, I am in Rome."

I had been in Rome twice before. The first time was as a high school student, with the Latin Clubs of New Jersey. We did the sights in a chartered bus. Then, a few years ago, I returned with my wife to visit some friends who were on the first of several foreign postings. We spent a lot of time chatting in their Trastevere kitchen. History and domesticity.

Now I was in Rome alone. I could wander the streets. I could look for a sport jacket.

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Actually, I had acquired a sport jacket my last time here. My wife had "popped into" a store near the Piazza Farnese and pulled a coat off the rack that had a pretty dark green check with a subtle blue stitch running through it. I tried it on and _ this almost never happens at home _ it fit perfectly.

The only problem with the coat...

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