T A B L E_T A L K Share advice for the solo female traveler in a Wanderlust conversation in Table Talk   How-to, why-not and what-for -- find it all at barnesandnoble.com Search by:  Keyword Title Author     R E C E N T L Y Hungarian rhapsody By Julie Jindal An encounter with an intimidating waiter is transformed by an unexpected feast (04/01/99) Honeymoon turbulence By Rosemary Berkeley For really getting to know someone, there's nothing like a 10-hour flight where everything that can go wrong, does (03/31/99) Going without at Ramadan By Emily Zuzik At the beginning of the Muslim fast, a traveler decides to do as the Marrakeshans do (03/30/99) Mediterranean reverie By Anne Dowie Nestled in the rugged mountains overlooking the Ligurian Sea, Cinque Terre is the source of endless scenic and culinary delights (03/28/99) Ring in the loser By Mark Schatzker What you do on New Year's Eve 1999 says more about your economic -- and social -- status than anything else (03/26/99) Browse the Wanderlust Feature archives Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner		The roasting of the lambs In a city like Rome, renowned for its gastronomical pleasures, Eastertide induces a sort of collective ecstasy of good eating. BY DAVID DOWNIE | The old Roman lady wrapped in a long fur coat wobbled straight at us down the narrow, cobbled sidewalk. We were near the Piazza Navona, smack in the center of Rome. The woman was short, and her upper body and face were hidden behind a giant chocolate Easter egg wrapped in gold foil. The foil squeaked and crinkled as she teetered along in her high heels, oblivious to anyone else in the throng. My wife and I stood aside to let her pass. She jostled a portly man who was just then stepping out of a butcher's shop bearing what we hoped was a spring lamb. Either that or he'd just murdered a small child and tossed the corpse over his shoulder. The lamb-bearer and the lady with the giant egg did a jig on the sidewalk and soon were tripping over a half-dozen school kids rushing by clutching Kinder eggs, milk-chocolate eggs with a toy hidden inside -- the bane of most Italian parents. Italian kids throw fits any time of year if they don't get their Kinder eggs, but especially around Easter. The old lady, the fat man and the kids somehow managed to share the sidewalk without disaster. I watched the youngsters gobble their eggs and merrily toss the litter aside as in some ancient ritual dance. "I'll bet that's what you used to do at Easter," my wife said as I shook my head at the diminutive litter bugs. "No," I quipped, "there were no Kinder eggs back then." Ever since my brief Roman idyll as a child, Easter week has been my favorite time to revisit the city I once loved above all others. The shops are done up like colorful Fabergé eggs -- hung with ribbons, overflowing with chocolates and incredible seasonal edibles. The winding cobbled streets in the car-free parts of town -- much of Rome's historic center, these days -- are brisk and pleasant, redolent of spring flowers and roasting lamb. And in a city like Rome, where restaurant entertaining is the object of an age-old cult, Eastertide induces a sort of collective ecstasy and feeding frenzy among its denizens. A spring storm hits overnight, a wild mushrooming of trattoria tables on sidewalks and squares. The tables are usually dressed with cloths of a strange orange hue, presumably chosen because it's the most efficient at absorbing and hiding the combined stains of meat juices, pasta sauce and wine. I'm always among the season's first outdoor diners, even if it means catching a cold. What, after all, beats tucking into pyramids of stuffed zucchini flowers, mounds of fresh fava beans, artichokes alla romana and platters of abbacchio -- spring suckling lamb -- while sitting outside among the zig-zagging Vespas and the old ladies carrying giant Easter eggs? Last year my wife and I decided to spend Easter week in Rome. She'd lived here for six years as a child and had her own rituals, so before she'd allow me to settle in for an endless lunch on the first day we arrived, she marched me over to the Piazza di Spagna and the luscious stone staircase known as the Spanish Steps. We clambered up through the sea of fellow tourists and sat among the potted azaleas, a jungle of pink, red and white blooms that have been displayed on the steps -- one of the world's great urban amphitheaters -- for countless years. It was wonderfully kitschy to sit there and be photographed among the blossoms, a scene lifted from a cheesy Cinecittà movie from the 1960s. We climbed to the top of the steps and took in the picture-postcard view from the nearby church of Trinità dei Monti, which was so crowded with happy pilgrims that we couldn't get in. By the time we'd reached the panoramic Pincio park a few hundred yards west of there atop one of Rome's nine hills, I'd remembered another reason I loved to visit Rome at this season. Starting in March, a brigade of benign gods and goddesses get busy greening the city's countless terraces nestled among the russet-tiled roofs of weathered palazzi. Peering down on them from the Pincio, you can see the kitchen herbs mixed with the tangled purple bunches of fragrant wisteria. A heady display. Abutting the Pincio to the north, the lawns in the landscaped Villa Borghese -- the biggest park in central Rome -- were flecked with daisies and wild mint. The scent of the mint rose up in the sunshine as lovers frolicked on the grass. Above them the usually unremarkable Judas trees -- known in America as red bud trees -- splashed their clotted blooms along their main branches, as if blood were spurting out at every knot. Even the old pines and cypresses, so dusty and drab in summer, as if lifted from an ancient tomb painting, now were green and full of new life. We walked back to the Pincio and took in the view over the Piazza del Popolo, a vast oval square that's almost entirely free of car traffic. Beyond the obelisks and the monumental towers, the crumbling columns and campaniles, Saint Peter's dome rose in the distance, the huge horseshoe-shaped square in front of it already thronged by Paschal pilgrims. N E X T+P A G E | The city as a delicious, creamy layered confection - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Become a Salon member. Click here.