The air is thick with salt and butter as a bowl of tagliatelle tangled with melted anchovies and shaved cod's roe arrives at my table beside the canal. The sharp pop of a cork breaks the hum of restaurant chatter and waitress pours a glass of local white wine. Lunch has arrived.
"This is the king of butters," I'm told by my waitress, who says the Alpine butter – Primiero Botìro – coating my pasta is a regional speciality. Made in mountain dairies during July and September from raw milk, she says, "it tastes best now".
