I spent this warm, sunny afternoon outside a Portobello Road cafe drinking coffee, listening to a friend talk about a wonderful week she had recently spent in Sardinia.

Stirring our spoons into many thimble sized espressos, we oozed reminiscences over Italy. Hard not to, if not actually impossible, after all, Italy, just as France and Spain do, stirs the heart and sways the head.

What a delightful rogues gallery of experiences; as predictable a list as anyone might imagine: blissful meals and wine; La Dolce Vita; the sense of joy it inspires for no other reason that it's simply Italy. And of course, memorable stays. With an old flame, my friend had spent part of a Summer twisting and turning through Tuscany in a Porsche - now that's got to have been the way to have done it in the pre-carbon footprint days. Tempus fugit: Sardinia they cycled round

Say Italy to me and I think of Bologna. Better food hath no man had than here. I had what I earnestly regard as a landmark meal there once - pasta e fagioli. Yep, simple as it comes, pasta and beans in a light meaty broth. Barely a handful of meals, nevertheless, have ever got my heart racing the way this did. When you feel an absolute duty to fall at the feet of the chef and kiss the hem of their apron, or weep soundlessly, all five senses stunned in delight. Numb with pleasure.

Today, it might as well have been a Unicorn I spotted - the restaurant seems to vanished, that treasure island taken by the waves. I've never had a repeat dish of pasta e fagoli that's come within spitting distance of the first. It's become my great quest. Well, one of...there are a few more.