Pane con le panelle is the Palermo street sandwich built around a chickpea fritter that shatters. Panelle are made from a paste of chickpea flour and water cooked until it stiffens, spread thin, cooled until set, cut into squares or rectangles, and deep-fried. Loaded hot from the vat straight into a soft sesame roll, they are the entire filling: no meat, no cheese in the plain version, just a stack of thin fried chickpea slabs in bread. The defining quality is that thinness. Spread and cut fine, then fried hard, each panella has a brittle skin and a soft interior, so every bite is a faint crack before the bean-flour centre gives, and a roll holds several of them at once.
The craft is the spread, the cut, and the heat of the oil. The chickpea paste has to be spread thin while still hot and worked smooth so it sets into an even sheet, because a panella cut too thick fries to something dense and stodgy rather than crisp. The oil has to be hot enough to set the surface fast and drive the brittle skin without the slab soaking fat and going heavy, and the fritters go into the roll the moment they leave the vat, while that contrast of shattering edge and soft middle is still live. The sesame roll is plain and slightly sweet on purpose: its only job is to carry a hot, oily, just-fried filling, and a lemon squeeze and salt are the only dressing wanted, the acid cutting straight across the fried chickpea. None of it keeps; a panella that has waited has gone limp and the roll slack.
The named turns stay on the same Palermo street and the same fryer: the roll loaded instead with potato crocchè, the doubled panelle e crocchè build, and the version with fried aubergine worked in. Each of those is a different thing pulled from the same vat into the same kind of roll, and each deserves its own article rather than being crowded in here.