Vitello tonnato, flan in fondue, beef tartar battered by knife and woven with scents of garlic and lemon. Tajarin that “plentiful dish,” you must simply choose “butter and sage or ragù?” And you know what? “We’ll go for a second round” of hand-filled agnolotti and gnocchi tossed in Raschera. Of course, then there are thick slices of brasato, slowly braised in Barolo, anchovies in salsa verde and baccalà. “Have you ever had such light salt cod?” These are the only two fish ever to make it to the Langhe’s ‘shores.’

The stories of food that dot the hills of the Langhe, always housed in the iconic Osteria. And like all great things it is in the name, Osteria. Derived from the Latin hospes, a fascinatingly ambiguous and layered noun, which means “guest” or the “one that is received.” But it also means “host” specifically with “warmth and kindness.” Like the hotelier who invites the stranger into his house and makes a friend. Host, guest, stranger, friend: the various meanings that reveal the profound nature of the culture of the Osteria.

These are places rich in relationships of food and people; where gathering together to share a meal reveals the deep bond between people and their surroundings. The walls are devoid of ego. There is no narcissism on the plate, just tradition and familial relationships.

The Osteria is its atmosphere. Dishes and diners, cooks and kitchens, food and nature, are in constant exchange with each other. They reflect the long-held values of the land and the authenticity of the hills.

Fenoglio understood this well, gifting the world with a sacred few stories of the inns and taverns nestled deep in the Langhe. Immediately, La Censa di Placido in San Benedetto Belbo and the Osteria Da Madama in Rocchetta Belbo come to mind when reading his words, “the best lit house in the whole village.”

The place was full of people, so much so that there was hardly space to turn your back. The choir stood in the darkest corner. They sang at the top of their voices, the emotions desperately grabbing hold of the tables, everyone’s eyes wide, their mouths frothing like oxen between the bottles and tins of biscuits.
Beppe Fenoglio, Ma il mio amore è Paco.

It is possible to forgive the lack of an aesthetic in regard to the moral necessity: uniting solitary people who live amongst the hills in a single experience of companionship. The taverns fill up in a choir of sound -laughing, tinkling glasses, wine swirling, plates clattering and drunken voices – that becomes the song of the people.

Nowadays much of this convivial atmosphere is lost amongst the osterias. Do some have it? Yes, but many less so. They have evolved into the modern world. They fully engage with recovering lost recipes and creating modernized local cuisine under the careful guardianship of custom and tradition. Maybe you will not get to sing loudly, the rivers of wine may not flow as they once did, fortunes are no longer won and lost on a wager, and you will definitely not be beaten around the ears with a fish by an owner who is wishing you to leave, but the values of the past remain. Love for the land and local ingredients, genuine care in cooking, and the ever-present sense of being at the family table are the underpinnings of the new Osteria.  After all, as Luca Iaccarino the renowned food journalist and advocate of osterias writes, “everyone is welcome here: gourmets, food bloggers, young, old, the bearded and the bald, vegetarians, carnivores and vegans. The only exception: Puritans.” 

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