After getting stuck in a museum for an additional hour or so by what we later heard was the largest hailstorm in memory in Turin and first finishing a warming bicerin in the closest open café, I ordered a half carafe of Dolcetto, a grape that is widely planted in the region. It was shockingly awful, even when I felt in need of a drink, suggestive to me more the output of a process plant than a winery. My mom, who long has had a tolerance for very inexpensive wines, said it tasted “worse than a bad jug of Gallo.” That was just the first of three mostly bad carafes of house wines.
 
During my first few trips to Italy, when both my wallet and palate were lighter, I really enjoyed the house red wines. That was often in Tuscany, though, where there is more inexpensive good red wine than elsewhere in Italy. But that held true a little over a decade ago, too.
 
The second bad one was at a humble and unexpectedly quite good trattoria in the hills overlooking Santa Margherita Ligure. The salumi and cheeses to start were terrific, even at times rustic. With the first sip of the red wine from the carafe, I pronounced to my chef sister-in-law, “This is grim-tasting.” The seven of us at the table didn’t come close to finishing it. The third was in a humble, friendly spot in over-touristy Portofino. The meal satiated the hungry, the fizzy white wine called Verduzzo – maybe actually from Friuli – was mediocre, maybe that.
 
The last carafe was actually quite tasty and well-made, a Dolcetto, too. After a couple pleasing sips I looked at the glass bearing the name of the winery, Cantina di Nizza, the nearby cooperative winery where we had more than a few surprising and each very enjoyable boxes of wine in varying sizes and labels with low prices.
 
With more wineries eschewing vini sfusi, wine sold in bulk, inexpensive carafes of wine are seemingly tougher to get in restaurants in Italy. Also, I am certainly asking for more these days.

While finishing an excellent dinner at the trattoria Scannabue in Turin’s San Salvario neighborhood at the very start of the trip to Italy last month, we audibly noticed a dish just brought to the table next to us. The two diners at it, who had been speaking only in Italian, happen to respond in excellent English, one currently living in Seattle.
 
Friends originally from Bologna, after some talk about the dishes on the table, wine and the restaurant, we learned that they had once run a website that recommended restaurants throughout Italy as both traveled to much of Italy for work and vacation but eventually felt they could not compete with better-funded sites and publications like from Gambero Rosso. Hearing that led to more questions from me about which regional and local cuisines in Italy they thought were in the best.
 
The relative merits of regional and local cuisines in Italy is a topic of interest to many, myself definitely included. Italian geography and history – along with a climate suited to many wonderful fruits, vegetables, grains and wines – has given the country numerous distinct and often thrilling dishes and culinary traditions. Many of these have found homes in the U.S. As Italy has become wealthier after the Second World War, more people can fully partake in those, expanding old traditions while new ones have also arisen. And restaurants in Italy are better than ever.
 
Being from Bologna, the two thought Bolognese cuisine was the best, of course. That food exemplified by a richness featuring fresh pasta like tortellini and ragù Bolognese, and lasagna and foodstuffs like prosciutto, mortadella and Parmigian-Reggiano is often the top choice of many Italians I’ve queried over the years, but which would assuredly be after their hometown cooking wherever that was. The also-rich Piedmontese cuisine, known best for the luxurious aromatic white truffles each fall, was likely second, and that Turin was a great city in which to dine. They agreed with me that Tuscan was surely overrated and less interesting, though it does have Italy’s only culture of steak; Marchigiano from across the Apennines is certainly better, as the Marche is actually more beautiful, too.  And they quickly dismissed the Milanese cooking: “It only has two dishes.” Two dishes? I asked. There is costoletta, osso buco and risotto alla Milanese, to start.  “Costoletta and rice with the sauce of the osso buco, that’s just two.”  Maybe they passionately hated both AC and Inter Milan.
 
That was humorous, and typical of still-current Italian regional and local chauvinism. But he might have had somewhat of a point about Milan. Noted Italian cookbook author Ada Boni wrote, even in the 1960s, that “Good Milanese cooking is rare in the city itself, but in the old part of the city and in certain trattoria in the outer suburbs it may still be found by the enterprising and inquisitive gastronome.” And the city has certainly changed in the intervening six decades while it has drawn more people from elsewhere in Italy elsewhere.
 
