Stella sul Mare

What does an old bakery in Oneglia have to do with a couple of little crackers nobody ever asked for, and the name of a holiday home?

They're connected, because they all come from the same person. The house is a small flat in Oneglia, a few minutes' walk from the sea, that we rent to people who want to live the Riviera from the inside: from within, not as tourists. It's called Stella sul Mare, Star on the Sea. And Stella is my mother.

For the first six years of my daughter Emma's life, once a month we'd drive down to Imperia on a Saturday morning, to Grandma Stella's. And every time, before anything else, there was one fixed stop: bread from Blengini, in Piazza San Giovanni, the church square. The excuse was to bring Grandma her bread; the truth is it was Emma's bread, because "getting the bread" also meant getting a piece of focaccia, to eat right away.

Oneglia, the old map painted on a wall in town.

Blengini's focaccia imperiese is love at first sight: the right thickness, the right amount of oil, best eaten warm. The pizza without sauce, the kind that's typical around here, is another story: it's a love that grows on you with time. And then there's the green tart made with trombette, the local trumpet courgettes, which I discovered just a week ago and that won me over at the first bite. Everything at Blengini is a little pricey, nothing in particular; but some things you don't measure by the price.

Blengini, seen from outside, in Piazza San Giovanni.

Blengini is one of those family bakeries. For more than forty years it was run by Franco Blengini, a baker everyone in town knew: he had been president of the province's bakers, and for years he walked in the San Giovanni procession, here in Oneglia, a few steps from his oven. A big presence, and the kind face of someone who loves what he does. Today the family keeps it going; his photo is in the shop, and above all his gesture has stayed. His wife does it, at the counter: when a child takes the focaccia, she slips a couple of little crackers into the bag. Without anyone asking.

It seems like nothing, a couple of crackers. It's actually the thing a child never forgets. Emma, in a way, grew up on those crackers: she'd take the bag, go outside, and sit on the steps of the shop next door to eat her focaccia. The crackers last of all, always. It was Saturday, it was Grandma, it was Imperia.

The bag from Blengini, Emma and her little crackers.

Emma's grown up now, but she hasn't dropped that ritual. A week ago we went back, our first time at Stella sul Mare. And every morning, on our round of Oneglia, there we were again: her straight to the counter, and from the bag, once more, the crackers. She hadn't asked for them this time either.

The caruggi, Oneglia's old alleys, lived from within.

Blengini, with its crackers, is a piece of Emma's childhood. My mother is much more: she's the reason for the name, and she's too much to fit in one paragraph.

When I had to give this house a name, I didn't go looking for something evocative at a desk: I used hers. Because Stella sul Mare wants to be the place where you feel like Emma on those steps: welcomed, and holding something more than you expected.

That's why we're called this. And why here you'll find recipes, places and stories: it's the Riviera lived from the inside, things to do, to eat and to see the way someone who grew up in Imperia does them, not the way a guidebook tells them. Start here: go down and get the bread.