Two weeks ago, during a work trip to Milan, I had a free lunchtime and found my way to a humble-looking trattoria surrounded by office blocks in an unromantic corner of the city.
At 12.30pm, when I took a seat at the counter, it was all but empty. By 1pm it was heaving. Every seat was full and they were queueing out the door. It was clear from the shirt sleeves and the familiarity that this wasn’t anything special. It was just colleagues from local businesses sitting down together. It was lunchtime in Milan and they were damn well going to have lunch. They were here for €12 plates of spaghetti puttanesca or orecchiette with pesto. And yes, a glass of wine while you’re at it. Here in Milan, lunch mattered.