I feel the need to dine some more in Milan. And elsewhere in much of Italy, for that matter. I have to Sicily and the Sicilian cooking, with access to large fish like tuna and swordfish and other seafood is regarded to be among the healthiest in Italy along with being very flavorful. Roman cooking has given the world, and tourist Italy, the famed pasta dishes cacio e pepe, all ‘Amatriciana and Carbonara. And a fourth, that they don’t’ publicize anymore, Alfredo. There is also carcioli all romana and carciofa all giudi pinzimonio, abbacchio, suckling lamb, porchetta, saltimbocca and pizza al taglio and a trattoria tradition for robust than elsewhere. Neapolitan, often quickly cooked excepting its famed Sunday ragù, has given much to the Italian-American fare I grew up with is probably my favorite though I have spent less than a week in the Naples area. Pizza, spaghetti, and marinara, octopus, mussels, clams, squid often topping that pasta. Mozzarella. Eggplant Parmesan. Among some of the others, Venetian, with its fruits of the Lagoon, robust, delicious Abbruzzese, and lighter Ligurian, with its olive oil-laden pesto, focaccia and dishes with small fish.
 
It’s a fun subject to muse about the regional and local Italian cooking, as we did for a little while with some strangers who were quite passionate about it. I have since thought what should be included when talking about cuisines. The dishes, the foodstuffs, maybe the wine, too, and likely the quality of the restaurants, which is where nearly all of us experience the cuisines.
 
More research is needed, even if the question doesn’t really need to be answered. Just explored.

Needing to restock after returning from two-and-a-half weeks in northwestern Italy then France, I stopped at the big Kroger on 11th Street the other day, the one with a nice wine selection, and felt compelled to pick up at least a couple of bottles of wines labeled “Nebbiolo.”
 
Before the trip, which was largely in Piedmont, I hoped to learn more about the region’s star grape, Nebbiolo, that becomes Barolo and Barbaresco in its most exalted forms. A visit to 13 Celsius prior to leaving and sampling a 2022 G.D. Vajra Langhe Nebbiolo had convinced me that these were worth exploring, too. Nebbiolos are the lesser-aged, less fussed about, easier to drink and much more affordable, if less complicated bottlings from the Barolo and Barbaresco producers. I returned also with an enthusiasm about those.
 
These Nebbiolos were created, in part, to provide income while the Barolos and Barbarescos are aging, similar to the Rossos from Montalcino and Vino Nobile in Tuscany. But Nebbiolos have struck a cord, certainly at least where it is produced, becoming the everyday wine for nearby Alba and much of the area, at least for younger drinkers, I was told, displacing Dolcetto, long the wine found on most lunch and dinner tables. This has been helped by the changing climate that has made the fickle and late-ripening Nebbiolo grapes easier to grow well. As Aldo Vacca, the former head of Produttori del Barbaresco, said on Levi Dalton’s podcast: “There are really no bad vintages anymore.” Like Barolos and Barbarescos, Nebbiolos are better than ever and there is more of it, too.
 
Nebbiolos don’t have the complexity nor depth of flavor of the Barolos and Barbarescos, but exhibit the pleasant red fruits and maybe a spiciness with noticeable acidity and tannins. But those tannins, especially, are muted compared to the younger Barolos and Barbarescos that are on most restaurant menus, and what most people here drink at home making a Nebbiolo often a better choice with the meal. This was my experience at lunch recently at Campamac, an ambitious, Michelin-cited restaurant in the village of Barbaresco. When I asked for a Nebbiolo – I had to have something with that grape in Barbaresco – the enthusiastic, youngish sommelier recommended what turned out to be a beautiful Bruno Giacosa from the 2022 vintage that he thought was more approachable than from the previous year. It went quite well with the agnolotti with wild goose and the Torinese take on the Milanese. He commented that the famed Bruno Giacosa was the second best Barbaresco producer after Gaja. By all accounts, true.
 
In addition to possibly being quite satiating and satisfying on their own, the Nebbiolo wines are also a chance to understand the winery better and determine whether or not you want to spend the additional money for their Barbaresco or Barolo. “Nebbiolo is a preview for Barbaresco and Barolo” according to Michela Cucca, my host when I visited Produttori del Barbaresco a couple of weeks ago. I was told at another winery that if you like their Nebbiolo, you will like their Barolo or Barbaresco. Davide Abram at Pio Cesare told us that “The better the Nebbiolo, the better the Barolo and Barbaresco.”
 
