Walking from Piazza Maggiore I entered the Quadrilatero district, where the guilds and traders gave their names to the streets: Via Drapperie for tailors, Via Pecherie Vecchie for fish.

I was there to discover the richness and diverse offerings at its heart. The alleys led past traditional shops that had been in the same families for generations, where service came with a smile. I was unmistakeably in Italy again.

Since Roman times, when an extensive canal system enabled the countryside farmers to bring their produce for sale, this labyrinth of cobbled streets has been the centre of trade. The capital of the Emilia Romagna region, Bologna is renowned for its food.

I ignored the fresh greens and went in search of the big one. A mix of ground pork, pork neck fat, black peppercorns and salt, this mammoth sized sausage is mortadella, mixed, forced into skins, heated then cooled. The recipe had stayed the same for centuries until the Middle Ages, when spice merchants brought nutmeg, cumin and saffron to the city. With sage, garlic and rosemary, the big fat sausage became a world-renowned delicacy.

In the delis, the sausages muscled for hanging space with massive hams and salami, many growing a salty, crusty coat of bacteria that I would have had to cut away before eating.

In Piazza Mercanzia stands the Chamber of Commerce that was the meeting place of merchants and still now sets the DOP and other standards for foods and wines of the region.

In their archives lie the official recipes for tagliatelle, ragu Bolognese and tortellino. There are even gold old replicas of the pasta originals. To gain certification all local produce has to meet the exacting standards set by the Italian Academy of Culinary Arts.

Tagliatelle was said to have been created for Lucrezia Borgia’s wedding in 1487 to the Duke of Ferrara. His head chef was taken by her flowing blonde locks and made the ribbons of pasta, but this is all folklore.

As recently as 1972, the Brotherhood of Tortellino set the standard – each strand should be a precise 7mm when raw, and 8mm when cooked. Why? It is equal to 12,270th part of the famous Asinelli Tower. Connoisseurs insist on a thickness of between 0.6 and 0.8mm. So when next ordering in a restaurant, take a ruler with you!

Tortellini has its origins in 1500s. Hand-rolled to resemble a navel, it is served in a chicken broth. The stuffing has now digressed from the standard ham, mortadello or Parmigiano Reggiano cheese; spinach and ricotta being a favourite of mine.

After a morning of looking at food, my stomach was whispering ’pranzo’, so I headed to find a restaurant famed for not serving food. Osteria Del Sole has been going strong since 1465 at 1d, Vicolo Ranocchi.

There was no indication of an eating place when I walked past it initially, before checking numbers and backtracking to a grotty, anonymous doorway.

Once inside, I realised I was in the right place when I saw the large wooden tables and benches filled with locals having fun.

With my parcel of food bought from the shops I had visited earlier, I found some space and headed for the bar, paid my €2, and was offered a choice of some very good wines by the glass. This was just one great indoor picnic.

Everyone peeps to see what everyone else has brought in and the jovial atmosphere made this my favourite place to eat. It took several glasses of wine to get my head around the concept of a restaurant that does not serve food.

The barman was proud to show me old the black and white photos on the walls of his ancestors propping up the bar. It was good to see traditions going strong.

Time to learn from an expert – the art of pasta making. Alessandro Spisni had for a 10-year run as a champion pasta-maker in Italy. His sister Alsessandra is also a TV chef for Rai Uno.

The smiles of this sister and brother team welcomed me into the La Vecchia Scuola Bolognese on Via Malvasia. For the last 10 years, sfoglini apprentices have been undergoing courses in the hope of mastering the art of handmade pasta-making.

A group of Americans were working away at the tortellini shapes under Alesandro’s tutelage. It was all smiles for those who produced a good shape, and a spray from a handy water container for those who did wrong. It was fun to try; a bit like being a kid again with plasticine, except I was expected to cook and eat my own produce later.

A lady from Milan was using all her muscles to roll paper-thin pasta verde sheets. To test, Alessandro came along and lifted the sheet – if it survived, it was good, but if it ripped it was subjected to more rolling.

The pin and table were made from pale poplar wood and with time and elbow grease, the gluten was released from the flour to give its malleability. Alessandro said the best pasta starts with the best 00-grade flour, as he mischievously sprinkled me with it. Considering it is just water and fresh eggs that are added, I see his point. This smiling, curly-haired master of pasta personifies the love that the locals have for their food.

Just do not ask for spaghetti Bolognese – it is considered a swear word in this city. No wonder Bologna is called the ‘fat one’. Roll on my next visit to discover more treats hiding under the shopping colonnades and countryside beyond.