The oldest gelateria in Rome, in the family since 1890, a few lanes from the Pantheon
Since 1890 โข Say yes to the panna โข Steps from the Pantheon
Explore โ Get Early AccessBetween the Pantheon and Montecitorio
Four generations of the same family
Till by the door, receipt to the counter
The whipped cream is the house signature
Giolitti began in 1890, when Giuseppe and Bernardina Giolitti opened a small dairy on Salita del Grillo whose milk soon reached the royal household. Their son Nazzareno moved the family business to Via degli Uffici del Vicario, added gelato to the counter, and the rest is the longest-running ice cream story in the city. The shop is still in the family, four generations on, and still churns to recipes worked out by the family decades ago. In a city obsessed with the old, this is the old guard of gelato.
The shop sits around the corner from Palazzo Montecitorio, and the coppetta in the hand of a hurrying deputy is a small Roman tradition of its own. The guest book runs deeper than politics. The story goes that Gregory Peck had Giolitti gelato brought in while filming Roman Holiday, and when the Obama family came to Rome, it was Giolitti that scooped for the girls. None of that would matter if the gelato slipped, and it has not.
The system trips up first-timers: pay at the till by the door, then carry your receipt to the marble counter and call your flavours. Our order never changes: the fico caramellato, a creamy caramelized fig we have never found better anywhere, next to a scoop of walnut. The crema and the pistachio are flawless benchmarks if you want the classics. Then comes the only rule we insist on. When they ask about whipped cream, say yes. The panna here is a flavour in its own right, piled in a soft cloud over the cup, and skipping it is the one mistake we made only once.
We have come back on every visit to Rome, in June, in September, in the thick of July, and the routine never changes. See the Pantheon, walk the three quiet blocks north, and join the crowd under the sign. The shop runs late into the evening, and the best hour is after dinner, when the terrace fills, the neon comes on, and half the neighbourhood turns up for the same thing you did. A cup in hand on the walk back through the lanes is Rome working exactly as intended.
The sign appears over the lane a block from the Pantheon, and the terrace under it never seems to empty.



A case running the length of the room, labelled in Italian and English, with the gelato worked in deep steel tubs.



Four visits in, the order has settled: a coppetta, two flavours, and always the panna.




The sign switches to green neon after sunset and the queue barely shortens; gelato is an after-dinner ritual in Rome.
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