genesis
After the worlds of theatre and gastronomy, Marco Funaro brings to the Mercato Trionfale a pasta dough of the Bolognese school, rolled solely by hand and filled with the vibrant accent of Rome.
Before the rolling pin, there was the stage. Marco Funaro emerged from the theatre, studying dramatic arts and working as an actor and entertainer; he then chose to remain closer to Rome and entered the culinary realm, a world that continues to bestow upon him what he has ever sought: direct communion with the people.
For years he managed I Bufalini, an establishment dedicated to the artisanal treasures of Cilento and Campania. Sublime products, curated, prepared, and narrated with devotion, yet ultimately crafted by other hands. At a certain point, he felt the calling to measure himself against something that would bear his signature alone. Not merely to select or to purvey, but "to create with one's own hands."
The answer lay waiting in a passion nurtured since childhood: fresh pasta. Funaro left his previous endeavour, sought knowledge, journeyed to Bologna, and attended the professional course at the academy founded by Alessandra Spisni. There, he mastered the lexicon of the Emilian sfoglia: eggs and flour, the wooden board, the pressure of the palms, and the rolling pin. No machine allowed to usurp the sacred gesture.
alchemy
From this change of scene is born Lo Sfoglino Romano, at box 139 of the Mercato Trionfale. The name itself contains the vision: to preserve the technical rigor of Bologna without forsaking the city where that pasta is rolled anew each day. Bologna dictates the method; Rome infuses the fillings, the flavors, and the sagacious wit.
Alongside tortellini, balanzoni, tagliatelle, and ricotta and spinach ravioli, there thus appear cacio e pepe ravioli and carbonara tortelli, whilst the market inspires variations born of available produce and the rhythm of the seasons. Not a forced overlap of traditions, but a dialogue: the structure of the Emilian dough welcomes the Roman culinary repertoire and translates it into a new guise.
Each dough is kneaded by hand, and every sheet of pasta is rolled exclusively with the rolling pin, according to a practice now rare even among artisanal workshops. It is a choice that demands time, toil, and precision, yet renders the result unmistakable: a pasta that retains the tension of the physical gesture and its inevitable, precious imperfection.
In just over a year, the small workshop has become a culinary landmark, and Funaro has already trained two apprentice sfoglini. Behind the counter, the concept of a school is also taking shape, even if bureaucracy renders the path less straightforward than the rolled dough.
Of the theater, meanwhile, there remains the pleasure of the audience, the joy of invention, and a certain inclination toward surprise. Each new filling may become a scene; the counter, a small stage. The eggs are cracked, the flour is poured, and the performance begins anew.
provenance
genesis
After the worlds of theatre and gastronomy, Marco Funaro brings to the Mercato Trionfale a pasta dough of the Bolognese school, rolled solely by hand and filled with the vibrant accent of Rome.
Before the rolling pin, there was the stage. Marco Funaro emerged from the theatre, studying dramatic arts and working as an actor and entertainer; he then chose to remain closer to Rome and entered the culinary realm, a world that continues to bestow upon him what he has ever sought: direct communion with the people.
For years he managed I Bufalini, an establishment dedicated to the artisanal treasures of Cilento and Campania. Sublime products, curated, prepared, and narrated with devotion, yet ultimately crafted by other hands. At a certain point, he felt the calling to measure himself against something that would bear his signature alone. Not merely to select or to purvey, but "to create with one's own hands."
The answer lay waiting in a passion nurtured since childhood: fresh pasta. Funaro left his previous endeavour, sought knowledge, journeyed to Bologna, and attended the professional course at the academy founded by Alessandra Spisni. There, he mastered the lexicon of the Emilian sfoglia: eggs and flour, the wooden board, the pressure of the palms, and the rolling pin. No machine allowed to usurp the sacred gesture.
alchemy
From this change of scene is born Lo Sfoglino Romano, at box 139 of the Mercato Trionfale. The name itself contains the vision: to preserve the technical rigor of Bologna without forsaking the city where that pasta is rolled anew each day. Bologna dictates the method; Rome infuses the fillings, the flavors, and the sagacious wit.
