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Turin is one of Italy’s most serious food cities, shaped by the culinary legacy of the House of Savoy and, more recently, the slow food movement – a reputation reflected in its historic cafes and restaurants, where meals can feel refined. But that’s only part of the picture. As a local, I’m drawn to something far less formal: the piòla.

Piòle were never quite restaurants. They were places for a glass of barbera (poured at the counter from a cylindrical, quarter-litre carafe, the tubo) in rooms worn smooth by decades of use. Regulars played cards, argued about football or politics, and lingered without ceremony. Food, if it appeared, was simple and to the point: anchovies in green sauce, hard-boiled eggs, cold cuts, perhaps a plate of agnolotti (stuffed pasta).

Many piòle disappeared from the 1960s onwards, as Turin grew more refined. Some closed; others evolved into osterie or restaurant-like spaces. More recently, though, the piòla has edged back into view – sometimes preserved, often reinterpreted in more stylised forms. But where can you still find Turin piòle that capture something of the originals’ spirit? I went to find out.

In the Quadrilatero Romano district

One of Turin’s longest-standing piòle, Caffè Vini Emilio Ranzini is on Via Porta Palatina, a short walk from Piazza Palazzo di Città and the cathedral. I stop by with a friend for a merenda sinoira, the late-afternoon spread that often replaces dinner.

The small, timeworn room fills quickly: students in clusters, couples leaning in, shopkeepers calling out to one another across tables of different styles. The walls are lined with old photographs and framed press cuttings; behind the counter, bottles of Punt e Mes, Cynar and other amari stand alongside vermouth and local wines (€2-€6 a glass).

In the display case are squares of semolino and polenta, fried meatballs, piles of friciulin (spinach-dark or potato-gold fritters) and slices of bread topped with insalata russa or vitello tonnato (veal with tuna sauce). We order at the bar (snacks are €2 or €3), then carry our plates to a courtyard with a handful of tables. Nothing feels polished, only lived-in, and the staff are easygoing – and if you’re lucky, you may catch an impromptu live performance by a local musician.
7.5/10

Cenisia district

This piòla has moved twice since opening in 1985, but has never left its block in Cenisia, near the Corso Racconigi market. After the death of its founder, Celso Chiantello, it is now run by his daughters, Elisabetta and Marina, and their children.

They welcome us as if we’ve known each other for years. At 12.30pm, only one other table is occupied: three men who have been coming here almost daily for decades, talking in Piedmontese dialect. But within minutes, the small, warmly lit room turns loud with easy, overlapping conversation as friends and families arrive.

There’s no menu; dishes follow a familiar rhythm: a handful of starters, a few pastas, two or three mains, and a couple of desserts. We start with a mix of antipasti – vitello tonnato, tomino cheese, salame cotto and insalata russa – along with some house white, then add peppers with bagna càuda, a warm anchovy and garlic sauce.

As Marina clears the table, she spots a slice of salami on my friend’s plate, and jokingly insists it be eaten: “You can’t leave something this good!” She returns soon after with agnolotti del plin and gnocchi in a creamy cheese sauce. The portions are generous; we struggle to finish, but still share a slice of freshly baked fruit tart. We pay €37 between us and leave with the sense that this is how regulars are made.
10/10

Barca district

On the north-eastern outskirts of Turin, just past the so-called curva delle 100 lire (a bend once known for its low toll), La Piola d’le Due Sörele draws locals and drivers passing through daily. We turn up for lunch on a Wednesday without booking, and are seated within minutes as a table turns. Barbera comes in a carafe as the menu is recited: a choice of primi, then a secondo with a contorno (side dish), followed by dessert and coffee – all for €12 each.

Around us, workers on lunchbreak greet the family running the place by name. It’s spacious but crowded, noisy and full of movement – plates arrive, tables clear, the courtyard at the back settles into its own pace. Not a historic piòla, but among locals it’s already something of a legend. My favourite bite is the simplest: polenta fritta, crisp outside, soft within. At the counter, as we go to pay, Gianni pours us a small glass of amaro – a simple, fitting end to a meal that knows its role.
8.5/10

Vanchiglia district

A few steps from the University of Turin, on Via Sant’Ottavio, La Piola di Alfredo has long been a meeting place for students, families and regulars. Open in its current form since 1978, it still moves to an easy, shared rhythm. I arrive on a weekday at lunchtime: one room is taken over by a graduation celebration, another hums more quietly, while outside tables sit in the shade along the street.

As I scan the handwritten menu – carne cruda, brasato (beef stew), hazelnut cake – a glass of Dolcetto d’Alba arrives with bread and grissini. A man at the next table offers advice; I follow it. Tomino with honey and walnuts, then tortelloni filled with spinach and ricotta – a few good ingredients, handled simply. The bill is €17 in total.

Portions are smaller than you might expect, and the whole experience felt quite contained. As a first encounter with a piòla, it works well enough, but it lacks the pull of places you’d want to return to.
6/10

Cenisia district

This osteria sits on narrow, residential Via Cenischia, where there’s little to announce it beyond a hand-painted sign. I book three days in advance and am offered a late slot (9.45pm), arriving to find the place in full swing. We’re handed glasses of white wine and asked to wait briefly in the courtyard, under a vine-covered pergola, before being shown inside.

Antonella Rota, who has run the place with her family since 1990, moves easily between the compact dining rooms, taking orders and pausing to chat. Osteria Antiche Sere grew out of a half-serious idea, in a space once more spartan and closer to a piòla. Dark wood panelling, copper pans and antique clocks on the walls give the rooms a settled, old-world feel. The menu changes with the season, but holds steady day to day.

We share an antipasto misto (€18) with a quarter litre of red (€5) , then I order a plate of local cheeses with honey, while my partner goes for coniglio al vino bianco (rabbit braised in white wine, €17) with potatoes, the meat glazed with its juices. I’m already full when Daniele Rota, Antonella’s brother, stops by the table and convinces us to try dessert (€6): panna cotta or torcetti (yeasted biscuits) served with zabaglione, chocolate and cream. We’re glad we did, even if we leave barely able to move.

The place relies on a low-key Facebook page and word of mouth, yet is full most evenings. There’s a natural familiarity between the people behind it and its regulars, the kind you come back for.
9.5/10

Lucento district

At Circolo Paracchi, near the post-industrial landscape of Parco Dora, the piòla hasn’t been revived or reinterpreted – it has simply carried on. Founded in 1927 as a workers’ leisure club linked to the Paracchi carpet factory, it later developed into a sports club, with a simple, home-style kitchen.

It remains a members’ club, a self-contained world where regulars come to eat, drink and play cards. We arrive unannounced and ask for a quick plate. After a brief pause, Rosa, one of the cooks, waves us in. A printed menu hangs on the wall, but we choose from what’s on the go. We sit outside beside a bocce court that no longer seems to be in use, while a group gathers at a long table nearby. Olives and cheese come first, along with house wine; then a large plate of pasta e fagioli (pasta with beans) to share: €10 in total for wine and food.

As we finish, Rosa steps out and gives us an impromptu tour of the club’s memorabilia. Occasionally, she says, they make room for outsiders, but that’s not what the place is for. The piòla at Circolo Paracchi isn’t somewhere you seek out, it’s somewhere you come to belong. For an evening, we’re let in.
8/10