Panuozzo with Sausage and Friarielli

Panuozzo comes from Gragnano, the town famous for its pasta, not its bread. Yet the bread is remarkable. Pizza dough, shaped into an oval, baked until the crust blisters and chars in spots, then split while still warm and stuffed with whatever the cook has at hand. The bread absorbs the juices of the filling. It becomes something more than a vessel.

The filling here is pure Naples: sausage crumbled and browned until the fat renders out, and friarielli, those bitter greens that Neapolitans love and most Americans have never tasted. Friarielli are not broccoli rabe, though they are close cousins. They are smaller, more bitter, more intensely flavored. If you cannot find them, broccoli rabe will do. The bitterness is the point.

This is not a delicate sandwich. It is food for people who work, who are hungry, who want something substantial. The bread must be warm. The filling must be hot. You eat it standing, or sitting at a counter, with napkins ready. There is no elegant way to consume a panuozzo, and none is required.