You can find Nebbiolos for around $20 to $30 retail. I quite enjoyed the Nebbiolo from Produttori del Barbaresco that has been available in Houston for a while, but I didn’t feel like paying $27 at Kroger for it after buying a couple of bottles for €15 a piece at the winery. The higher tariff is certainly worth it, though.
 
If you enjoy Barolo and Barbaresco, you should definitely seek out a Langhe Nebbiolo or a Nebbiolo d’Alba. Or if you just enjoy Old World wines are looking for a reasonably inexpensive wine to accompany a meal, you might give one a try.

Last week, driving to Santa Margherita Ligure from Piedmont, I instigated a lunch stop in Recco to sample the famed Focaccia di Recco at its source, Manuelina. This is, in fact, its commercial originator way back in 1885. I was in the area and had to make a small detour try it.
 
Most Houstonians might only know, even if just by name, Focaccia di Recco from the version at Rosie Cannonball, a stalwart on its menus since opening a few years ago that has drawn raves and press from Alison Cook in Houston Chronicle, Eric Sandler in CultureMap and Houstonia among others. Quite distinct from the puffy, familiar focaccia found throughout Liguria, which I love – usually flecked with some rosemary when I have to order it – the Recco version features unleavened dough and is essentially a baked, thin, flat sandwich filled with cheese. Consisting of two very thin pieces of olive oil-laden dough featuring finely milled “top quality” high-gluten flour interspersed with dollops of stracchino, a creamy, mild fresh cow’s milk cheese from Lombardy, then drizzled with more olive oil, some salt and it is finally baked in circular cutouts in copper pans in a moderately hot oven until crisp.
 
Arriving at the table looking a lot like a Tex-Mex quesadilla, the result is that kind of cooking alchemy that you happily come upon every now and then, with the combination of seemingly simple straightforward components makes for something much more interesting and amazingly pleasurable. At the first bite I could understand why this dish has resonated so loudly. The classic version with just cheese, La Focaccia di Recco col formaggio IGP – it has its own protected designation – was crisp, gooey and wonderful. It made me think of a lighter, more refined, more Italian version of a grilled cheese sandwich. We also ordered version topped with slices of culatello, the cured heart of the prosciutto, and another with nduja, the greasy, piquant Calabrian fresh sausage. Both were terrific, though my favorite was the original, unadorned, and I had a tough time not picking up yet another wedge. With good reason Italian dining guidebook author Fred Plotkin called over a quarter century ago, “probably the most addictive food on the planet.” Even my Parisian-trained pastry chef sister-in-law was dutifully impressed with the focaccias.
 
Though the Focaccia di Recco was the reason for our stop, the rest of the meal was excellent and you can be assured of having a very enjoyable time without even ordering one. Anchovies and butter to start then a traditional Ligurian pansotti, a stuffed pasta, in a walnut sauce were both superb. The attention to quality extended to the top-notch German-style pilsner on tap from a long-standing small brewery in the Veneto and a tasty bottle of Rossese di Dolceacqua – which is not always so as we were to find out later – from the very short list of wines. Service was efficient, friendly accommodating and the lunch was comfortable and delightful throughout. The adjacent ristorante is Michelin-recommended and the quality of this focaccia-focused trattoria is indicative of the great utility of the Michelin guide, even for the related restaurants.
 
But, it you are going to visit, get the Focaccia di Recco, as every table in the dining room did, too.
 
Manuelina Focacceria Bistrot
Via Roma 296
16036 Recco (GE)
manuelinafocacceria.it/recco/

Returning from two weeks in northwestern Italy, I was struck how often I saw anchovies and butter on menus, first in Turin then elsewhere in Piedmont and later Liguria. A composition that always includes bread, sometimes toasted, might initially seem odd to most American diners. But the combination of salty, maybe slightly oily anchovy filets and rich, soft cultured butter along with a base of bread for works very well and makes for an excellent initial bite when dining out. It’s also an item that used to be seen fairly often on Italian menus of old in this country, part of the outsize legacy of immigrant restaurateurs from Piedmont many decades ago.
 
