Fewer than three hundred meters separate most Rome pasta and tiramisu making class venues from monuments that have stood for two millennia, yet the recipes taught inside predate even those stones. Egg-and-flour dough kneaded on wooden boards, mascarpone layered with espresso-soaked savoiardi — these techniques traveled north from Veneto and south from Emilia-Romagna, converging in Roman kitchens where home cooks refined them into the canon visitors now learn. The culinary workshops operating near Piazza Navona, the Pantheon, and Vatican walls occupy Renaissance-era kitchens, vaulted spaces that once provisioned cardinal households and now host marble counters set for eight to twelve participants. Every session follows the same arc: flour mounded into a volcano, eggs cracked into the well, then fingertips folding the two together until the mass becomes elastic. Instructors — many trained at ALMA, Italy's premier culinary institute in Colma di Langhirano — demonstrate the rhythmic press-and-fold that builds gluten structure, then step back while participants replicate the motion. Fettuccine emerges first, ribbons draped over dowels to dry while attention shifts to ripieno: ricotta-and-spinach filling for ravioli, each parcel crimped with a fork's tines. The dough's hydration ratio, the fold count, the resting interval — precision matters, and Roman chefs correct posture and technique with the same rigor applied in their Michelin-kitchens decades prior. Tiramisu assembly is chemistry simplified: whipped yolks and sugar become zabaglione, mascarpone folded in to preserve airiness, then espresso-dipped ladyfingers layered in glass. Participants taste the components separately — the sharpness of coffee against sweet cream — before the dish sets in a chiller. Most Rome cooking class tours conclude with a seated tasting: the pasta you rolled, dressed in butter and sage or cacio e pepe; the tiramisu you assembled, its cocoa dusting still fresh. Wine pours from Castelli Romani estates, and limoncello arrives in chilled thimbles, the alcohol bite smoothing the cream's richness. The workshops occupy diverse addresses — Via dei Fienaroli in Trastevere, Via della Lungaretta near Santa Maria, side streets behind Campo de' Fiori — but the curriculum remains stable. Regional variation exists: some instructors prefer Amalfi lemons for limoncello infusions, others source Sorrento fruit; certain venues use bronze-die extruders for pasta shaping, while traditionalists insist on hand-rolling alone. What unifies the experience is tactile immersion, the understanding that Roman cuisine is not spectated but performed, and that its simplicity — four ingredients, five steps — demands exactness at every turn.