VITTORIO-Ristorante al Mare-Genova-Boccadasse: Famed for its sea food, this attractive restaurant is perched over a fishing village which has been absorbed in Genoa's growing perimeter. It has an indoor glassed-in salon and an own ing-sheltered terrace. The waiter assumes you come for fish, and automatically puts a cool bottle of white wine on the table. We began with a lasagne al forno and then plunged into a fritto misto pesce which included shrimp, langoustines, whitebait, baby octopus and several denizens of the deep we couldn't identify-but they were delectable. The clientele is gay and cosmopolitan. But the best thing about Vittorio is still the view-the powder-blue hills converging to the pale promontory of Portofino, the multicolored little fishing port of Boccadasse (Monkeymouth) and its gossiping fishermen. It's almost as good as the Bay of Naples.
One last touch brightens the ceremony of the bill-it is held down by glasses of liqueur on the house. The prices are somewhat above the ordinary. meaning that it costs almost half as much, wine included, as the same category of restaurant in New York.
TRATTORIA MARIO-52-40 Via dei Conservatori del Mare: You can't get much closer to the heart of Genoa than this trattoria in a side street near the Piazza Banchi, just off the waterfront. It is famous among the discriminating devotees of Genoese cooking. One glance at the prosperous, well-rounded businessmen who make up almost its entire clientele, and you have no misgivings about the menu. It is top-heavy with succulent local specialties: ravioli, zuppa di pesce, minestrone, gamberi, stoccafisso, cima di vitello, right down the line. Its atmosphere is informal, amusing, rather noisy and absolutely genuine. Your bill is small, your satisfaction complete. Mario has had such success that he is moving to larger quarters nearby, the address given above.
TRATTORIA RINA-Mura delle Grazie: On a little side street overlooking the harbor is another kind of trattoria, a family affair, cheerful and democratic. Within a quarter of an hour of the time you are met by the host, a smiling, solicitous man named Augusto, you begin to feel like a member of the family. Six-year-old daughter proudly shows you her art work. Older daughter and blackeyed son, in shirt sleeves and apron, wait on the table. Augusto proudly shows you his guest book. In the meantime, a formidable meal gets under way. We had been told what to expect. First came bianchetti, whitebait, with a savory sauce, each miniscule white fish casting a reproachful blue eye at us. Then lasagne col pesto, the classic pasta dish, followed by pesce ai ferri, a trim little fish boned and sautéed in an iron pan, and a salad of raw baby artichokes. thinly sliced with French dressing. For dessert-banane ai ferri, oranges and bananas cooked under a flame with sugar and kirsch, followed by coffee and, as a final surprise, Auguste's “minestrone, ” which turns out to be an exotic melange of liqueurs.
NERVI
A favorite Sunday pastime of thousands of Genoese is to stroll along the sea walk in this civilized suburb six miles away, or to visit the extraordinary botanical gardens of its Villa Gropallo. In contrast to the bustle of the city, sylvan Nervi seems serenely quiet. Of the several restful hotels and pensions here we have a strong favorite, the HOTEL SAVOIA-BEELER, a roomy and immaculate Swiss hotel overlooking the sea. Its garden is a prodigal miscellany of palm, olive, fig and orange trees, mimosa and cactus, with dozens of shaded bowers for guests. The cuisine is “international” with Italian overtones, and excellent. The wine list is filled with the best of Italian vintages, almost all listed at under a dollar a bottle.
The coastal path eastward from Nervi skirts some highly picturesque fishing villages-Bogliasco, Sori and Camogli, the latter being irresistibly sketchable. Over the hill lie a trio of famous resorts, popular both winter and summer.
SANTA MARGHERITA
The first of these is a seaport which has pretty much ceased to exploit fish and now capitalizes on its balmy climate and good harbor to attract yachtsmen. honeymooners and mere vacationists. Personally, we find it more attractive than its much vaunted neighbor. Rapallo. Villas and “palaces” dot its hillsides. but the town remains simple, hospitable and inexpensive. You have a choice of fairly luxurious hotels on the hillside or simple ones in town. As for restaurants, we tried one called the BRIGANTINO at the eastern end of the palmy promenade, and found it very acceptable.
PORTOFINO
A musty old Baedeker from the 1920s describes Portofino as a quaint, half-forgotten fishing port which can be reached by horse and buggy from Santa Margherita. It's far from “halfforgotten” now! People flock there and the local population is waiting for them with homemade lace, table linen, straw bars, espadrilles and postcards. A smiling signorina offers to bedeck you with garlands of hazelnuts or walnuts or almonds strung together, and it is difficult to refuse such comestible ornament. The little port, hemmed in by olive-clad hills, is just about as it always was, and colorful to a fantastic degree. It is a riot, an explosion, of Latin color, and the amateur photographer is almost beside himself with eagerness to catch it all. Local fishermen pose obligingly for him, as do the old ladies making lace. The inquiring gastronome meets with plenty of seductive setups. There are several open-air restaurants along the quais, each shouting temptations on signboards: Frutti di Mare! Zuppa di Pesce! Ravioli! Lasagne col Pesto! As so often happens, the song is sweeter than the bird. The food and service are only fair, but the color and atmosphere are so engaging, and the passing throng so extraordinary that it shouldn't be missed.
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