A quest in Genoa for pesto

Genoa was all about the pesto. According to my guidebook, anywhere else was not* the same.

* to be said with a slightly upturned nose.

Well then. We had to try it.

So we had lunch in Genoa. Luck would have it, the Ligurian city was on our route from Milan to Finale Ligure. Quick stop at a large port city, navigating slightly sketchy Medieval streets, for pesto you can’t get anywhere else. Totally worth it.

The whole city was under construction with dust, dirt and leering construction workers. It was days before the opening of the Genoa International Expo 1992 to celebrate 500 years since Cristopher Columbus happened upon the Americas.

As usual we got completely lost in the tangled streets in pursuit of the restaurant recommended in our guidebook. But luck was on our side again! We asked a man for directions, who coincidentally was the owner and gladly led us to his establishment. The place was filled with long wooden tables, Genovese tucking in for lunch and big metal pots of delicious pasta dressed in their best basil green. The sweet smell of garlic and fresh sharp herbs was intoxicating. We happily devoured our pesto fix.

Heady with basil-scented aroma, we took a detour returning to the train station to see some sites and walk along Via Andrea Doria. We saw the grand Piazza De Ferrari (without the fountain, which was being restored, not surprisingly) and the elegant 16th and 17th century palaces along via Giuseppe Garibaldi.

We spent three or four hours in Genoa. But I remember the thrill of hunting for a unique local delicacy. In the 27 years since, I have had countless versions of pesto: restaurant variety, homemade with fresh farmers market basil, and far too many store bought models. So would I make the effort again to go to Genoa for a pesto fix?

Absolutely.

Anywhere else is just not the same.

This is one entry from my 1992 European backpacking trip with my friend Sarah. If you want to start at the beginning, please check out The journey starts in Nice.