Any meal is to a Sicilian what a madeleine was for Proust, a gateway to reverie.
In Sicily, where food is love ad the street is a stage, street food is more than a cheap meal, it's Communion.
I really love learning about food culture in other cultures. It's fascinating.
In the market I watched one man stop at what looked like a plate of glass splinters. He grabbed a fistful, threw his head back and swallowed them. They were neonati, transparent newborn fish that Sicilian women steam and sprinkle on pasta but men just eat raw—for virility, the man told me.