Michele is still suffering from a stomach bug he picked up in Morocco over a week earlier. It doesn’t bode well for our first few weeks in Egypt. Nonetheless he wants to make sure that I try the original versions of some of the legendary Italian foods that have been adapted around the world. “Daily life in this part of Italy,” he explains, “is based around when, where and what you’re going to eat next.”
On the journey from Milan to Beligioioso, we stop at Pavia, a good university town where Michele studied his first degree. Most of the year round it is teeming with students, but in the summer, it returns to its usual population of around 80,000.
We criss-cross the narrow streets looking for a focacceria that is still open in the off-season, so I can try the famous Italian bread, oozing with olive oil and studded with rock-salt and sprigs of rosemary. Sometimes it comes topped with melted cheese or white onions. There is none to be found but the hunt beats making small-talk.
We arrive in Belgioioso and as Michele gathers his things (we are staying down the road at his brother’s that night) I sit at the table in his parents’ small kitchen and they beam from the other side of the language barrier. At Michele’s suggestion, I entertain them with my new on-demand party trick: pronouncing the name of the village in the local dialect, which sounds something like “bye Jews”.
We move on to his brother’s house and decide that the three of us would eat back in Pavia. This part of north-west Italy is a patchwork of rice paddies, producing the short-grain, glutinous rice ideal for risotto. We eat at La Posta, which serves excellent rosemary and lemon risotto (the best in the world, I'm told) as well as amazing local wine.
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