I am not sure the January curse has completely run its course in our home yet. There is no denying that we have been experiencing some lingering effects of this most unwelcome post-holiday storm. But I know I cannot keep complaining forever. And that doing so would probably prolong the spell that much longer. Which is why I should tell you about the few sunny days that preceded our hellish return to Paris.
As I mentioned last week, between the stressful Christmas day when I ended up losing it in my kitchen and yelling at everybody in sight – yes, I did that, - and our infamous return trip to Paris, we did have a lovely, restful time in Italy. This was a somewhat impromptu adventure, after our initial plan was cancelled, and certainly not something I expected to be doing when I first started thinking about the holidays this summer. But it worked out unexpectedly well and provided the escape that we all needed.
The idea of going to Torino was somewhat random, stemming from a conversation with an acquaintance at a school function. And I had heard of the city through a famous food blogger many of you know. But I never thought I would end up there, especially when we lived in the U.S. and our Europe trips were mostly limited to visiting my family in France. As we had to reimagine a holiday scenario towards the end of November, however, and I was thinking of reconciling our original sight-seeing plan with my children’s interest in skiing, Torino sprang to mind, a bit out of nowhere. A quick search informed me that it was only ninety minutes away from a big ski resort, and within a couple of days, it was done. The kids would get some outdoor fun and we grown-ups, our dose of culture, pasta, and Negronis.
In the holiday rush, however, I did not have a moment to think about our upcoming trip, and I had absolutely no idea of what to expect, beyond some Italian-speaking people, a charming piazza or two, and hopefully some good food. Call me ignorant, but until I lazily flipped through my husband’s Guide Vert on our hour-long flight, I hadn’t realized that Torino was home to the Agnelli family and the Fiat empire. Which left me quite indifferent, I must say. But I didn’t know, either, that the city was famous for its historic cafés, and that it was the birthplace of Gianduja – no to mention Nutella. I had a vague notion that Piedmont was famous for its hazelnuts, after sampling various kinds of “nocciola” gelato over the years. But gianduja? I just thought of it as an Italian version of praliné, which happens to be one of my favorite things on earth. Without being aware that this delicacy was tied to a single place, and that in addition to Fiat, Torino was home to Caffarel, and Ferrero – a much more impressive feat, in my opinion, despite the controversy surrounding Nutella ingredients. You all know my feelings about Ferrero rochers in December, after all. This is the non-gourmet, big business side of me that I just have to own, and for which I am not sure I can apologise.
So of course, no sooner had we landed, that I knew exactly what to do. We were to have a quick lunch and head straight for one of the cafés listed in my guidebook, where, hopefully, we would be able to sample gianduja in some of its forms. It turned out our hotel reception staff had other ideas, as they had failed to reserve the rooms we booked on Expedia. For a minute, it looked like we might instead spend our first day aimlessly dragging our suitcases in search of a place to sleep. But the Gods had not yet turned against us the way they did the following week in Paris, and a solution was quickly found. Which is how, after a rather disappointing lunch near Via Po, we found ourselves in caffé Fiorio, where we got ice cream as dessert – yes, I know, it was late December, but it wasn’t so cold, people, and this is ITALY. If you are familiar with the wonderful Ian Falconer's Olivia in Venice story that my children used to love, you will know what I’m talking about: there is no schedule for gelato, and just like Olivia’s family, we consume it whenever it strikes our fancy.
So, we ordered gelato – nocciola for me, obviously, - and my husband sampled the first thing that was on our list, aka the Bicerin. Another thing I had never heard about before, but which seemed to be designed just for us. Coffee topped with hot chocolate and whipped cream? What could go wrong? Absolutely nothing, in my book. But it turned out this Bicerin wasn’t the best thing we could sample in town. As I see it, the Gianduja hot chocolate we had the next morning at Baratti & Milano, was superior in taste and decadence. The main room being full, the host sent us outside to the lovely, but cold, covered gallery that he seemed to be reserving for the undesirable. Indeed, we were soon joined by a cohort of young couples with their strollers and nagging toddlers in tow. All we could do at that point was put on our hats and gloves, huddle around the table, and wait. And wait. A lot.
But just as my husband was ready to leave, to avoid the embarrassment of our boys running around and playing hide-and-seek behind the potted plants, the waitress showed us with one of the finest hot drinks I ever had the privilege of tasting. I am not a hot chocolate person, generally. My daughter, and my two little boys, would happily die for hot chocolate, which they sample in all of its forms wherever we go. But I do not share their passion, and will never order hot chocolate anywhere, even if that somewhere is Angelina. This time, however, not ordering was a mistake, and I soon found myself begging my five-year old to let me finish his half-full cup. The chocolate DID taste like hot Gianduja. Each sip melted in your mouth like a Nutella-y-chocolate lava cake, and I wanted more.
I expected to satisfy this craving as soon as the next day, as we set off early – early being 10 to 11 am in our family when we travel - to discover Al Bicerin, birthplace of the namesake coffee. But horror struck when it turned out that there was a long line and absolutely no space inside. Sure, there were tables outside, but it was the coldest morning we had had in a while after a mild December in Paris. There was no way we could last out there for more than a minute. After twenty-five minutes of fruitless waiting in the same cold, however, we decided that the terrace would be just fine. But horror stroke again when I realized there was no Gianduja hot chocolate on the menu. Just good old, regular, hot chocolate. We had to try the Bicerin, though. And this thing, my friends, was sublime. The cream tasted like British clotted cream, only slightly thinner, and deliciously cold against the warm chocolate and even warmer coffee. A sip of pure heaven. I now understood the look of panic in our waitress' eyes when I dipped my teaspoon in my glass. You should absolutely never, under no circumstances, mix your Bicerin. Should you forget this rule, the cream will warm up, as it had at Caffé Fiori, and the whole effect will be lost.
This little miracle of a morning drink should have been enough, and the end of our culinary adventures for the morning. But I am embarrassed to say that I also ordered Zabaglione, which we saw everywhere and turned out to be another Torino specialty. Yes, a champagne-glass of sorts filled with marsala-infused custard. For breakfast. It was glorious, and I do not regret my heresy for a second. In fact, I repeated the offense the next day, when we ventured inside of Caffè Fiorio for a last coffee treat before our flight. And had tried two kinds of Zabaglione by 9:30 am. The café enchanted me this time, with its small rooms reminiscent of 18th-century engravings. It felt like Voltaire, or Diderot, could show up at any moment. As much as I liked the old-fashioned and slightly faded décor at Caffè Torino the night before, Fiorio pleased me even more. And the zabaglione was simply out of this world.
Inside Caffè Torino
So, yes. Coffee, and gianduja, and zabaglione. This is what I will remember most from Torino. We did not have as much luck with our regular meals, as most of the places we wanted to try were either booked, or too fancy for our crew. But the sweets were glorious. And Torino charmed us with its understated, Italy-meets-baron Haussmann type of elegance, its piazzas, and arches, historic caffes and overall irresistible charm. I highly recommend it to all.
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