Chocolate, Coffee & Aperitivo: A Foodie's Guide to Turin's Culinary Treasures

Turin's relationship with chocolate begins not with sweetness but with scarcity. During Napoleon's continental blockade in the early 19th century, when cacao became prohibitively expensive, Turinese chocolatiers innovated by blending what little chocolate they had with abundant local hazelnuts from the Langhe hills. The result was gianduja—that silky-smooth marriage of chocolate and hazelnut that predates Nutella by more than a century.

On my most recent visit last October, I spent a contemplative morning tracing what I've come to call Turin's cioccolato strada—a self-guided chocolate pilgrimage through the city center. I began at Stratta in Piazza San Carlo, where the Belle Époque interiors remain largely unchanged since 1836. Here, I purchased gianduiotti—the distinctive boat-shaped chocolates wrapped in gold foil—watching as the shopkeeper handled them with reverence, explaining that they should never be refrigerated, only stored at cool room temperature to maintain their melt-in-your-mouth texture.

By mid-morning, the autumn air had turned brisk enough to justify Turin's signature chocolate beverage: the bicerin. At Caffè Al Bicerin, which has been serving this layered drink of espresso, drinking chocolate, and cream since 1763, I watched couples at neighboring marble tables performing the same ritual: first admiring the distinct layers visible through the glass, then deciding whether to stir them together or sip through each stratum. The café is diminutive—just a handful of tables beneath low vaulted ceilings—making reservation essential for weekend visits.

For those wishing to delve deeper into Turin's chocolate heritage, I recommend the excellent chocolate tour that explores both historic shops and innovative modern chocolatiers who are reinterpreting traditions with surprising flavor combinations like chocolate with Barolo wine or Mediterranean herbs.

To understand Turin is to understand that its cafés are not merely places to consume coffee—they are institutions, living museums where the intellectual and artistic heritage of the city continues to breathe. Unlike the stand-and-sip espresso bars common throughout Italy, Turin's historic cafés invite lingering, contemplation, and conversation.

My ritual when visiting is to begin with Caffè San Carlo, where the gilded mirrors and crystal chandeliers speak to Turin's royal past as the first capital of unified Italy. Here, I order a simple espresso, served as it should be—with a small glass of water and perhaps a tiny amaretti biscuit. The coffee itself is secondary to the atmosphere; I'm paying for the privilege of sitting where Nietzsche, Cavour, and Puccini once sat, beneath frescoed ceilings that have witnessed nearly two centuries of political discourse and artistic debate.

For a different but equally historic experience, Baratti & Milano in Galleria Subalpina offers what I consider the finest coffee preparation in the city. Their specialized blend—slightly darker than most Italian roasts with subtle chocolate notes—pairs perfectly with their house specialty, the Torta Sabauda, a decadent chocolate cake that honors the Savoy dynasty.

During my last visit, I discovered the joy of returning to these cafés at different times of day. The morning brings businesspeople and their brief, purposeful coffee rituals; the afternoon welcomes elderly Turinese reading newspapers beneath portraits of long-dead royalty; and the evening transforms these spaces into refined aperitivo venues where couples dress with subtle elegance for pre-dinner drinks.

I record my café observations in a dedicated journal, and have found the leather travel journal to be my constant companion through years of travel. Something about the tactile quality of putting pen to paper in these historic spaces feels appropriate—a small act of resistance against our digital age.

If Milan claims to have perfected the modern aperitivo, Turin can rightfully assert that it invented the tradition. It was here in 1786 that Antonio Benedetto Carpano created vermouth—the aromatized, fortified wine that would transform pre-dinner drinking culture throughout Europe. Today, Turin's aperitivo scene balances respectful tradition with contemporary innovation in a way that feels neither stuffy nor trendy.

My approach to aperitivo in Turin is methodical, perhaps befitting my former life organizing databases. I begin in Piazza Vittorio Veneto—one of Europe's largest porticoed squares—around 6:30 pm when the ritual commences. The piazza offers a spectrum of aperitivo experiences, from historic establishments to modern interpretations, all with views of the Po River and the church of Gran Madre di Dio in the distance.

At Caffè Elena, where little has changed since 1889, I order what has become my traditional first aperitivo in Turin: a Carpano Antica Formula vermouth served neat with a twist of orange peel. The bitter-sweet complexity, with notes of vanilla, saffron, and dried fruit, seems to open both the palate and the mind. My husband James would have appreciated the historical symmetry of drinking Carpano in its birthplace; he always said that understanding a place meant tasting what generations before you had tasted.

As evening progresses, I make my way to Farmacia Del Cambio, the contemporary bar adjacent to the two-Michelin-starred Del Cambio restaurant. Here, in a space that harmoniously blends original 18th-century pharmacy features with modern design, I watch the bartenders prepare classic Torinese cocktails with ceremonial precision. The Negroni Sbagliato—where sparkling wine replaces gin in the classic Negroni—is particularly refreshing on autumn evenings.

