Foccacha is much the same as Italian focaccia, a bit like a croque-monsieur, a toasted ham and cheese sandwich, only made with pizza dough. Inside you put whatever you feel like. And you serve it hot. This evening it was raw ham and mozzarella. Just like every day over the three years since Toinou had died, she’d got a meal together for me. She had just turned seventy and she liked cooking. But she needed a man to cook for. I was her man. And I loved it. I got into the boat, with the foccacha and a bottle of white Cassis - a ‘91 Clos Boudard - beside me.
from One Helluva Mess by Jean-Claude Izzo
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