Had a bewildering dinner at Sabatino’s last night, where the manager tried to convince us that the Campanian red we thought we’d ordered was the very same as the Lombardian one that came to the table (up and moved the vinyards, they did?). I suppose I was too mollified by the cute faces constructed on the veal sorrentino to mind much.

Would eating baby cow be so controversial if it always looked like Mr. Bill?