I went to Bologna in March to visit my friend Francesca and learn how to make tortellini – or rather, to begin to learn. We spent much of our time in her kitchen with her parents, hand-rolling dough, then folding small squares of it into triangles before closing them round our fingertips.

The rest of the time was spent walking the city known as la grassa (opulent or fat) and la dotta (learned), tracing some of the 38 kilometres of red-brick porticoes that fringe the buildings. We also visited the university (considered the first in the world), which gives the city one of its nicknames, and Francesca a job in its library. Two medieval towers act as a reassuring central axis, pivotal points around which you move, pulling your eyes up. Then, just when you feel dizzy, shop windows steady you and pull your eyes down. They are filled with things that have earned the city its other nickname: cannon-sized mortadella and salame rosa sliced open to show off just how pink they are, along with great piles of wedges of parmesan cheese. Distracting windows also contain the things I had come to find: wooden trays containing hundreds of taut tortellini the size of a chickpea. There was also the performance of tortellini-making behind glass panes, which Francesca dismissed.

My eyes were also tugged by sweets. Most often by a cake called certosino, a heavyweight, densely spiced cake covered with bling in the form of huge slices of glistening candied fruit. Bologna also has jam-filled pinza, flaky-topped chocolate cake the size of a small wheel, and torta di riso, a rice cake with a top the colour of winking creme caramel. Described to me as a sort of rice pudding cake with oomph and candied fruit, the Bolognese confection is also known as torta degli addobbi, which was traditionally made during the festa degli addobbi, a parish festival when people decorated addobbi (windows) with coloured material.

Over time, torta di riso has become a celebration cake for Christmas, Easter, Sunday lunches and, in its simplest form, as an everyday treat.

Traditionally, the cake tin is buttered and dusted with breadcrumbs, but it can be lined with parchment, too. Adding canditi is divisive: if you don’t like it, don’t do it. Liqueur is also optional, although if you do add it, you should, as the Bolognese say, spruzzare abbondantemente (spray abundantly). Pour a glass on top of the still-warm cake. It drenches it beautifully and ensures it improves even more opulently. Surely we can learn something from that?

Torta di riso (Bolognese rice cake)

Recipes vary, especially in the quantity of sugar (I have come across recipes ranging from 100g to 400g) and suggestions of 100g to 300g of rice. Milk varies less: almost every recipe specifying one litre. Having done some Felicity Cloake-style research, I have found 180g arborio rice works well.

Let the cake cool before you take it out of the tin: straight from the oven, it is too soft, reminiscent of a pudding. After a few hours it sets firm; overnight, firmer still. Traditionally, it is drenched with liqueur – amaretto or maraschino – straight out of the oven, then cut into rombi (diamonds), which makes the slices look even more jewel-like.

It reminds me of an enriched rice pudding (because I am English), which is a limiting comparison when there are versions with varying densities and sweetness all over the world. What all cakes and set puddings have in common, though, is that they change form as they rest, getting denser and richer with time. Dragged back to my roots again, I appreciate the taut, dark golden skin of torta di riso, its crusty edges and the fact that serving it the next day is the best of all.

Prep 10 min

Rest 3 hr+

Cook 1 hr 10 min

Makes 12 slices

1 litre whole milk

180g arborio rice

200g caster sugar

Zest of an unwaxed lemon

100g ground almonds

4 eggs

50g amaretti biscuits (optional), crushed

50g candied peel or raisins (optional)

Butter, for greasing

Flour or breadcrumbs, to line the tin

100ml maraschino or amaretti liqueur (optional)

Put the milk and rice in a pan over a medium-low heat. Bring the milk to an almost boil, then reduce to a simmer, stirring occasionally, for as long as it takes the rice to absorb the milk - about 25 minutes.

Take the rice off the heat, stir in the sugar and lemon zest then allow to sit for an hour.

Mix the almonds, eggs, amaretti biscuits and candied peel (if using) into the rice.

Butter and either flour or breadcrumb a 25cm tin, or line it with parchment. Pour the mixture into the tin and bake at 160C (150C fan)/335F/gas 3½ for 40 minutes, or until the cake has set and the top is golden. Pour over the liqueur, if using. Allow to sit for at least two hours before turning out. Serve in rombi (diamonds) or slices.