‘Of course I did.’ He frowned. ‘Why? Don’t you like it?’

‘I can honestly say this is the best pasta I have ever tasted. I can’t believe you made this here. Why didn’t you just get us a pizza?’

Jack looked as if he was considering it, then shook his head. ‘They don’t have an oven here.’

‘Otherwise you would have made a pizza from scratch, right?’ Ninni took another bite. There were hints of onion, pepper, mushroom and those little green peas, and a lot of bacon, in a rich creamy sauce. It was to die for.

‘Yes, I would.’ He finished his food. ‘Do you know they don’t sell any wine or booze in the shops here? Like, not at all?’

‘I have noticed, yes. You can buy beer and cider in the shop, though,’ Ninni said, shaking with laughter now.

‘No, you can’t. Not after eight o’clock. That’s not normal.’

Ninni laughed out loud. ‘I guess that depends on your point of view. Buying whisky or a bottle of red wine in Waitrose or Sainsbury’s on a Sunday morning isn’t normal.’

‘It ruins the possibilities for a proper red wine sauce,’ Jack said. ‘Otherwise we would have been eating a nice tomato sauce right now.’

‘Most of us adapt to the opening hours of Vinmonopolet and we prefer it like that,’ Ninni said, a bit defensive.

Jack frowned. ‘I guess it means I have to plan my sauces a day in advance then.’

‘Or always keep a couple of bottles in your cupboard,’ Ninni said, grinning at him.

‘Which a good chef does, anyway. But on an island, that has to be a problem.’

‘No, not really, we shop what we need when Vinmonopolet is open. Agnar used to make his own brew, like Tobben does now,’ Ninni said.

‘Alma said he drank too much at times.’ Jack smiled. ‘I learn all these bits and pieces about him, but I can’t get a whole picture, you know?’

Ninni took a sip from the bottle of fizzy drink. ‘It must be difficult for you. I can’t even imagine.’

Jack put the plate aside. ‘It’s not difficult in a sense; it’s more … surprising. I never expected this connection.’

Ninni smiled. ‘You’re obviously discovering your roots. I can’t imagine what that feels like.’

‘A bit overwhelming, but not bad,’ Jack said.

‘How did you get into your type of cooking? I mean, it’s one thing to cook at home, but this food is far beyond anything anyone could throw together.’

‘I was lucky. I studied cooking in college and then had some work training in a really good restaurant. Roland took a liking to me and asked if I wanted a job at the weekends. He encouraged me to experiment, gave me all the training I could dream of, even sent me to Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, and he promised me the management of the restaurant if I got him a Michelin star.’

There was a hint of bitterness in his voice. Ninni took a sip of her soda. ‘You were about to get a Michelin star; I read that online. He didn’t follow up on his promise, did he?’