Several years ago, I was walking across Ponte Flaminio in Rome when it started to rain. It’s a long and exposed bridge, and the rain came in at such an angle and with such intensity that I felt as if I was being hosed down like an elephant. There was no shelter, so I kept walking, like a drenched martyr, water rolling off my trousers and into my shoes as I squelched my way to a friend’s house.

The friend was also delayed by the rain, so I was welcomed by his stepmother. She made me stand on a towel while she pulled off my wet clothes and in exchange gave me a large grey tracksuit that smelled of fabric softener, and a hairdryer. Then she made me penne ai quattro formaggi (penne with four cheeses), for which she melted mozzarella, parmesan, Philadelphia (Italians I know love Philadelphia) and fontina with a bit of milk, so they turned into a sort of sauce, which she then tossed with cooked penne. The hope of the dish is that, while the cheeses are saucy, they are also filanti, orstringy, so pull in threads between the bowl and your mouth. We ate watching the news about flooding all over Italy.

Ever since that day, like expressions for ever bound to certain people – “all right, love”, “hullabaloo”, “flipping heck” – heavy rain is bound to melted cheese. Last week, as the rain power-washed our roof terrace, I made cauliflower cheese with extra cheese. Then on Saturday morning, as I watched umbrella-less people running across the road from my kitchen window, I made Nigel Slater’s leeks and caerphilly. Both dishes confirmed what I already knew: melted cheese is an antidote for rainy days.

The Guardian archives are a melted cheese medicine cabinet. Felicity Cloake’s perfect cauliflower cheese, or Yotam Ottolenghi’s mustardy version, alternatively Alice Zaslavsky’s cauliflower and asparagus mac ’n’ cheese recipe. Which brings us to pasta and Thomasina Miers’ four-cheese greens lasagne (pictured top), Laura Goodman’s straight-up macaroni cheese, or my Neapolitan pasta with provolone, which is an invitingly oozing remedy for these increasingly chilly, dark evenings. If you want greens, I have also written a recipe for a pea, cheese and bechamel bake that makes good use of store cupboard odds and ends.

Back to cheese on toast. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s Madame Rarebit with cheese, ham and eggs sounds extremely nice, as does Tom Kerridge’s cheesy omelette toasted sandwich. Then, of course, there is pasta with four cheeses as served to me on that rainy day several years ago, or pasta with butter and cheese – which judging by the Tupperware-coloured sky and gathering clouds is what I am going to need for lunch.

World on a plate | The Museum of the Home in London, not only provides an opportunity to time travel, but it also has a great shop. I bought Jimi Famurewa’s book Settlers. Part memoir, part history, part journalism, Settlers is an incisive and intimate examination of being Black, African and British in the capital. Particularly evocative is the chapter called Restaurant, a voyage around London’s Congolese rumba bars, Ghanaian takeaways and Nigerian suya spots: the silent sizzle of onions in palm oil, smoked jollof rice and raspberry salt rising from the pages.

Grate expectations | On the subject of melting and grating cheese, what cheese can be substituted for parmesan? The answer is lots of them, including grana padano, lodigiano, also Swiss sbrinz, gouda and aged cheddar, as well as pecorino romano, all of which have great grating power, especially when left to harden a little.

Flushed with inspiration | The world is divided: those who keep books and magazines in the toilet and those who don’t. We do, and at the moment Laura Gladwin and Zoe Baker’s gorgeous illustrated encyclopedia Feast Your Eyes on Food is sitting by the sink for anyone who cares to flick though while they sit. We have had a lot of visitors over the last few weeks and not only has the average time inside increased, but several people have come out talking about watercress, pikelets and 18 varieties of apple we should be enjoying.