Panzerotti

Travel just about anywhere in Italy and you'll find street foods and quick bites born from its rich history and traditions, highlighting the culture's resourcefulness by using local, and often seasonal, ingredients. Each region serves up its own specialties, in addition to interpretations of favorites from all over the country. From the delicious array of cicchetti—similar to Spanish tapas—found in the bacari that line the canals of Venice, to the golden fried offerings of southern Italy, like arancini, these mouthwatering, yet affordable meals are always within reach—no reservations required.

When I think of Italian street food, my mind instantly conjures the calzoni fritti alla Siciliana introduced to me as a child by my zia. I'm not Italian, and she wasn't my "real" aunt, but she was as close to family as possible—coming into my life when I was just a baby and inspiring my love of her home country and, of course, its cuisine.

Each time my family visited her restaurant in the once-sleepy seaside town of Playa del Rey, California, she would seat us at "our table" and immediately bring out a paper-lined basket of piping-hot calzoni fritti that were stuffed with mozzarella cheese, a few peas and sometimes even a thin slice of prosciutto. Eagerly tearing them in half, I would follow the rising steam up toward the crowded ceiling and search for my blue baby bottle that hung among the menagerie of trinkets lending a curious, yet intimate ambiance. My father says he's quite sure the fire department had a different opinion of her collection.

These fried calzones of my childhood are also known as panzerotti in some parts of Italy, especially in the south, and are practically synonymous with the university and port city of Bari—though they do differ slightly. The former are usually smaller and devoid of any type of sauce, while the type you'll find in Bari are often larger—sometimes gargantuan—almost always contain a sauce (typically marinara) and are closer to what you might picture when imagining a traditional calzone, if fried. In a whispered tone, I admit that the Baresi sort have become my favorite. Scusa, zia!

Just like you can find cicchetti at every corner in Venice, you'll find panzerotti aplenty in the south, and nowadays throughout most of Italy for no greater reason than the fact that their crispy exteriors and pillowy soft, cheesy centers are absolutely addicting and loved by locals and tourists alike—no matter the location.

As humble as they may be, their golden, bubbly appearance is tempting, to say the least, and they are a staple at southern Italian holiday feasts. If you want to make them an appetizer—versus some of the truly humongous single takeaway versions that aren't an unusual sight in Puglia—you can opt for a smaller size by dividing the dough into 16 portions, instead of 8, and distributing the fillings equally among them. Either way, you're in for a treat that just might become a tradition for you as much as it is for me and for Italians who need no excuse to make them, any time of year.