Pane carasau con prosciutto keeps the Sardinian sheet brittle and lets it stay that way. Pane carasau is the island's wafer-thin shepherd's bread, a round split into two discs and twice-baked until each one is dry, crisp, and able to keep for months. Where the tomato version revives the sheet until it bends, this one does the opposite: the bread is left as it comes, hard and snapping, and a few slices of prosciutto are draped over it just before eating. The defining contrast is texture against texture, a sheet that shatters under a meat that is soft, fat-laced, and yielding. Nothing softens the bread on purpose, so every bite is a brittle crack followed by the give of the cured ham.
The craft is timing the meat to the bread and adding almost nothing else. The prosciutto is sliced thin and laid on at the last moment, because the bread holds its crispness only until the moisture and fat of the meat begin to work into it, and a sheet that has sat under prosciutto for any length of time loses the snap that is the whole point. A thread of olive oil is sometimes drawn over the top, but no further dressing is wanted: the salt of a good cured ham and the plain mineral taste of the chickpea-pale carasau are already a complete pairing, and a heavier topping would only mask both. The sheet is fragile, so it is broken into rough shards rather than folded, and eaten standing or with the hands, promptly, while the bread still gives that clean break.
The named turns stay in Sardinia and on the same parchment: the tomato-and-oil version that softens the sheet rather than leaving it crisp, and the cooked pane frattau and oiled pane guttiau that take the identical bread by other routes. Each of those is the same brittle Sardinian sheet treated a different way, and each deserves its own article rather than being crowded in here.