‘Potatoes AND vegetables sir? Don’t be absurd’

That’s the problem with starting a new blog that involves reviews: you need a positive one to get started. The atmospheric, gloomy winding maze of alleys that weaves through the centro storico of the under appreciated port city of Genoa is riddled with inviting looking trattorie and bars; from polished, well-lit operations to tiny doorways left open onto what appear to be front parlours.

There are 4,628 registered food outlets in the old town alone* so you can’t really go wrong, can you? After all, with the exception of the most touristy parts of Venice you’re never going to eat badly in Italy.

But there are degrees of perfection and, having belatedly started a blog that will serve as a pretty transparent excuse to trawl the eateries of the city, it was a mistake to stick to my principles and start with an unknown quantity. We should have kicked off at Archivolto Mongiardino, but that’s for another post.

Instead Elsa and I shipped up (forgive me) at Trattoria del Galeone on Via di San Bernardo, having taken the fateful decision to turn right at the church near our front door when our internal gyros usually prompt us left.

Merry Christmas

Galeone appears inviting enough from the street, the neon sign jutting out between two steepling, dark buildings that appear, like so many of their neighbours, ready to clasp hands overhead. There is a riot of noise from within where the bright lights, reasonably full house and cheap menu give the place a canteen feel.

There is no AC, minimal decoration which includes Christmas leftovers and a man slumped face down and alone at his table in the corner for the duration of our stay. So far, so promising.

But things start to unravel as the service starts. The bread is not the thickly crusted, endearingly durable stuff that can last days in rolled up brown paper hanging in the kitchen but dry, cheap white fodder which is quickly ignored. The house white is watery and lacking flavour – it’s Cradley Liberal Club wine cabinet, but not in a good way.

Having ordered the rabbit with potatoes and veg there appears to be some confusion. Although the menu states the dish comes with both – by no means an unreasonable proposition, one would think – the waiter returns, perplexed to ask: “Potatoes or vegetables, sir?” For a moment I believe it’s the usual failings of my pidgin Italian but Elsa confirms that I heard correctly. It’s not a difficult choice.

Rabbit was perhaps an unfair selection as I have tasted the dish elevated to something approaching heaven on a plate in a hillside agriturismo in Calabria but when it arrives it tastes too much like chicken, there is no gamey punch or undertone to it, little more than texture and the smattering of beans does little to lift it.

What should I expect for €10? Perhaps not much but it disappoints nevertheless, to the extent neither of us has the desire to invest in a dessert even though we both experience the uncommon sensation of still feeling hungry after our dishes, given the portions were not over generous.

And that’s the beautiful thing about Genoa – most of Italy, in fact – there is a gelateria a short walk away which offers seven varieties of chocolate ice cream, including the 60% cocoa flavour that acts as catnip for Elsa.

And it would be unfair to close without citing Galeone’s biggest plus point – it is just a short stagger from the Kamun bar with its beguiling counter full of home-brewed and guest beers. I hear the siren call...


*There is nothing of the sort, but this appears to be the way to go with journalism in the post-fact age – if it feels right, just make it up