A Cabannetta de Cianderlin in Genoa, review: a rare gem out of time

Just as in novels, where the treasure emerges by abandoning the map, so, in the hunt for the best Zen home cooking, you can stumble upon its most successful example by ignoring the routes already trodden by foodies and guidebooks, and instead taking the side roads offered by chance, like the one that leads to the Cabannetta de Cianderlin in Genoa.

To find this rare pearl, head to Nostra Signora del Monte, the splendid fifteenth-century sanctuary that stands out over the San Fruttuoso district, and walk peacefully along the crêuza del Pianderlino (Cianderlin in dialect).

Environment

In the meantime, prepare your mind and body for one of the most surprising and bizarre meals—or, what the heck, experiences—on the local gastronomic scene. Indeed, while approaching your destination, it almost feels like you're in an abandoned place, between a discarded plastic chair and a crumbling ruin, upon reaching La Cabannetta (which, despite its name, is not a hut), a vivid, and alienating, vision unfolds: have we perhaps stumbled upon a 20th-century after-work club? Or an old-fashioned bowling alley still untouched by Instagram filters (so much so that even taking a photo makes you fear you'll rob it of a little piece of innocence)? With its noisy, neon-lit room, all pennants and crooked paintings, plastic napkins and fake flowers? Or, perhaps, in a house from times gone by, adorned with lace, trinkets and crucifixes?

We barely have time to answer or orient ourselves before we're overwhelmed by the owners' hospitality. The kind, calm Fulvio, with his cascade of gray curls and the build of a country man, and his cheerful, smiling daughter Francesca. Fiorella and Fiammetta, wife and daughter, are at the stove—and from there they'll make us dream.

Menu and cuisine

The appetizers arrive without delay: a masterful Russian salad (firm vegetables, delicate and light mayonnaise), perfectly fried frisceu (crispy, soft, dry), and potato focaccias to complement the excellent, more than a little local, cured meats. Everything cooked at Cianderlin comes from the family farm: from the vegetables to the grain, from the legumes to the animals, raised in carefree freedom (and, as we all know: happy animals, happy palates). Here, in fact, it's only open on weekends, as the Fab Four rotate between the fields, stables, and orchards on the other days.

The wine, strictly in bulk, is the only exception to the production autarchy: two reds (including a very good Barbera) and a single white, which can however be had cold or at room temperature, so, here too, the alternative is twofold.

In this regard, it's good to know that at Cianderlin, freedom of choice is limited to drinks and desserts, while everything else lands on the tables without hesitation or requests.

Here, then, is Fulvio, soup tureen in hand, dishing out generous ladlefuls of the best Genoese minestrone ever (and, coming from someone still scarred by the childhood trauma of "you-don't-get-up-until-you-finish-your-minestrone," the applause, if you will, is worth double). Creamy, dense, flavorful: a synchronous chorus of vegetables (also happy, we believe) punctuated by solos of pesto and the firm consistency of the scucuzzun, the little spheres of semolina pasta, chosen (bravo! Bravo!) instead of the more overused brichetti.

Enthusiasm drives us to a dutiful encore and an unwise third, unaware that we're not even halfway through the journey (of dinner) of our lives. Indeed, what follows are ravioli alla genovese (stuffed with borage, roast beef, and sausage—perhaps a bit too much, if we're being picky), stew with potatoes and peas (creamy and tender, again, according to the usual happy-animals theme), and roast beef with mashed potatoes. Some fellow adventurers swear, moved, that they find the unmistakable, Proustian flavor "of grandma's," and, as any Italian worthy of his lineage knows, the compliment shouldn't be taken lightly.

Now exhausted by the quantity, but driven by the insatiable ardour of lovers, we also give in to the desserts (chestnut parfait, meringue and cherry tart), all excellent, and, finally, to an indispensable life-saving (or sleep-saving) grappa, obviously homemade.

I count

The bill, at the fixed price of thirty euros including wine, is just the latest revelation of the best Zen dinner in recent years.

Go there, then, but don't spread the word too much and, above all (we beg you!), moderate your virtual trumpeting, because we introduced you to the shy Cianderlin, you don't corrupt him with the sirens of the hashtag and always leave him as he is, pure and shy, as we met him.

Opinion

A timeless place, spartan and old-fashioned (in the best sense of the word). A surprising melting pot of flavors from the past, made special by the ingredients from the friendly owners' farm.

PRO

• Simple, homely cooking, but perfectly executed.
• Excellent value for money
• In summer, tables on the tree-lined terraces