Geneva has more than its fair share of boring bankers, NGOs and horologists. But it also has cheese and chocolate in abundance and an array of restaurants serving up tasty treats from all over the world. Alpine eater Laura discovers the culinary heart of Geneva and the surrounding Savoie region.
Monsieur Gourmand and I have found the best pizza in town.
It's at Camilo's Place, sister restaurant of Espresso Club, the long-established Paquis pizzeria. It might even be the best pizza anywhere in the world, but I suspect some Neapolitan people might have something to say about that.
The ingredients are not only deliciously fresh but a little unusual - lettuce, zucchini flower, an amazing local goat's cheese - while the bases are thin with not even a hint of heaviness. And it seems to be true that the best things come in small packages; the modest dimensions mean I don't have to go away guilt ridden for wolfing down a 15-inch carbfest covered in cheese.
If, like Monsieur Gourmand, you do find yourself a bit peckish post pizza, the house desserts are all classics: fresh berries (whatever's in season), tiramisu or chocolate fondant. None is particularly exciting but might make a nice nibble while polishing off your bottle of house wine (which changes weekly) amid an atmosphere of frenetic pizza-making and speedy service.
I've always said that if I were a condemned woman pizza would be my last meal (or at least part of it because I would probably fancy a juicy steak for good measure and maybe a crème brûlée to top things off).
So it was fitting that the night before venturing down the Vallée Blanche - or, more importantly, scaling the height of 3800 m on the Aiguille du Midi cable car - pizza should be my sustenance.
Monsieur Gourmand and I, with two of our more adventurous friends, stumbled into Neapolis from the icy outdoors, not fancying a long search for food. We were told it would be a 20-minute wait but we could tell it would be good - the ground floor and the upper balcony bit looked warm and cosy, heaving with sophisticated-looking ski types. So we settled in at the bar with a carafe of plonk and some focaccia and tried not to think about the famous "walk of death" leading from the cable car to the beginning of tomorrow's mythical mountain itinerary.
No time for faffing with starters, we went straight to the main course. Tania had spaghetti bolognese, which was doubtless far better than most of the Chamonix Brits are used to, while the other three of us tried the delicious Neapolitan pizzas, all topped with the freshest ingredients and the bases nicely charred around the edge.
Of course, there's more to Italian cuisine than pizza but ice cream isn't usually the first thing that springs to mind in the mountains. These ones though were outstanding, I might even say the best I've ever had. The 90% dark chocolate flavour was beyond chocolatey with big chunky bits, while the mint choc chip was refreshing after our cheesy mains.
Well, it turned out not to be the last supper after all (the ridge walk was nothing short of terrifying, the skiing magnificent) but this would have been a more than satisfying last meal on earth had I fallen to my death.
There's a lot to be said for cheap and cheerful pizzerias. But cheap is hard to find in this neck of the woods and cheerful isn't something that springs to mind in most Romande restaurants.
At least La Puccia gets full marks for trying. The food is cheaper than poncier pizza places, the owner is amiable indeed and the atmosphere could even be called buzzy. And pizza is not the limit - Italian classics such as Saltimbocca and Veal a la Milanese are always worth a bite and there's an inviting array of pastas.
In an effort to shed some Christmas kilos, I was avoiding a carb-fest on our last visit in favour of vegetables, something that any chef worth his white hat should be able to cook. Alas, not so here - my veggies were soggy and salty rather than crunchy and croquant. A shame really because everything else was fine, particularly our friend's cheesy gnocchi.
Don't expect creative cuisine or edible vegetables but a couple of carafes of wine and passable pizza are enough to make La Puccia a reliable choice to kick off a night on the Nyon tiles.
La Puccia, Grande Rue 5-7, 1260 Nyon
+ 41 (0)22 361 2020; www.lapuccia.ch
Many mysteries surround Le Petit Moulin, like why the car park is always full, who frequents the adjoining nightclub, and why there might be such an extravagant design feature in an otherwise unremarkable room. What we do know is that the upstairs hotel is popular with truckers who revel in the opportunity to not sleep in their cab for the night and have a nice hot shower (even if the bathroom is shared). Do they venture into the nightclub after a bite to eat, I wonder, and eye up the tartily dressed local girls before brawling with said girls' souped-up hatchback driving boyfriends?
This is always the topic of conversation for me and Monsieur Gourmand when we pay one of our regular visits to this pleasing pizzeria.
You can usually take your pick of tables, whether it's by the window looking at the field of horses, by one of the TVs showing live sport, or under the wild stripy column which forms the centrepiece of the restaurant (and is proudly featured on the website).
The pizzas (fresh from the woodfire oven, no less) are not bad at all and there is even a premium selection featuring D.O.P. mozzarella, truffles and prosciutto di Parma. Meaty mains include entrecote steak, grilled veal and even game when it's in season, complete with traditional spatzli and chestnuts.
So the food's pretty good, the service is unsnooty (a rarity round here, believe me) and you can park without driving round and round the block for half an hour. The popularity of Le Petit Moulin is not such a mystery after all.
Le Petit Moulin, Route Blanche, 1274 Grens +41 (0)22 990 0740; www.lepetitmoulin.ch
Tucked away on a cobbled street in the centre of town, Fifty-Fifty is always full (of men mostly), everyone looking jolly and jovial.
Could it be that they do the best pizza in town? Or is it a pizza-serving Swiss equivalent of a masons' lodge? We found the answer to be no on both counts, but it’s definitely worth a visit.
