Otaleg

Zabaione from a Roman counter

Marco Radicioni folds zabaione into the daily language of Otaleg in Rome, where he works as chef and gelato maker at the counter. Marco Radicioni arrived there by way of two Roman rooms: first the hotel Excelsior, then Claudio Torcè’s gelato shop on Via dell’aeronautica, which he managed before opening his own place. That order matters. Service came before authorship; another maker’s shop came before his own sign. In 2012, he opened Otaleg in the Colli Portuensi area of Rome, carrying a local apprenticeship into a craft that depends less on display than on repetition, proportion, temperature, and the nerve to let a flavor stay legible. His own account of the pull is plain: “I was excessively drawn to gelato. At least when I could buy it myself, because my parents did not. Maybe that is why I became obsessed with it.” At Otaleg, that appetite has become a discipline. The name is gelato written backward, a small inversion for a maker whose work still begins with the most direct question at the bench: what does this ingredient allow, and how far can it be carried without losing its shape?

The bench behind the glass

The program at Otaleg is built around classic gelato, fruit sorbet, and a seasonal range that can move from pistachio, hazelnut, fior di latte, dark chocolate, stracciatella, mango, and zabaione to more difficult territory. Bourbon vanilla with ginger, dragon blood plum, mascarpone with basil and lemon, cassata, mango chocolate chip, gorgonzola with white chocolate and hazelnuts, cacio e pepe, black olives, mustard, marinated fennel with white wine vinegar, and panzanella all belong to the shop’s published repertoire. The most precise marker of Radicioni’s hand remains the gelato allo zabaione made with organic eggs and milk and Florio’s Targa Riserva 1840, where Marsala is not an aromatic suggestion but a named ingredient carrying structure into the mix. The shop is also known for an open laboratory, a glassed-in place where the making stays visible. That transparency changes the counter. The reader of the flavor card can also watch the method, the churn, the handling, the movement from base to finished gelato. Nothing about it needs theatre when the work is in view.

Between San Cosimato and San Calisto

The room on Via di S. Cosimato, 14a sits in Trastevere, between Piazza San Cosimato and Piazza San Calisto. It has the polish of a modern gelateria rather than the softened patina of an older Roman bar, and the open laboratory gives the place its center of gravity. The counter carries both comfort and provocation: a guest can stay with pistachio or dark chocolate, then meet black olives or mustard in the same line of sight. Fruit sorbets move with the season, and vegan flavors have a clear presence at the counter. The effect is not novelty for its own sake. Radicioni’s training gives the room a service rhythm, while the bench keeps returning to composition. A flavor has to stand up in the cup.

A Roman lineage kept at the counter

The important line here is not a grand dynasty, but a set of named Roman addresses: the Excelsior, Claudio Torcè’s shop on Via dell’aeronautica, Otaleg. Each one put Radicioni closer to the craft he now practices in public, with the hands visible and the choices exposed. If the counter changes with the season, the through line remains the same: a Roman maker, a gelato bench, and a zabaione tied to Florio’s Targa Riserva 1840.