The feverish atmosphere of Campo De’ Fiori runs through Rome on a sunny day, while the shadowed gaze of Giordano Bruno’s statue watches over the bustling market filled with people, in a chaotic whirl around the square. It’s the frenetic flow of a postcard-perfect city, interrupted by a few merchants shouting to the local housewives, “Signo’ (Lady), do you want all these artichokes trimmed or do you want them whole?”

The capital city shows itself in all its well-known contradictions: the cinematic beauty that clashes with a chaos of flashy signs ready to fuel the downtown traffic. Yet, wandering down a narrow street branching off from the heart of this chaos, you stumble upon an oasis of tranquillity with a prominent sign: Luciano Cucina Italiana.