Right — let’s get into it. For some reason, we find ourselves on the island of Sicily. Among many associations of the place, one everyone will agree on is its food and drink. And as Daniela is the daughter of a chef, who grew up in restaurants and kitchens, food and drink are always high on our agenda. It’s also possibly the best way to immerse yourself in the culture of a place, as many a travel influencer and TV chef will tell you.

First off, it is with great pleasure that I can tell you that we have not had a bad meal here in the last week. Not one. That tells you just how much care and pleasure is taken in the act of breaking bread together. Let’s cast our minds to the picturesque town of Agrigento, to the south of the island, up on a ridge overlooking the Mediterranean. We rise early, breakfast on coffee and fruit, and head out on the local bus to the Valley of the Temples — a stunning series of Greek-era ruins and the main reason we came here.

It is hot — very hot. After two hours we’re done. We bus back up the hill in search of lunch — and find Pittito, in a glimmering little square next to the brown stone police headquarters. We’re early — locals don’t really lunch at noon, but the white marquee with its crisply turned-out tables is cool and we are greeted warmly. Food service here is a lifetime, serious profession, and it shows. We’re casually dressed, I’m sweaty and red-faced, but we are honoured guests and staff are delighted to see us — even after I practice my rudimentary language skills on them.

In short order, we are seated and getting to grips with a bottle of San Pellegrino (stay hydrated, children) and dewy glasses of local Grillo — dry, fresh and fairly full-flavoured, with citrus, white fruit, herbal and intriguing mineral notes. It’s refreshing and goes with seafood like it was made in a lab for just that purpose. It’s not posh wine either, but the quality is excellent.

For antipasto, we share steamed polpo — octopus caught that morning, simply presented with olive oil, garlic and pepper. Squeeze on a bit of lemon and ecco fatto! It’s remarkably tender, subtly conveying the scend of the sea and the fragrant herbal scents of the countryside hereabouts. Flavours are subtle here — it’s best to let the sensations linger on the palate and all the constituents reveal themselves in their own time.

(I do have to quell some slight misgivings stirred by my memory of My Octopus Teacher, but am happy to succumb to the seductive grip of this cephalopod’s tentacles.)

Let me tell you, this menu presents the hungry punter with dilemma after quandary, such are the tempting choices, but in the end, after much discussion with the maitre d’, Daniela opts for Amberjack with artichoke cream. Our elegant server tells us this fish is firm and flavourful, fresh — of course — and much revered by local gastronomes. The cream, prepared with white wine, olive oil (virgin, of course), a smidge of lemon juice and mint, provides that marriage of land and sea in combination with the pan-fried fish. “Delicious,” declares the chef’s daughter.

For my main course, I’m still bewitched by the citizenry of the sea floor, so opt for calamari piccoli — a little squid — stuffed with breadcrumbs, capers, currants, garlic and lemon rind. On the side, cockles and mussels in a white wine reduction. It’s presented, initially a little disconcertingly, whole — fins and all — with a plug of tiny tentacles where the stuffing went in. But the fragrance is delightful, again revealing fractional nuances like fine perfume. And like the polpo, it’s firm, yielding and by turns savoury, salty and sweet. The shellfish do this too: sweet cockles, salty mussels. It is, in short, a masterful dish.

At this point we’re into our second glass of grillo (it goes warm if you don’t sip diligently, see) and forgetting to photograph our food — and really, we’re not that tacky. Not all the time. I’m trying to let the words do the talking, and there are lots of pics on the various review sites. And the place is filling up rapidly, staff operating in well-oiled concert, always agreeable, never flustered in the growing hubbub.

We’re pretty stuffed by now, but there is one more mission to fulfil: the search for the cassata of our youth. In brief: my family used to attend a wonderful restaurant in Bulawayo, the Capri, run by our Sicilian godfather (no, not that kind) Massimo. One day I’ll write about this place in detail, but suffice to say, Massimo’s cassata was opulent: a cake-like ice cream slice with layers of vanilla, and chocolate, plus another studded with nuts and sweet fruit rinds, all topped with a thin crust of pink sponge cake. Daniela’s father — a chef — used to create a similar confection. We tried to find its equivalent earlier in the week in Palermo, only to discover that the real deal is a rich ricotta–based cake — all well and good, but not the icy sweet delight of memory.

At Pittito, we come very close: it’s ice cream, with the choccy layer and rich chocolate sauce, and a vanilla zone obligingly concealing nuts and peel. It’s good, the best so far and gone in seconds. My photo is blurry with emotion so won’t appear here — the search goes on.

And finally, possibly thanks to our cries of joy and appreciation at every course, our server comes out with two tall glasses of local mandorla liqueur, gratis. This almond liqueur is not Amaretto, which has a certain bitterness emphasised with the use of apricot kernels — no, no, no . . . this is sweet almond liqueur, made from mandorle grown in the very Valle dei Templi area we sweated through only hours before.

It’s about 2pm and we’re a little tipsy, but it’s impossible to skimp on this outstanding finisher to our meal. Think pale, sunny yellow liquor that’s creamy in the mouth and immediately fills your head with sweet marzipan — followed by all manner of vanilla, caramel and citrus — and is that cinnamon? I don’t care how heavy my luggage will be: I’m taking a bottle of this home with me. One sniff is like Christmas in summer, drinkable nougat, sensations of a spot where sea, land and scented breezes carry their essences direct to the pleasure centres of the brain.

Lately we’ve been saying every meal is top five in our extensive international experience. Yes, this is one of those twenty or so top five. Maybe top three. This gorgeous little jewel of an eatery can’t be faulted. And the siesta afterwards? Bellissima!