This is a story that begins at lunch. Or, more accurately, it begins earlier, with one of those underwhelming Italian breakfasts that make you wonder how people who make some of the greatest food on earth can eat cake with their morning coffee (basically taking an overly sweet croissant and calling it brioche).

Breakfast should never be the last meal you have in Italy, especially when you are on vacation in Milan and about to drive the 12 hours home to Bordeaux in an old Land Rover Defender with no music or air-conditioning and without your wife (who has taken the plane home), but with three dogs and four kids in tow. So you make the irrational decision to swing by Turin for lunch, even if it means you won’t get home before 3 a.m.