Panelle Palermitane

Panelle belong to the friggitorie of Palermo, the street stalls where men in white aprons have been frying since before anyone can remember. They are poor food: chickpea flour, water, salt. Nothing more. The parsley is a concession to color. The technique is everything.

The batter is cooked like polenta until it pulls from the pan, then spread impossibly thin on marble and left to set. Palermitani vendors spread theirs so thin you can see light through them. This thinness creates the defining quality: shatteringly crisp on the outside, creamy as custard within. Thick panelle are an abomination.

You must eat them hot, with lemon squeezed over the top. In Palermo they tuck them into soft sesame rolls called mafalde and sell them from carts near the markets. At home, they disappear from the plate before you can arrange them. This is correct. They are meant to be eaten immediately, standing up, burning your fingers and not caring.