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Making Sicilian-Style Bruschetta

It was late afternoon when our bus rolled into Catania. After checking into our hotel, we wandered over to a cafe across the street, which proudly advertised "Sicilian Bruschetta." 

 

My Sicilian family never served bruschetta. Growing up in Wisconsin, it was just something I'd find at a hip trattoria. So I assumed this menu item was geared toward American tourists, who pronounce it "broo-shetta" instead of the Italian "broo-sketta." 

 

Still, I was intrigued. What made this bruschetta Sicilian?

We ordered a plate, and it was delightful: sweet Sicilian tomatoes, fresh basil, crunchy caper berries, roasted garlic, and just the right amount of olive oil and vinegar. It was a celebration of Sicilian culture on crunchy, toasted bread.

 

But I wondered. Was bruschetta really Italian? Where did it come from?

 

For one thing, it probably didn't originate in Sicily. There are some who say that the Etruscans invented bruschetta; it was a way of dressing stale, saltless bread. Or perhaps it was the Ancient Romans. Either way, the appetizer has likely existed nearly as long as olive oil, according to the late James Beard Foundation Lifetime Achievement winner and Italian cooking writer Marcella Hazan, who wrote about bruschetta in The Classic Italian Cookbook. As for the name, she explained, "bruschetta comes from bruscare, which means 'to roast over coals.'"

 

I recently stumbled on a YouTube video of another Sicilian bruschetta recipe. Produced by Francesco Elia, aka Tortellino, this recipe starts with good-quality bread: a fresh-baked pane nero di Castelvetrano loaf made from tumminia durum, which, like bruschetta, has ties to Ancient Rome. According to Francesco, this was also the go-to bread during World War II when other flours were harder to come by. 

 

Francesco mixes his toppings—tomato, basil, garlic, salt, and pepper—with extra virgin olive oil and vinegar. He lets the mixture sit and marinate for several minutes to let the flavors blend. During that time, he bakes the slices until the edges are golden but not too crispy. 

 

I contacted Francesco, a Sicilian born in Catania who now lives in the United Kingdom, to chat about this popular antipasti offering, its preparation, how to keep bruschetta crispy, serving etiquette, and what makes a recipe Sicilian.

 

 

What is Sicilian bruschetta?

It can be as simple as olive oil, oregano, and pepper or as sophisticated as looking almost like a pizza. It doesn't really matter. But the fundamental basis is the way you cook the bread. 


As long as the olive oil is good, especially if it's new, that is a form of bruschetta. You can have hot bread, bread under the grill, or sometimes even bread on the barbecue. You get a lovely charcoal and smoky flavor.


People add oregano, for example, to give a little bit of a pizza flavor, along with garlic, tomatoes, and mozzarella. It's a bit like a pizza to an extent.


I also included some balsamic drizzle in my recipe, which is incredibly tasty. I did that because that's what I was used to doing here in Sicily. So I'm calling it a Sicilian bruschetta because that's how we used to eat in my house. It's generally an appetizer as well. It's a form of a starter. 


You can dip it with olives and sun-dried tomatoes on the side. And that is more cultural nowadays, of course. But in the past, it was very much about survival because it was something you could do very easily, and you could get by just by eating bread, olive oil, and tomatoes.

Is there a proper way to prepare the basil?

I think basil is okay as long as you don't cook it. Basil is an incredible herb. I always put it at the end of my dishes. If it's a hot ragù, for example, you will see me adding the basil at the end because it releases lots of flavors. I do that with most of my herbs.

 

It doesn't matter if you crush it, chop it with a knife, or do it with your hands. People say that if you chop with a knife, it loses its properties. I think it's rubbish. Personally, it's so minimal. The whole thing doesn't matter. The most important thing is to leave it to marinade because if you leave it for 20 minutes or 30 minutes to marinade with the olive oil, you will see that it will release its lovely flavors and taste incredible. That is an ingredient that is not in the original bruschetta. It is part of the evolution of bruschetta because basil obviously goes really well with most things, especially with tomatoes.

 

How do you ensure that your bread will be crispy rather than soggy when adding the toppings?

What I do is I put mine under the grill, and I do not put the mix until I'm ready to eat it. Generally, I tend to serve it hot. So if I am entertaining, for example, and I've got guests coming, I will do the bruschetta bread under the grill and then call everybody at the table. They sit at the table, and I'll get it out of the oven, and it's hot and crispy. Then, I'll have the little pot of my marinade in the middle. Then people can help themselves and then eat it straight away. And because between putting it on the bread and eating, it's pretty much a couple of minutes, it stays crispy. However, if you were to do it earlier and leave it on the bread, it would get soggy because the bread would absorb the olive oil. It will taste okay but not the same because you will lose the crunchiness. So, if you want to retain the crunchiness between spreading the marinade and eating it, just a few seconds.

What is the traditional serving of bruschetta?