Alongside tortellini, balanzoni, tagliatelle, and ricotta and spinach ravioli, there thus appear cacio e pepe ravioli and carbonara tortelli, whilst the market inspires variations born of available produce and the rhythm of the seasons. Not a forced overlap of traditions, but a dialogue: the structure of the Emilian dough welcomes the Roman culinary repertoire and translates it into a new guise.
Each dough is kneaded by hand, and every sheet of pasta is rolled exclusively with the rolling pin, according to a practice now rare even among artisanal workshops. It is a choice that demands time, toil, and precision, yet renders the result unmistakable: a pasta that retains the tension of the physical gesture and its inevitable, precious imperfection.
In just over a year, the small workshop has become a culinary landmark, and Funaro has already trained two apprentice sfoglini. Behind the counter, the concept of a school is also taking shape, even if bureaucracy renders the path less straightforward than the rolled dough.
Of the theater, meanwhile, there remains the pleasure of the audience, the joy of invention, and a certain inclination toward surprise. Each new filling may become a scene; the counter, a small stage. The eggs are cracked, the flour is poured, and the performance begins anew.
provenance
genesis
After the worlds of theatre and gastronomy, Marco Funaro brings to the Mercato Trionfale a pasta dough of the Bolognese school, rolled solely by hand and filled with the vibrant accent of Rome.
Before the rolling pin, there was the stage. Marco Funaro emerged from the theatre, studying dramatic arts and working as an actor and entertainer; he then chose to remain closer to Rome and entered the culinary realm, a world that continues to bestow upon him what he has ever sought: direct communion with the people.
For years he managed I Bufalini, an establishment dedicated to the artisanal treasures of Cilento and Campania. Sublime products, curated, prepared, and narrated with devotion, yet ultimately crafted by other hands. At a certain point, he felt the calling to measure himself against something that would bear his signature alone. Not merely to select or to purvey, but "to create with one's own hands."
The answer lay waiting in a passion nurtured since childhood: fresh pasta. Funaro left his previous endeavour, sought knowledge, journeyed to Bologna, and attended the professional course at the academy founded by Alessandra Spisni. There, he mastered the lexicon of the Emilian sfoglia: eggs and flour, the wooden board, the pressure of the palms, and the rolling pin. No machine allowed to usurp the sacred gesture.
alchemy
From this change of scene is born Lo Sfoglino Romano, at box 139 of the Mercato Trionfale. The name itself contains the vision: to preserve the technical rigor of Bologna without forsaking the city where that pasta is rolled anew each day. Bologna dictates the method; Rome infuses the fillings, the flavors, and the sagacious wit.
Alongside tortellini, balanzoni, tagliatelle, and ricotta and spinach ravioli, there thus appear cacio e pepe ravioli and carbonara tortelli, whilst the market inspires variations born of available produce and the rhythm of the seasons. Not a forced overlap of traditions, but a dialogue: the structure of the Emilian dough welcomes the Roman culinary repertoire and translates it into a new guise.
Each dough is kneaded by hand, and every sheet of pasta is rolled exclusively with the rolling pin, according to a practice now rare even among artisanal workshops. It is a choice that demands time, toil, and precision, yet renders the result unmistakable: a pasta that retains the tension of the physical gesture and its inevitable, precious imperfection.
In just over a year, the small workshop has become a culinary landmark, and Funaro has already trained two apprentice sfoglini. Behind the counter, the concept of a school is also taking shape, even if bureaucracy renders the path less straightforward than the rolled dough.
Of the theater, meanwhile, there remains the pleasure of the audience, the joy of invention, and a certain inclination toward surprise. Each new filling may become a scene; the counter, a small stage. The eggs are cracked, the flour is poured, and the performance begins anew.