It supposedly was the signature pasta of Pope Pius XII, but had he tasted some of the versions of it I was served, I suspect history might have let this dish fade from memory. Mushy noodles coated in sticky-dry over­scrambled eggs, all punctuated by limp peas, flaccid strips of deli ham and either not nearly enough cheese or so much it obliterated all other flavors.

Which is a hard sell for what ultimately would be one of the best, most indulgent pastas I’ve ever eaten.

Let me rewind. We’re talking about pasta alla papalina, which roughly translates as pasta for the pope. Now almost 100 years old, it has become a classic—if little known—Roman pasta. As the story goes, during the early 1930s, then-Cardinal Eugenio Pacelli asked Cesaretto Simmi, a restaurateur with several eateries near the Vatican, if he could prepare a lighter, more sophisticated version of the traditional Roman carbonara.

Carbonara—rich with guanciale and sharp pecorino Romano cheese—was considered a brash dish. “So my grandfather went to my grandmother and said, ‘Make carbonara, but use prosciutto instead of guanciale and Parmesan instead of pecorino,” said Simmi’s granddaughter, Elisabetta Simmi, who now has her own restaurant in Rome. And yes, pasta alla papalina is on the menu. “The cardinal suggested it and my grandfather created it, a softer carbonara.”

It worked because both the cheese and meat were lighter, more nuanced options, which toned down the intensity of the carbonara. The cardinal supposedly was pleased, dining at the elder Simmi’s restaurant often. A few years later, he went on to become pope and “his” pasta gained fame, becoming a mainstay of Roman restaurants.

But history wasn’t kind to this dish (nor to the pope, whose legacy has been dogged by accusations of aiding the Nazis during World War II). At some point, many chefs replaced the prosciutto with deli ham and—good lord, why?—added canned peas. They also lost the knack for only adding the eggs off heat, allowing them to warm slowly and emulsify into a creamy sauce, rather than curdle into an oddly scrambled mess. Hence the state of the dish when I ate my way through Rome.

It seemed a recipe not worth reviving. That is, until I ate at restaurant Mamma Angelina in the north of Rome. There, chef Andrea Dell’Omo was willing to go off menu for me, researching the history of the dish and creating a version that took it back to Simmi’s. Prosciutto. Parmesan. Gently whipped egg yolks. All tangled together deliciously.

It took Dell’Omo all of about 30 minutes to make, and when he mounded it on my plate, creamy and golden, it was … stunning. All the rich comfort of carbonara, but Elisabetta Simmi was right. It was softer. Truly, a pasta fit for a pope.