Ostu Di Djun
Some restaurants give you a menu. Ostu Di Djun gives you an experience.
Valter and Yvette told us this place is so popular that tables are often booked months ahead. Once we arrived, I quickly understood why. The first thing to know is that you have to surrender control at the door. There is no menu. No choosing. No overthinking. Food simply starts arriving, and your job is to eat, drink and enjoy whatever happens next.
At the centre of all this organised chaos is the wonderfully eccentric owner, Ciano, who runs the restaurant with his wife and daughter, he moves around the dining room chatting, joking and connecting with guests, while Mama Francesca rules the kitchen.
And the first rule here seems to be abundance.
Plates kept appearing with classic Piedmontese dishes. Prosciutto over warm fried dough, thinly sliced beef with tartare on spoons, melted cheese, peppers, tajarin, baked risotto with cheese and egg, ox tongue, meats and more. The cooking was rustic, generous and comforting. Nothing looked overly styled, which somehow made everything feel even more authentic.
Even the wine follows its own rules. Magnum bottles from very good local producers are simply placed on the table. Drink a little, drink a lot. Apparently that is your problem, not theirs.
The tableware was equally random. Different plates, different colours, different cutlery. The walls were filled with pictures and objects, and there was even a motorcycle sitting right inside the dining room.
The only consistency at Ostu Di Djun is the inconsistency.
And that is exactly the charm.
The whole room felt warm, noisy and alive. Ciano wandered from table to table, conversations flowed easily and dinner gradually became less like eating in a restaurant and more like being invited into somebody’s slightly crazy family gathering.
At some point, wife and I even ended up at the piano, playing and singing.
By then, dinner had clearly gone beyond dinner.
