Mastering More Than Pasta at the Roman Table with Romina Sukunda

Article by: Janna Tamargo | Photography by Clay Williams | Published July 24, 2025

In Rome’s historic Borgo district, near St. Peter’s Basilica and the Vatican Museums, Romina Sukunda’s cooking school isn’t just about mastering pasta, it’s a doorway into the Eternal City’s layered past.

The kitchen itself dates back to the Middle Ages, built between the 1100s and 1200s. For centuries, it served as one of the Vatican’s official grain storage units. The original terracotta bricks, vaulted ceilings, and remnants of an ancient oven still whisper stories of when wheat, stored here after arriving from the water mills on the banks of the Tiber, was a symbol of wealth and civilization. Vicolo del Farinone, the alley just outside, takes its name from this history: farinone means flour.

Today, the space is a hidden gem reimagined. It’s equipped like a professional kitchen but feels more like home. Warm, inviting, and layered with centuries of history, it’s the perfect backdrop for Romina’s deeply personal and cultural cooking experiences.

In a quiet Roman neighborhood, far from the crowds of the Colosseum and the Trevi Fountain, pasta dough is being kneaded with purpose. Laughter floats above the flour-dusted countertop. There’s music playing softly, maybe a little wine poured. This is not a restaurant, and it’s more than just a cooking class. This is Romina Sukunda’s kitchen, and for a few hours each day, it becomes a third place, a space of connection, culture, and conversation, all kneaded into handmade pasta.

Born and raised in Rome, Romina never strayed far from her roots, even when she traveled. “Even if I’ve been traveling or was living abroad, I’ve always been very attached to my Roman roots,” she says. “When I got back, I was like, how could I live anywhere else?”

Romina runs a popular pasta-making school called Rome Cooking Class, but what she teaches goes well beyond technique. Her classes are immersive cultural exchanges, where food is the medium and the message.

“Food for us is not just cooking and eating. It’s a ritual. It’s a way of sharing, socializing, getting to know each other—it’s how we enjoy life.”

What Does “Authentic” Even Mean?

Romina doesn’t shy away from the loaded word “authentic.” For her, it means being real, about ingredients, methods, and especially meaning. It’s about showing visitors what Italians eat and how they eat it. That includes the long meals, the lingering conversations, the way time stretches when a good plate of carbonara is in front of you.

“When people leave my class and say, ‘Oh, I wish we could have stayed longer,’ that’s my goal. That’s what I love. Because it means they felt what it’s really like to live and eat here.”

Her classes focus heavily on pasta, not only because it’s globally loved, but because it reflects something deeper about Italy’s culinary soul. Pasta is both personal and national; regional and unifying.

"It’s the perfect vessel for sharing tradition."

“Everyone can make it. It’s interactive. And it’s really at the roots of our culture. It’s Italian in its soul.”

Preservation Through Practice

Roman cuisine is famously “cucina povera,” or peasant food, resourceful, humble, and deeply flavorful. Dishes made from the quinto quarto (offal) like tripe or oxtail stew were once at risk of fading from restaurant menus. But Romina says a recent resurgence in appreciation, especially from younger chefs, is helping reclaim and celebrate these foods.

“I would have said those recipes were getting lost, but in the past ten years, there’s been a return to our roots. Great chefs are making traditional foods again. The trend is to look back.”

That return-to-the-roots mindset extends beyond the kitchen. Romina sees it in agriculture, in wine, and in foodways across the Mediterranean. She believes it’s part of a broader cultural reawakening that rejects homogenized, globalized tastes in favor of regional identity.

Remix or Rebrand?

Of course, in a city that thrives on tourism and trends, reinterpretations of classic dishes are everywhere. Think: cacio e pepe pizza or gelato flavored like pizza bianca. Romina laughs, half amused, half skeptical.

“I’m not a big fan, no. It’s marketing. It’s fun to watch it happen, but I don’t know how long these things will last. Maybe not as long as classic cacio e pepe.”

Even if it’s not always her style, she sees the creative spin as part of the food’s evolution. “It’s keeping the conversation alive,” she admits. “Even if it’s a little weird for Romans.”

More Than a Meal

If you ask Romina who she’d most love to share a table with, she won’t name a famous Italian chef or a current celebrity Roman actor. Instead, she says, “My grandmother. A hundred percent.” And then, without missing a beat: “And Anthony Bourdain.”

The mention of Bourdain is fitting. Like him, Romina sees food as anthropology, intimacy, and memory. In her kitchen, students learn to roll dough of course, but they also learn what it means to slow down. To sip, to talk, to be present. To understand that for Romans, food is a way of life.

She later adds a few more names to her dream table: La Sora Lella, the legendary Roman actress and cook, and Zucchero, the Italian singer whose music often plays softly in the background of her classes. “Imagine that dinner,” Romina laughs. “My nonna, Bourdain, La Sora Lella, and Zucchero—it would be loud, delicious, and unforgettable.”

So when you sign up for a class with Romina, don’t expect just recipes. Expect stories. Expect culture. Expect to linger.

And expect to miss it when it ends.