Sfincione Palermitano

Sfincione confuses Americans who want to call it Sicilian pizza. It is not pizza. It shares ancestors with pizza, perhaps, but it evolved differently in Palermo's narrow streets and ancient markets. The name comes from the Latin for sponge, and that tells you what the bread should be: soft, airy, full of holes that catch the sauce and oil.

The topping is restrained but deliberate. Onions cooked until they surrender all their bite. Tomatoes simmered briefly. Anchovies that dissolve into the sauce, leaving only their savory depth behind. Caciocavallo, the stretched-curd cheese of southern Italy, and then the breadcrumbs that make this bread unmistakably Sicilian. The crumbs turn golden in the oven and create a texture no pizza can match.

Street vendors in Palermo have sold sfincione from wheeled carts for generations. They cut it into squares and wrap it in paper. You eat it walking through the Vucciria market or standing at the counter of a rosticceria. It is working-class food that demands no plate, no fork, no ceremony.