Sfincione: Sicilian pizza for social distancing.

My zia Pina had creamy, flawless skin, silver white hair, and bright blue eyes. She looked nothing like what someone from Sicily "looks" like. That's because Sicilians don't look like anything. They are 2000 year mix of so many different genes from so many different places on this earth. There is a saying that comes out of the mouths of elder's in Sicily when a new baby is born: what carnagione do they have? Or. What is their skin tone? Not to pass any kind of judgement -- but because they are truly fascinated by their own genetics - their own spectrum of who they are, of who comes through them when they are born. In the States - Aunt Pina (Josephina / Pina) was seen as "so beautiful" "the pretty one" - and of course she was but it really was a conversation around skin tone and what was “beautiful” in the US (the lighter skinned Sicilians had a pass) in the sea of our darker skin kin from the island. And… that’s a whole other conversation about whiteness and white passing for another post — because it’s important for us to talk about.

Pina aka Josephina aka Jay — besides her beauty — she was also known as my family's best baker/pizza maker. Best pastry. Best crusts. Best custards and creams. Best deep fried sweet treats (pinolata, sfinge, etc) Nobody knows how she made things to be so perfect - but god bless her - she will go down in history as the best of the best, and generously so. She was always carrying a pie or a try full of zeppole and brought them all over our little community dropping them off at family’s houses. She's 100 years old now (somewhere around there) - and still alive, but in the throws of dementia. I wish I could be back in NY at this very moment with her and my mama in my mom’s kitchen listen to their stories and make her most famous pizza— Sfincione. But, I am here and my elders are across the country, sitting inside, hoping and praying to stay well. It breaks my heart not to break bread with them and make sure they are ok, from up close. I wish I could somehow let Aunt Pina know that her "recipe" lives on in and through me - although I can never replicate her art. (quotes around recipe because there are no written recipes, just ways to be with and intuit food, and passed on verbally while hands on in the kitchen).

Of course, I didn't really love this "pizza" as a child. I just wanted "real pizza" (probably from Pizza Hut -- which just makes me sad looking back at how hard I rebelled against all the food I was cooked, baked and fed as a kid). Sfincione pizza wasn't thin and full of fake stringy cheese or random toppings. It barely had cheese and no toppings — but a sauce made from fresh tomato sauce mixed with anchovy, onion, bread crumbs + seasoning. 

When I went to Sicily almost two years ago, my sweet friend Russ Lombaro, took me all around Palermo to the best street food vendors. "You want the caponata?"

"Si. Si."

And he took me to an old guy with a folding table and a pot full of eggplant stew. It was served to my in a single use plastic bowl and fork in exchange for 75 cents.

"You want the Sfincione?"

"SI!”

And he took me to a guy who had a little tiny stand against an old stone building in an alley just off the famous street food market. 

For less than 1 Euro I got the most glorious piece of Sfincione - wrapped in butcher paper. It was a massive sized piece. Perhaps the size of my entire face. I hadn't had it like that since Zia Pina made, tray after tray.

"Hard to find the best Sfincione here in Palermo - not like the old days," Russ explained. "But this man, he makes the best still".

The bottom layer of the crust is buttery, crisp, the middle layer must be light and airy, bouncy, (the term "sfince" means spongey and this is where the name comes from) the top layer must be saturated with it's unique "sauce" which is really more like a paste; fishy, salty, gooey, sweet, onion-y. All these layers shouldn't be abrupt in their transitions. They just ombre against each other so it becomes one experience - multi-textured and flavored. A part of each other, in conversation.

 prepare this pizza, and all these traditional foods, and share them here with you in hopes to bring us all into a sensory experience, together. 

A remembrance of what the hands before us lovingly created, re-making memory and creating new ones. Honoring  our ancestral gifts by nourishing ourselves, each other (and in turn, feeding our holy dead). And doing so out of pure joy (with a side of grief as well). To honor those who came before us, those who are still here and those no longer with us— and to feed our bodies and those of our communities in gratitude and belly understanding of the entire spectrum of the ancestral (and immigration + non-consensual assimilation) experience. This food, when made with attention to detail and magic -- it is a spell to invoke our ancestors and the wellness within us. It brings us around the kitchen counter AND dining table, together. So we can tell the stories to each other. Cast prayers into the dough. Dance a bit with the taranta music playing in the background as we stir the sauce. Without a little story, without a little relationship — food is just something to eat. With the story and connection — it becomes something about life, the good life, the hard life, all of life. It becomes about who we are and who we have been and who we are remembering we can be. It becomes true and beautiful medicine for the soul in these trying times. 

So, whether you have any Sicilian in your blood, or not - here is a recipe for this pizza that is truly unique to this region - the back streets of the beautiful, gritty, food centered, art filled, Palermo, Sicilia. And I promise you, even typing this recipe up, I filled it with magic. May it bring medicine and magic straight to you. xx

FOR THE DOUGH:

1 tablespoon dry active yeast (or your own fresh starter)
¼ cup fine semolina flour
2 cups flour or all-purpose or bread flour
1 teaspoon sea salt
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

FOR THE TOPPING:

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 small onion, thinly sliced1
½ cups plain tomato sauce
2 fresh tomatoes, chopped.
Salt and pepper
Pinch of red-pepper flakes
1 cup bread crumbs
1 cup pecorino cheese
8-10 anchovies (the kind in oil) cut into 1-inch pieces
Fresh oregano, thyme, basil (dried is fine if you don’t have fresh.

You can also sauté bitter greens and eat them on the side for some belly love!)

DOUGH:

In a stand mixer:
1 cup lukewarm water and yeast, stir, let it get creamy.
Add semolina and stir in until it thickens into a paste.
Allow that to sit at room temperature for about 10 minutes. Look for bubbles to happen.

Add: flour, salt and olive oil
Knead dough until it becomes REALLY smooth, almost silky (this takes me anywhere from 5-8 minutes)
Put kneaded dough in a bowl covered with clothe napkin that has been dampened a bit.
Refrigerate for at least 2 hours. (I usually let it sit in there for 4 hours)

SAUCE:

Heat olive oil, add onions. Cook for 5 minutes.
Add 1/2 cup water, and raise heat to high. Simmer briskly until all the water has evaporated and onions are soft. Add tomato sauce and fresh tomatoes and simmer.
Season with salt and pepper, and red pepper flakes. Cool.

Stir in half the bread crumbs, grated cheese and anchovies.

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Drizzle olive oil to coat the bottom of a 9-by-13-inch rimmed baking sheet.
Take out the dough in refrigerator and press it down.

Using a rolling pin, roll out dough to make a rectangle.

Bring dough to oiled baking sheet, and, using the palms of your hands, stretch dough to the edges until they stay put.

Cover dough loosely with a damp towel, and set in a warm place to rise for 3 minutes.

Use a spoon to spread the topping smoothly over entire surface. Top with the rest of the bread crumbs. And even more cheese if you want.

Drizzle the top of the pizza with 2 to 3 tablespoons more olive oil.

Bake for 30 minutes. You want to make sure the bottom of the pizza is crisp. When done, sprinkle the top with salt and fresh herbs (or dried). Cool and serve.