So you want to learn how to make fresh fettuccine pasta like a real life Italian? Here's my nifty step-by-step guide on how to make your own fresh pasta. Straight from the mouth of a real life Roman

Heavy on the carbs. That’s the way to do Rome. You need the pasta really. How could you possibly wiz around all those sites on anything less than a carbohydrate rush? 

Pasta in Rome is delightfully faff and fuss free. So simple, so delicious, so completely diet-destroying. 

Here are the big blockbuster dishes: 

Few foods inspire such a ferocious response from people as 'offal' does. Tell someone you've prepared offal for tea and you'll likely receive a barrage of onomatopoeia - 'bleurghs', 'eurghs' and probably a bit of gagging.

Rarely will you hear the words 'PHWOAR! Entrails? Please do pass over the plate!'

But, unless you are a Vegetarian, you cannot say you have eaten properly in Rome unless you've tried offal. Oxtails, brains, calf intestines and lamb inners are all menu stalwarts in Rome. 

Rome is a haven for gelato. There are probably just as many gelateria as there are churches in the city, from huge labyrinths offering over 250 flavours, to pokey windows, to gourmet establishments offering everything from pistachio to parmesan. 

Rome is to the gelato afficiando, what Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory is to Augustus Gloop. 

Here’s my guide to three of my favourite gelato in the city (all natural of course): 

My bathroom scales will attest to how much I have consumed in Rome. 

Here's my guide to the top five street foods you must not miss in Rome

'Saltimbocca' literally means 'jump in your mouth'. Such an apt title of a dish I have never known - these tender, tasty little morsels of meat literally melt in your mouth.  

Decadent breakfast debauchery at its finest. A maritozzi con la panna is a sort of raisin studded breakfast bun (not dissimilar to a brioche), sliced in half and filled with enough whipped cream to warrant a pieface slapstick sketch. 

What’s not to love?

I thought us Brits were masters of a pig sandwich. Most of us have grown up on a Saturday morning diet of sausage sarnies and bacon baps. We’ve all enjoyed a great big gorgeously greasy hog roast on Bonfire night. 

Sadly, I think the Roman counterpart comes up trumps - a panino con porcehetta puts our sad and limp water-pumped sausage slapped between two slices of white hovis to shame.