Genoa
Twice in my life, a local has asked me why I would want to visit their hometown. The first time, I was lost in an alley in Hell’s Kitchen, NYC, it was 1986.
The second was this summer in Genoa. I thought I was pretty smart, I found a super cheap hotel near the old port. Turns out it was smack dab in the middle of the red light district. Why isn’t that marked on the map? Winding our way up the super narrow and filthy alleys, passed propositioning, middle-aged, spandex-clad, hookers, we found our hotel. The first-floor room was akin to a hospital room, reasonably clean but stark, all business. Across the narrow alley from our room’s window was a mosque, where they felt the need to use a microphone for prayers, in a 15 x 15-foot room multiple times throughout that night. Needless to say that without earplugs
So we locked our bags to the radiator and decided to do a walkabout.
Gran Ristoro
We asked the hotel owner where we could grab a good sandwich and he directed us to the Gran Ristoro on Via Sottoripa.
It’s a sliver of a place, with not much room to hang around and eat so most just take their food to go or sit outside. As we stood, waiting, we noticed that everybody around us was local. The guy behind the counter was giving me the eye when I diffused him with a smile. He started speaking in broken English, focusing the attention of all the patrons on us and asked where we were from. The conversation continued with him asking more questions like where were we travelling etc., so we told him and listed most of the cities we had visited around Italy. Then he asked, very sarcastically, “…all those beautiful places! Why did you come to Genoa?” getting a good laugh from his patrons. We didn’t really have an answer. It was a one night stop between two destinations but we were now wondering if it may have been a mistake. He laughed and we changed the subject to their sandwiches and ingredients. They had everything from prosciutto cotto to spianata, boasting over 100 sandwich combinations. The sandwiches looked good, on crusty buns with all the meats and cheese sliced fresh in front of you. We decided on culatello and fontina for Tim and prosciutto and provolone for me, made to order, served with a side of local sarcasm.
Genoa, on the other hand, wasn’t really our style although it may be worth another try to see whether it can change our opinion.
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