retiredmartin

February 2026. Turin.

And finally from Turin, a redemptive afternoon exploring the western half of the city, a half almost entirely ignored by the internet.

ChatGPT had summarised the internet and listed ten (10) highlights, somehow omitting the indoor markets,

both the historic fresh food hall visited by Pope John Paul,

and a modern food court that looks the rival of Mackie Mayor,

but the beer range doesn’t match the quality of the foccacia.

You’re in the old Roman settlement now (Quadrilatero),

and you’ll find the original Bicerin cafe here,

but it’s the Basilica of Saint Mary of Consolation across the road that’s unmissable, unless you’re ChatGPT.

We pressed on, in search of youthful Turin. I’d asked about “vibrant areas, converted industrial warehouse type of things“, and got OGR, a reinvention of former rail repair depot.

It took ages to find the entrance, and within you find what feels like a hotel lobby, so I had a Peroni, the ultimate hotel lobby beer.

Yes, that’s a giant jar of wasabi nuts (and something else). I’d just paid £6 for a Peroni; I scoffed the lot.

A boy meets a girl. They talk economic theory over coke. No wonder the fertility rate in Italy is 1.3.

Mrs RM heads back to I Reale, I decide to tick all the cask outlets. Because they’re there.

Skjuma has cask from its own Undead Brewery,

an obssession with ’80s goth,

and more free crisps. The Milk Stout is an NBSS 3.5. Get it in the GBG now.

Out of duty rather than enthusiasm, I persuade Mrs RM out to “dot” in “trendy” Vanchiglia,

where the clip that attaches the pump clip to the pump is missing.

“dot” is the star of the trip. Cosy, welcoming, a mix of ages, great cask and keg, a wondrous burger,

and a message for the ages;