As Elizabeth David wrote in “Italian Food” in 1954, “Everyone has heard of the mortadella sausage of Bologna, but how many hurrying motorists drive past the rose and ochre coloured arcades of Bologna quite unaware that behind modest doorways are some of the best restaurants in Italy.”

She might have added, “and everyone has cooked spaghetti alla bolognese without ever wondering what the bolognese refers to”. In my early thirties I’d shared a house in Liverpool with a Bolognese, Marcello, who was more interested in politics than food in those days. I was also interested in politics but at the same time fascinated by the kind of superior Red Cross parcels he would receive every Christmas from his mother.