Walking down the narrow, cobbled streets of Rome, you're suddenly stricken with a twinge of hunger. Looking up, you see one of the many indistinguishable signs hanging off the facades of the city's ancient buildings:

Entering through the open door, you're greeted with a hearty "Buon Giorno!" from the exuberant young woman behind the bar. She smiles patiently as you mangle her native language in an effort to extract from her a pastry, a panino, or a pizza. And when you have completed your order, she extends a hand toward one of the two tiny tables in the back corner of the bar: "Prego," she says, offering you the best seats in the house.

Stop right there, gringo. This barrista is not your friend. And if you take her up on her offer, you will have tripled the cost of your meal.

The urban Italian bar cum tobacconist cum coffee shop cum deli counter is an utterly foreign concept to most tourists, especially Americans. You will find a bar on almost every corner in Rome, and each one offers a veritable cornucopia of convenience foods. You can get a glass of white wine at 8:00 a.m. You might order a bus ticket and a pack of cigarettes with your morning cappucino. A refrigerated glass case protects an array of breakfast pastries -- more on those in a future post -- alongside stacks of ready-to-press panini and pre-baked pizzas waiting to be reheated.

Underlying the Roman bar experience is a cultural aesthetic of dining that is at once alien and familiar to the urban American. Italians tend to do their best eating at night, over a well-laid table, amongst family and friends, over the course of several hours. During the day -- and especially on weekdays -- meals tend to be hurried and spare. The best pizzerias aren't open until the dinner hour, and lunch at most other restaurants is largely designed for tourists needing a break from sightseeing (a prix-fixe lunch is referred to as a menu turistiche, to give you some idea). An Italian breakfast, if taken at all, generally consists of just a cappucino, perhaps with a pastry on the side (again, more on that another day). If you're doing as the Romans do, your daytime meals will typically be brutish and short, albeit not necessarily nasty.

The American rat race would seem to amply prepare us for this experience. How many of us take lunch seriously anymore? We're used to grabbing a slice or a sandwich on the fly, eating at our desks, and being through with the whole affair in twenty minutes or less. Breakfast usually consists of two cups of coffee -- one at home and one at the office. What about the Roman bar experience can possibly surprise us?

Back to the outstretched hand of our barrista. It's the chairs. A Roman bar has a marble counter at which the typical Roman will stand while nursing a coffee, a glass of wine, or a breakfast pastry. The panini and pizza are generally taken to go. But you spend your whole life eating on the run, and that's frankly why you needed a vacation in the first place. The barrista knows this. That's why she doesn't tell you that the prices listed above the counter and in the glass case are bar prices. For the privilege of dining al tavolo -- at table -- you must pay table prices, which typically range from double to triple the bar rate, not including your American-sized tip. But hey, you aren't really going to begrudge this friendly native a few extra euros if it means you'll be more comfortable during your vacation, right? Call it price discrimination if you will, but I detect the mark of the invisible hand, which I can't rightly fault.

Besides, even table prices at a Roman bar are fairly reasonable -- or they would be if the dollar had any buying power these days. And some establishments refer to themselves both as bars and "cafés," blurring the boundary between bar and restaurant, offering a selection of antipasti, salads, even pastas and entrees at comfortable -- and often outdoor -- tables. Slices of proscuitto crudo, bresaola, and salami; a nugget of mozzarella di bufala; a half-liter carafe of the house red: these are the types of commodities that don't depend on kitchen preparation, and can be found at lots of the larger bar-cafés. And since Rome's best restaurants tend to be tucked away in its hidden back alleys, even the snobbiest foodie may be willing to pay for ambience: the bars of Rome always seem to have the best views.