There isn't one really. I think in Sicily, you have the bread in the middle of the table, and you help yourselves. That is generally how food is consumed in Sicily. It's more about the warmth and the family fun of fitting together rather than the etiquette of having to have it on a plate that becomes very un-Sicilian, so to say. I'm sure some people do that, but it's not how people generally eat in a household; in a family, you put the food in the middle of the table, and people help themselves.

 

What makes a recipe Sicilian?

What makes it really Sicilian is ingenuity and making it do with what you have. Sicilians are very good at using their imagination to make anything they have in the fridge. That is why Sicilians have come up with so many different recipes: because their imagination is really great, and from very little, they can make something very, very big. And the best thing is that Sicilian food is the simplest food. And that's why bruschetta is so great because it's very, very simple. You will find that even the most acclaimed pasta dishes in Sicily have only a few ingredients but are incredibly delicious. The same applies to a lot of pasta, for example. There are only a few ingredients, maybe three, four, or five. 


The reason is that the fewer ingredients you have, the more you can taste what the meal is about. And so if it's about the mozzarella, then you can taste the mozzarella. If it's about the tomato in a recipe, then you taste the tomato. 


The true Italian and Sicilian dish is simple cuisine where you can eat something, identify what is in it, and appreciate a blend of flavors without something being overpowering. A lot of Sicilian food also has garlic, but I will only put one little clove because I don't want it to be overpowering. 


And that is where Sicilians are good at making something work from very, very little.

 

Sicilian bruschetta recipe

 

 

Preserving Sicily's Bread-Making Tradition

 

 

 

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Victoria Granof Redefines La Dolce Vita with Sicily: My Sweet

Director and food stylist Victoria Granof is well aware of America's love affair with Italy. It's something she shares, but one region of Italy particularly inspires her—and it's not the one at the tip of your tongue.

 

"I get so frustrated when people start talking about Tuscany," she says. "I mean, Tuscany is really nice—really nice. But Sicily is more my style; it's so different from any other part of Italy. People just think it's mafia, mafia, mafia. And it's so much more than that. I am on this mission to show people the Sicily that I love and that it's fabulous and different from the rest of Italy."

 

One of Victoria's obsessions is the aesthetic beauty of Sicily's famous sweets, which inspired her latest project, Sicily, My Sweet: Love Notes to an Island, with Recipes for Cakes, Cookies, Puddings, and Preserves.


Victoria and I recently sat down for a conversation where she shared her surprising Sicilian connection, her favorite recipes, what she learned working with photographer Irving Penn, the fascinating and sustainable way Sicilians make cannoli, and what she hopes book readers will take away. 

 

 

Tell us about your background and connection to Sicily.

My father's side of the family is northern Italian, and on my mother's side of the family were Sephardic Jews from Spain before the Spanish Inquisition.


We always thought we originated in Spain and landed in Turkey for the last 400 years. But the language, dialect, and food that we took with us, as well as a lot of the traditions, were not Turkish. 


When I went looking for my roots and to feel a connection, I went to Turkey, and it was like, "Oh, this is nice, but this is not home."


It wasn't until I read an article about Maria Grammatico, who owns a pastry shop in Erice. She said she was getting older and was afraid that none of the younger generation wanted to keep the tradition of Sicilian pastry alive because it was just dying off. All they wanted to do was move to a big city or out of Sicily and do something else.


I was really drawn to this because I was a pastry chef then, and I thought, okay, I'll go, and she can teach me. So that's what first brought me there, and I felt this really strong connection as soon as I went. 


Fast-forward to maybe five years ago, when all my family did our DNA and found out that we're Sicilian—57% Sicilian. Then I started really researching it. 


Spain wasn't Spain as we know it now at that time. It was the Spanish empire, which included a lot of South and Central America and from Naples down through Sicily. 


That's where we started from, who knows how long ago, but we were in the Sicily of Spain. And so there are still traces of the dialect in what we brought from 500 years ago, just like Sicilian Americans whose families came here a hundred years ago or 200 years ago with that same dialect, they will be speaking that same dialect for another 300 years. That's what they brought with them, and that's what gets passed down through the family. 

 

Is there a recipe in this book that has special personal significance?

I think everybody's grandmother makes biscotti Regina, the cookies with the sesame seeds. I remember my grandmother had a cookie tin of those on top of her refrigerator. Honestly, now that I think about it, it was kind of rusty inside. Those cookies probably took years off our lives!


When she died, I remember taking the cookies off the top of the refrigerator and thinking, "These are the last ones she's ever going to make with her hands."


I had one in my freezer for the longest time. Then we had a power outage last summer, and everything had to go. I forgot that the cookie was in there, so it went with it. It's very heartbreaking. 

 

You were a pastry chef and now a food stylist. How did that influence this book?

I had to go against all of my pastry-chef training, make it approachable and easy, and simplify it for home cooks. So, that part didn't come into it other than I love making pastries. 