Our friend had what looked like penne with Chantilly cream, but turned about to be a herby, cheesy sauce that melted pleasingly into the pasta. Monsieur Gourmand and I both had pizza, his with Parma ham, buffalo mozzarella and fresh cherry tomatoes, mine with tuna and onions (a flavour I am rediscovering after an extended period of Napoletana-liking).
Mid-meal we were surprised to see the gregarious, gravel-voiced manager put on his coat and disappear through the door for a fag with the only other member of restaurant staff, leaving us and the other few customers to fend for ourselves. This would never happen in a more crime-accustomed country; we could have locked him out, stormed the kitchen and overpowered the pizzaiolo, for goodness' sake. This must be what makes Fifty-Fifty so perennially popular; it feels more like a club than a restaurant, where newcomers are just as welcome as regulars.
After our tasty mains we shared a dessert. Masquerading as innocent lemon sorbet, it had actually been doused in vodka by the aforementioned man, a fiery finale to warm us for the wintery night outside.
Fifty-Fifty, 7 Rue Neuve du Molard, 1204 Geneva +44 (0)22 310 2698
If Jay-Z is to be believed, a trip to New York will make me feel brand new, so inspired I will be by the big lights. Empire State of Mind, the rapper's much-played ode to his hometown, typifies the Big Apple adoration that has been on the rise in recent years. From SJP stalking the sidewalks in her Manolos, to Machiavellian Manhattan teens plotting against their Gossip Girl cohorts, New York is the undisputed capital of cool.
Luckily I don’t need to jet across the Atlantic for a big city-style pizza, now that Luigia has opened up right here in little old Geneva. ‘Ooh, it’s all lofty and trendy, you really feel like you’re in New York’, people had told me before my recent visit. I only hoped the pizzas wouldn't be deep pan and stuffed full of rubbery cheese and thick pepperoni sausage.
Of course, my fears were unfounded; pizzas in Geneva tend to be very good and Luigia was no different.
At 8pm on a Saturday evening, we expected to wait a while (they don’t take bookings) before being forced to squeeze ourselves around a tiny table to be served by snooty staff. Instead, we found ourselves in a brightly-lit warehouse with no shortage of tables, many of them occupied by families.
In true American style, the service was lightning quick... quick enough to stifle both the social element of dining out and the anticipation of eating. We had barely tasted the wine when the food arrived, leaving us little time to appreciate the spectacle of the pizzaioli plying their trade by the cavernous woodfire oven, illuminated by some glitzy showbiz-style lights.
Like the snappy service, the presentation was a bit too efficient for my liking. Personally, I like my pizza a little rough around the edges like the Neapolitan street food it's supposed to be, rather than a model of rounded perfection. That said, the crusty, blackened base was perfect in flavour and texture, topped with deliciously fresh ingredients, and I devoured the whole thing in a matter of minutes, leaving little room for dessert.
While Luigia's slick operation is a novelty compared to some of Geneva's lazy and outdated eateries, it was so rushed that I can't remember the finer details of the wine, conversation or indeed the pizza (although I do recall that the chilli oil was pointedly un-piquante).
This isn't the place for a long, leisurely meal, but if it's fresh flavours and big city surroundings you're after, prepare for life in the fast lane.
Judging by their less-than-stellar performance so far, Italy won’t be World Cup holders for much longer. But even if they no longer rule the fickle world of football, Italians can at least take consolation in being the nation that brought us seductive language, timeless fashion and pizza.
I love pizza so much that it would be my final meal on death row. But knowing my luck, the prison warden would dash to Domino’s and present me with a cheesy lump of pre-prepared dough scattered with offensive tasting peppers. Would they let me have another one from a preferable purveyor of pizza, I wonder, or would my final hours be wiled away in a seething strop?
Being a bastion of human rights, of course there is nothing as barbaric as the death penalty in Geneva. But there are a good many pizzerias.
To mark Italy’s last days as world champions, here is the Alpine Eating (admittedly Eaux-Vives centric and rather limited) pizza league.
Failed to qualify
Quirinale – crammed full of preppy playboys quaffing Champagne, Quirinale has no place in this competition simply because nobody should have to pay 30 francs for a pizza. Ever. Even if it does have truffles on it.
Molino – I was horrified to hear a friend proclaim Molino the best pizza in Geneva. To be fair, this chain restaurant does pizza better than it does anything else – gristly vitello tonnato, dried out salmon, puny prawns – but tinned ingredients and the soggy consistency are a let down.
Chez Marino – what Chez Marino lacks in culinary finesse, it more than makes up for in atmosphere. Be sure to sit at one of the tables on the right when you come in; this is where you can watch the pizzaiolo at work while waiters whizz to and fro. Marino himself sometimes takes to the floor for a song or two, which may not be to everyone’s taste...
Cinecittà – stuffed with cinema memorabilia from the glamorous golden era of Sofia Loren and Roberto Rossellini, families, young couples and groups alike frequent this Eaux-Vives eaterie. Despite the ravishing range of pizzas on offer, Monsieur Gourmand swears by the Margherita.
Da Paolo – the fact that it’s always full to bursting says a lot. As well as the standard selection of pizzas, this hidden-away haunt offers a number of sensational specials. And if pizza’s not your preference, this authentic Italian offers meat, fish and pasta aplenty.
The ingredients are not only deliciously fresh but a little unusual - lettuce, zucchini flower, an amazing local goat's cheese - while the bases are thin with not even a hint of heaviness. And it seems to be true that the best things come in small packages; the modest dimensions mean I don't have to go away guilt ridden for wolfing down a 15-inch carbfest covered in cheese. 
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