One thing which constantly surprises me in Rome is how good everyone’s hair is. The universally magnificent manes are as disturbing as they are impressive.
Moving on, after battling with the transport system to get to my hotel room, I found myself suffering from debilitating hunger pangs. A quick search of the local area saw me eating near Piazza Bologna in a Pugliese street food restaurant called Mató. I asked them what the best dish was for someone travel-weary. I was served a delicious provola; eggplant; spicy salami and rocket salad Pucce. Honestly, it was precisely what I needed. 
The combination of premium quality Pugliese ingredients made for a medley beyond my expectations. When you’re away from Italy for almost two months, you forget how good the food is. Those from Puglia are constantly trying to push the idea that their food is the best in the country. While this Suggestor humbly disagrees; they make a strong argument.
In addition to Pucce; Mató also make a wide varieties of foccace with some truly delectable toppings. Quite a few of them have bechamel sauce, which is difficult to get right. It goes without saying that each of the treats proffered were of high quality and, given the vast number of clients there while I ate, high repute.
I was impressed by the speedy service and delectable dining experience. Mató is perfect for those exhausted and looking for a fast and fantastic fix. Its proximity to Bologna metro station makes it even more accessible. Or if you hated the food there, you’d have an easy escape.
My hotel was all of 13 minutes’ walk from Mató. I liked it so much, I feel I need to include a photo. But in addition to showing off I must draw your attention to the portly man in the window towards the left of the photograph. This man has an exceptionally noisy method of renovating old apartment complexes. I wanted to point him out and shame him for waking me up on a perfectly pleasant Tuesday morning.
Following the theme of dramatic black and white photography (a new favourite of mine), I wanted to include a photo of my dear friend Edoardo and I having an aperitivo at Rec23. Being British; I managed to arrive half an hour before our scheduled meeting. While nibbling on some divine bechamel and pancetta pasta; I was accosted by another man also called Eduardo, spelled with a ‘u’ on account of being from Ec’u’ador. The Edorado pictured is from Lazi’o’. Tout s’explique.
I mention the Eduardo encounter because he made me laugh more than I have in quite some time. He was in Rec23 as part of a language exchange programme. Rec23 is famous for having really awful cocktails. Mine tasted like paint stripper. I intimated this to Eduardo. He looked at me, shocked, and asked: “how does your cocktail taste like painted strippers?”. I cried ugly tears.
In all seriousness, go to Mató. Don’t go to Rec23 for the cocktails. Unless Eduardo is there.