The book's aesthetics were really important. In the end, two publishers were interested in it. (There were others, but these were the two that I was considering.) I went with Hardie Grant Publishing because they were willing and eager to have me not only design the book but also guide its aesthetics. 


I worked with a designer in Sydney, Australia, on the book design. When I saw her very first designs, I was like, "Oh my God. I love this so much."


Then they went through a couple of iterations, but just the colors! It was really important for me to have those colors in the book and on the book. It wasn't those earth-tony Tuscan things, so people would really understand that Sicily is different from the rest of Italy, period, and why it's so fabulously different. So the color had a lot to do with it—the graphics, the photographs, everything. 

 

Describe those colors.

I used pinks and greens and oranges and blues: the colors in the tile work and those on houses. There are pink houses in Sicily and raspberry-colored houses in the country. And I just love that color. So a lot of that; not millennial pink, but a lot of that kind of Sicilian country house/raspberry pink and the green of pistachios, I really leaned into that. And the orange of orange peel and yellow of lemons—just the colors in the ingredients, really. 

 

You worked with the late Irving Penn. How did he influence you?

I worked with him for 10 years. The funny thing was that I met the Vogue photo editor at a party, and it was a very short, cordial conversation. I handed him my card, and that was it. 


Then, a few months later, he called me and said, "Mr. Penn is looking for a collaborator. And I remember meeting you at the party, and you were very reserved and quiet, and that's what he likes. That's the vibe he likes, so I think it would be a good match."


So, for 10 years, I had to keep my mouth shut and not chat. It was a little bit torturous from that point of view. But you know what? I learned the economy of everything. There was nothing extra in anything. None of his output, none of his persona, none of his words, none of his anything were extra. Everything was essential. So he never had superfluous anything anywhere around him. 


I learned what is important in a picture and what is not necessary. I learned when to stop because several times, he would set up the shot, do a Polaroid, and take a picture. He would do a Polaroid first; if he liked it, he would take the picture, and then we would leave.


We'd be done before lunch. And it was never like, "Alright, let's do some variations," or "Let's do five more just in case," or "Let's see; do we think we have it?" No, after many years, he knew what it took to get a good picture and how to recognize it when he got it. And that was huge. 


It's a practice and a discipline. I'm so grateful for that because I've used it in all aspects of my life, including personal relationships. It's really important to know when to stop.

 

Which Sicilian desserts should everyone experience?:

Well, anybody who hasn't had a really good cannolo is… I mean, forget it!


I learned the last time I was in Sicily that they use bamboo as cannoli-shaping tubes. It was kind of a revelation for me. If you've ever done that with the metal tubes and fried the shells, the first thing it does is sink to the bottom. And then the bottom of the shell gets a little bit darker, which nobody notices, really. And then you have to keep turning them around and everything. With the bamboo, it floats. So not only does it just float and turn around by itself, but it's porous. So it cooks from the inside out and the outside in, and it allows air bubbles to come through and make the dough lighter. It's really an amazing thing. They turn black, but they are used over and over, and it's sustainable.

 

I'm also really obsessed with St. Agatha's breast cakes. I do them a couple of different ways, but the way I really love them is just with the pastry dough, the ricotta inside, and the icing on top. I love those symbolically—and just about anything with almonds and pistachios.

 

Most of my recipes are traditional, but some of them I developed that are just in the spirit of Sicily using Sicilian ingredients. I have shortbread cookie recipes, and one has sun-dried tomatoes and anise seeds. It's treating the tomatoes like dried fruit because that's what they are. Then, the other one has dried figs and oil-cured olives in it. It's really treating the olives and the tomatoes like the fruits they actually are. And it's really, really good. You could just keep the rolls of the dough in your freezer and then slice and bake it as you need it.

 

What do you hope readers take away?

I want them to appreciate this on so many levels. I want them to open their eyes and minds and appreciate Sicily for the multicultural, fabulously weird, and delicious place that it is.


In the book's introduction, I really talk about how if you go to other parts of Italy, they look like postcards. Everybody brings the same pictures back from Rome. There I am, throwing the coin in the Trevi Fountain. There I am in front of the Coliseum. They're all the same pictures. And the takeaway is the same. You can go to those places passively. You can just observe.


But what I love to say about Sicily is if you are there, you're in the game—not just enjoying it passively. You're not just looking at it. You're experiencing it. And some of it is funky, and there's garbage on the side of the road. There's some funky stuff there. But it's worth it because being there is such a heightened sensory experience. 


After so many centuries of being dominated and controlled by all kinds of different civilizations, people, empires, and all of that, it's just turned into this really strong, strange, wonderfully mixed-up, and beautiful place. It's not in spite of having that history; it's because of the history that it's so great.

 

>>Get your copy of Sicily, My Sweet here!<<

 

 

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