What distinguishes Turin's aperitivo is the quality and abundance of the accompanying food. Unlike other Italian cities where aperitivo might mean potato chips or olives, Turin offers substantial buffets that sometimes render dinner unnecessary. At Caffè Mulassano, inventor of the tramezzino sandwich, the aperitivo spread includes dozens of miniature versions of these crustless delights with fillings ranging from traditional egg and truffle to innovative combinations.

For couples wanting to capture these golden hour moments, I've found the compact camera perfectly suited for low-light photography without the intrusiveness of larger equipment. Turin's aperitivo scene deserves to be documented, but with the discretion that maintains its atmosphere of civilized pleasure.

To truly understand a city's food culture, one must visit its markets. Turin's Porta Palazzo market—the largest open-air market in Europe—offers an unvarnished glimpse into everyday Turinese life that contrasts with the refined elegance of the city's historic center.

I arrived at Porta Palazzo on a crisp Saturday morning last autumn, the kind of day when the Alps appear startlingly close, their snow-capped peaks visible from the city streets. The market was already pulsing with activity—a polyglot symphony of Italian, Piedmontese dialect, Arabic, and Romanian as vendors called out their offerings and customers negotiated prices with theatrical gestures.

The market divides naturally into sections: produce from local farms, meats and cheeses, seafood, flowers, and the covered section housing specialty foods. What struck me immediately was the seasonality on display—this was not the year-round uniformity of supermarket produce but rather a genuine reflection of what the surrounding countryside was yielding at that moment. In autumn, this means an abundance of wild mushrooms (particularly the prized porcini), chestnuts, late-season tomatoes, and the first winter squashes.

I watched as elderly Turinese women—who clearly had been shopping here for decades—examined porcini mushrooms with forensic attention, turning each specimen over, checking for worm holes, and occasionally rejecting a vendor's offering with a dismissive wave. These were not tourists performing 'market experiences' but citizens engaged in the serious business of feeding their families according to traditions that stretch back generations.

Beyond Porta Palazzo, smaller neighborhood markets offer more intimate experiences. The Mercato di Santa Rita in the southern part of the city provides a glimpse into middle-class Turinese life, while the covered Mercato Centrale in the renovated Porta Palazzo area offers a more curated—though still authentic—selection of regional specialties.

For those wishing to delve deeper into Turin's market culture, I recommend bringing along a market tote that folds into a compact pouch when not needed. You'll blend in with the locals who all bring their own bags, and you'll have something to carry the inevitable purchases that tempt you—perhaps a wedge of aged Castelmagno cheese or a bag of Piedmontese hazelnuts.

While chocolate may be Turin's most famous sweet contribution, the city's pastry traditions extend far beyond this single ingredient. As someone who has methodically cataloged Turin's pastry shops over multiple visits (a delicious research project), I've developed a particular appreciation for the way these establishments balance innovation with reverence for tradition.

The pastry arts in Turin reflect the city's unique position between French and Italian culinary influences. From the Savoy court came French-inspired creations like the marron glacé (candied chestnuts) still perfectly executed at Pasticceria Stratta. Meanwhile, native Piedmontese traditions produced the hazelnut-rich nocciolini di Chivasso and the rustic paste di meliga—cornmeal cookies that pair perfectly with zabaglione cream.

During my autumn visits, I seek out seasonal specialties like the castagnaccio—a dense chestnut flour cake studded with pine nuts and rosemary that walks the line between sweet and savory. At Pasticceria Ghigo, where they've been baking since 1870, I watched an elderly couple sharing this autumnal treat, breaking off pieces with the comfortable silence of decades together.

For couples visiting Turin, I recommend the pasticceria crawl as an alternative to the typical sightseeing itinerary. Begin at Pfatisch near Porta Nuova station for their diplomatico—a puff pastry sandwich filled with chocolate and zabaglione creams—then continue to Pasticceria Abrate for Turin's answer to the macaron, the bicolored baci di dama ('lady's kisses').

No sweet exploration of Turin would be complete without gelato, which takes on a particular character here. Less showy than in tourist centers like Rome or Florence, Turin's gelaterias focus on intensity of flavor rather than towering presentations. At GROM, founded in Turin before expanding internationally, the seasonal flavors showcase Piedmontese ingredients—the September fig gelato remains one of my most vivid taste memories from any trip.

I've documented my pastry explorations in a dedicated notebook, creating a personal map of sweet discoveries across the city. My pocket travel guidebook has proven invaluable for identifying historic establishments, though I've found that following locals during pasticceria rush hour (typically Sundays after church) often leads to the most authentic discoveries.