Half-past eight on a Sunday night in Naples and I was given a seat with a view. Across the room at the Ristorante Umberto, in the upscale Chaia neighbourhood, was a table of four consisting of an older couple and a middle-aged one. I presumed it was a family dinner of some kind.

All but the elder gentleman at the table had finished what was on their plates, but he was slowly and deliberately carving and stretching out pieces of his pizza with a knife and fork so that I could see the stretch and give of the dough and fresh buffalo mozzarella cheese. That, I thought, is what I am going to have.