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Cannavacciuolo – the Pavarotti of Cooking

Beatrice Lessi

Tonino Antonio Cannavacciuolo, the most popular chef in Italy

 

And how I ended up at Villa Crespi without realizing who he was.

I went to Villa Crespi to try a restaurant.

Only later did I understand that Antonino (Tonino) Cannavacciuolo isn’t just “a chef with Michelin stars”.

He’s a full Italian phenomenon: chef, TV presence, mentor, and (for many people) the face of modern Italian cooking.

The villa that looks like a dream you had in another country.

Villa Crespi sits by Lake Orta, near the fairytale village of Orta San Giulio.

And it looks… dramatic.

It’s a late-19th-century villa built in a Moorish style, with a minaret-like tower, decorative details that feel like a love letter to the Middle East, and an atmosphere that makes you whisper even before anyone tells you to.

It’s also a hotel, so the whole place has that special energy of “people are arriving for something they’ll remember forever.”

Then there is Tonino.

He’s larger than life in the best possible way.

Big presence, big warmth, big stories, big heart.

And in the dining room you’re treated like royalty, but not with stiffness.

Three Michelin stars… and the “crescendo” effect

Villa Crespi holds three Michelin stars.

And yes, I can confirm the experience deserves that level of attention.

For me, the meal started quietly. Not disappointing. Just… not fireworks immediately. And then it kept rising. Like music. A crescendo.

By the end I was honestly delighted, the way you are when you realize you’ve been taken somewhere—gently—without noticing the moment you crossed into wow.

A small problem: I’m not allowed to tell you everything I ate! At one point the waitress made a joking-but-serious complaint: “we don’t want to ruin the surprise”. So I’m going to respect the magic. But I’ll share the photos I took myself at the end of this post.

The Maradona story (and the Napoli shirt)

What really made Tonino become myth-sized for me wasn’t only the food. It was the stories. One of my favourites is the Maradona one.

Cannavacciuolo has told how Diego Armando Maradona stayed at Villa Crespi for three days, back in 2006. At some point Tonino brought him a Napoli shirt to sign. The twist is perfect: the shirt said “Cannavacciuolo number 10”.

Maradona looked at it and basically went, “Who is Cannavacciuolo?”

And Tonino’s answer was, “Well… that’s me.”

That’s when Maradona clicked, warmed up, and became a real friend.

 

The Gambero Rosso moment that made him hang up the phone

Another story I loved comes from hearing him talk about his early years, at age 23.

He describes being young, relatively unknown, working insanely hard… and then getting noticed by Gambero Rosso in a way that changed everything, including the famous “Tre Forchette” recognition.

The version I heard included this brilliant detail:

He didn’t even realize who the guest was at first (just a vague “maybe we know this guy?” feeling). Later, the news lands. Later still, the big confirmation call arrives at the worst possible time (because life loves comedy).

And when he hears what happened, he becomes so emotional he puts the phone down.

What he looks for in people: “sincerità”

When Cannavacciuolo talks about other chefs—young chefs, people who work with him, people competing in the famous Masterchef TV program—he comes back to one idea again and again:

Sincerità. Being real. Being honest. Being yourself. Not copying. Not pretending.

The hardest part of success: “far fare”

He also said something that hit me right in the practical part of my brain:

Doing is easy. But making other people do things (and doing it well, and kindly, and consistently) is hard.

That shift—from being great with your own hands, to leading a whole team—seems to be one of the biggest challenges behind any “empire of excellence.”

So… why “the Pavarotti of cooking”?

Because the whole thing feels operatic.

The villa. The presence. The generosity. The stories. The emotion.

And the meal itself, rising and rising until it lands right in your chest like a final note that hangs in the air.

You don’t just eat.

You experience.

 

 

 

 

 

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