Though not near the ocean, Piedmont has a long culinary tradition with preserved anchovies from trade with nearby Liguria. It’s also got more cows than most other regions in Italy and long influence from butter-loving France just across the Alps.
 
My first experience with it on this trip was during lunch at Campamac, an ambitious, Michelin-cited restaurant in the village of Barbaresco. It arrived dramatically as an amuse bouche on three separate plates: oil-cured anchovies from Liguria, softened butter already portioned and a thick slice of slightly brown, rustic, freshly made sourdough bread. It made for a delicious couple of bites and start to the meal. A few days later at the excellent, casual Manuelina Bistrot in coastal Recco, I ordered the Pane, burro d'Isigny e acciughe salate del cantabrico for 10 euros – under the heading “Per Iniziare,” to start – sourcing widely to feature the lauded, creamy, rich butter, whipped, from Normandy and artisanal, salt-cured Spanish anchovy filets atop a thick, cracker-like toasted bread. A little different, with a more softened, lighter butter and more contrasting texture, I really enjoyed it also, a terrific preface to the rest of the meal.
 
This is a simple dish that I wish would make a return to menus here. Only three ingredients, but which need to be of high quality for it to work. It’s something easy to do at home, too, well-suited for entertaining guests as appetizers who might be at least somewhat open-minded.

Just returned from an enjoyable two-and-a-half week vacation in northwestern Italy and across the border in Nice. The wines of Piedmont, arguably Italy’s top region for red wine and wine overall, were a prime reason for the itinerary. An indicator of quality, the region is home to the most number of DOCG wines – the country’s top classification – at 19 – Tuscany is second at 11, and it also has the most of the second highest, DOC, tied at 41. Piedmont’s most famous wines, Barolo and Barbaresco, were on the docket and I visited several top producers, but most of the wine I drank was most commonly planted red grape there, the almost always enjoyable, and often much better than that, Barbera. And most of that came from a box. Several boxes, really. It was too palatable and fairly too easy on the wallet.
 
Among the wineries I had scoped out before the trip was one I had never heard of before, Cantina di Nizza, the local cooperative, which was just a six-minute drive from the house we rented. The reason was that it sold some of its wine in boxes, 10-liter boxes, something that I had never heard of, and for a song. I felt I had to pick one of those giant packagings. And, maybe, my family drinks wine quite readily. But these wines, in a half-dozen different versions, were easily the best wines I have ever had from a box, including at least a couple that Eric Asimov had touted last year. The Barbera Fruttoso, made with unclassified grapes, was easy to consume, 12.5% alcohol, with nice berry on the nose and palate, balanced acidity, and a fairly long, mostly smooth taste; well-noted as “ideal as a table wine, to accompany everyday lunches.” It was priced at a ridiculously low tariff of €22,50 for 10 liters. That works out to $1.81 per 750 ml bottle, while tasting better than probably most of the $15-20 bottles I purchase here. This would be a daily drinker if available here, even at a much higher price.
 
The best wine in a box we had was the L’Audace, a Barbera 2020 DOC, with a richer, more pronounced and serious taste at 14.5%. We went through a couple boxes of this, too, albeit at the punier 5-liter size, but pricier €23. Not just these two, but another Barbera option, Corposo, a fuller expression than the Fruttoso, was also very nice. And I especially enjoyed a Cortese DOC. These are good wines. Each of the several boxes we tasted were quite well-made as I am sure the other ones are, also. There are ten wines available in boxes, from 3- to 10-liter.
 
I’d recommend visiting Cantina di Nizza if in the area. It has a number of other wines, in bottles, some of which have earned two bicchiere from Gambero Rosso, best value citation also from Gambero Rosso, and medals from the top British wine publication, Decanter, ranging from under €10 up to just €24. Though less atmospheric than most other wineries in the region, the wines are of high quality and even those in box can be tasted before buying. I found it fun to sample wine poured straight from a 10,000 or so-Hl stainless steel holding vessel, which was quick and unpretentious, if a tad incongruent with the caliber of the wines.
 
Cantina di Nizza
Strada Alessandria, 57
14049 Nizza Monferrato (Asti) – Italy
 
tel. +39 0141 721348