Food: Matthew Fort has a tough job. He's food and drink editor at the Guardian; all that wine and all that food that must be tasted for the social workers of Britain.
And just to show that despite being in that job since 1989, he was not one to refuse a challenge, Fort came up with the clever wheeze of riding the length of Italy on a scooter, eating and drinking along the way, and then converting his experiences into a book. Hence the alliterative subtitle "Voyages on a Vespa". Wow, some people have it tough.
Well, actually, he did. Starting at the heel of Italy, in the backwater of Melito di Porto Salvo, in three separate journeys, he rode through all kinds of weather, endured some frankly dodgy meals, met some very interesting people and came up with the following conclusion when he finally reached his goal of Turin, the city that housed the first parliament of the united kingdom of Italy:
"So was Italy united in any meaningful sense of the word? There were still deep divisions, between north and south, between region and region, between state and people. There were parts of the country where the inhabitants could not understand what those from another part were saying, so mutually incomprehensible were their dialects. Football reflected the divisive loyalties that in former centuries had been expressed through war. They couldn't even agree on matters such as the correct saucing of cappelaci, for heaven's sake.
"But, for all its social, linguistic and culinary diversity, Italy, it seemed to me, is indeed united, perhaps more than it recognises. It is united not by notional politics, or culture or language, or even by prosciutto, pizza or pasta. It is the passion to grow things to eat, and the casual, commonplace, everyday passion displayed in cooking them and eating them, that forms the true, common individual and social currency that fuses the country together."
Fort comes across as a solid man, strong of purpose and clear in his opinions. The modern world of supermarkets and fast food is not his cup of tea, so to speak. He seeks out the artisans - the makers of hand-crafted pasta, the back-room salami makers, the people for whom food is part of their life, not just their lifestyle.
As his journey unfolds we get a sense of his mission. He is not seeking out the culinary spectacular but rather is looking for the soul of the country. In the process, he shares his knowledge of the country's history, both political and culinary, and paints a detailed guide to the changing landscape and the people who populate it.
In the south, Fort sees food as a mirror to the poverty of the area, learns just how complex olive oil can be, how essential chillies are, what the difference is between Sugu and Ragu (Sugu is just a tomato sauce) and much else besides.
He also experiences the first of many meals where the multiple courses far outstrip his willing appetite. He dwells long on the simplicity and practicality of peasant cuisine and clearly approves of a culture in which nothing is wasted.
Every part of an animal is used in cooking, from head to toe and all parts in between. In Naples he encounters tripe: "When the tomato sauce had reduced to the required intensity he [Antonio Moglie, the tripe master of Naples] sliced up some tripe and added it to the sugo, along with some chopped calf's head 'per un consistenza differente [a different texture] e ricchezza [richness>about twenty minutes . . ."
As Fort eats, Moglie laments the increasing reluctance of people to eat offal, specifically tripe. And Fort quotes him: "Even in Naples people don't eat as much tripe as they used to. It was a food of the poor and people aren't so poor anymore". Should any reader feel themselves the exception, master of Naples's tripe is included at the end of the chapter. Personally, I'll stick to the ice-cream.
But there is a serious issue here which the writer returns to again and again; it is the slow but sure demise of the Italian culture of being at one life. He includes numerous examples of just being invited to lunch or dinner where the food is an expression of local custom and where simplicity reigns.
Italian, he clearly gets people to talk to him and with him, even to the extent of sharing their recipes with him.
But no place was more impressive than the Villa Cicchi. Sited near the charming town of Ascoli Piceno, this azienda agriturismo (a kind of small farmhouse hotel) was where the Cicchi family cooking of simple, locally grown abundance got the better of our hero.
As he recites the intricate preparation of the various courses with their lip-smacking names (why is it that Italian food sounds so good; even his disastrous meals sound appetising), the reader can't help but lick their lips. Fort couldn't make to the end. "I fell at the hurdle presented by crostata di marmellata di fichi."
For lovers of simple good food this is an interesting journey, a balanced and wry travelogue with lots of quirky nibbles and recipes to boot.
For those besotted by Italy, this is a fascinating snapshot of its people and its culture of food as we enter the 21st century.
• Joe Breen is an Irish Times journalist