Oldgreytravel remembers being amused by the determination of a certain famous music mogul on Desert Island Discs to assert that each of his eight choices were in their own terms, “the best in the world.” There could be no argument. This was the best power ballad in the world, this the most powerful rock opening and so on. Needless to say, the choice was excoriating and said more about the boundless ego of the subject than a thousand words.
It did, however, get oldgreytravel to wonder about his favourite restaurant in the world. Impossible really, there are favourite meals, the orange and fish risotto in Sicily or favourite settings, the little beachside bar in Majorca in the ‘60’s, but a favourite restaurant – food, ambience, service and comfort all to be considered. Perhaps only a mythical place, like George Orwell’s perfect pub, The Moon under Water, as described in his classic 1946 essay, can really fulfil all one wants from a restaurant.
For oldgreytravel, it has to be a family-run Italian restaurant. No pretensions, wooden chairs and tables, a bar to one side, no nonsense lighting. Father or mother has to be in the kitchen and one or the other, or possibly a grandparent, sitting behind the till. At least one of the daughters has to be serving table and the menu has to be limited to a few classics and, perhaps a rather tired display of cold puddings and flans in a display cabinet. Wine has to be strictly local and modest and coffee fresh and dark. It also has to be small, small enough for a shout to carry to the kitchen, chasing up orders or querying what’s left on the menu.
It goes without saying that tourists have to be a rarity. This is a local’s place. No special effort is made to attract the foreign visitor, no English translation, no concession to foreign taste. That’s not to say you will not be welcome. Civility and hospitality are imbued in the DNA of this establishment, it welcomes all with open arms but you must take it as you find it.
Occasionally, just occasionally, one stumbles across just such a delight, as happened to oldgreytravel on a cold and wet January lunchtime in Turin. A random choice of place, of course it is in no guidebook, just off one of the main thoroughfares of the city. It was warm, welcoming and …… perfect. Catering primarily for the lunchtime needs of city centre workers and shoppers, they were focused on the swift delivery of perfectly cooked traditional staple dishes with no pretension or fuss. I can barely remember what I ate, or drank, but it was delicious and I could have stayed there all day – it was almost like being part of the family. So dumbstruck was oldgreytravel by the perfection of this place that he failed to take note of its name, and even if he did, I am not sure he would want to tell you. Its general location is known and I have a photograph of its interior, so I will return to Turin one day and seek it out, but, for now, let’s just call it “the best restaurant in the world.”
