A few summers ago, on the way back from a morning on the beach in southern Sicily, we stopped to get pizza for lunch. I remember this for several reasons. Because as I got out of the car, the Y strap pulled out of the base of my blue flip-flop – a little thing with an enormous effect. Because, while I was waiting in front of the pizza cabinet still thinking about my foot, a tray of just-baked things the shape of Cornish pasties was brought out and put on a crate near the door to cool. But mostly I remember because, as we drove home and I pulled one in half so we could share it, a bit of green and cheese dropped in my lap. And, despite talcum and stain remover, it left a faint but unmissable mark on a useful dress. A grease souvenir from Sicily.
You find small members of the extensive stuffed bread family all over southern Italy: hot bread around a soft and tasty filling. As well as the cheese and greens on that day, there was sausage and broccoli, and another slightly bigger version filled with tomato and olives. During the same trip, we would return to the same place, Le Signorine Spasciamaronna (so-called because their brother, who owns the shop next door, also unwraps the Madonna for the annual procession and is known as spasciamaronna). Often, we would buy the individual ones, other times a large filled bread pie to share, or slices of deep Sicilian pizza with anchovy, tomato and breadcrumbs. Then, along with a car full of sand, we brought the recipe home and made it our own.
