Proscuitto Rosso @ Francie’s Foccacia & Coffee
Unit 16 The Colonnades, Albert Dock, Liverpool, L3 4AA
There’s no conversation about food that makes people as misty-eyed as the one about the best sandwich they’ve ever had. As they tell you the story of where they ate it, what was in it, the texture of the bread, you can see them being transported.
For me that sandwich is from Mizio’s in the Monti district of Rome. A hole-in-the-wall place, it serves a short menu – maybe a dozen combinations – with stirringly evocative names like the Santa Maria Maggiore and the Serpenti.
The sandwich at Mizio’s which continues to live large, for me, is the Clementina – an oily focaccia stuffed with fried, marinated courgette, mozzarella and sundried tomatoes. Phenomenally delicious. The sandwich against which all others must be measured.
So, when I heard that Francie’s, recently opened at the Albert Dock, was making sandwiches rivalling the focacciaria of Lazio or Tuscany, I had to see if it was true.
And it is. The sandwiches I’ve eaten here are as good as any I’ve had in Italy. The menu, as with Mizio’s, consists of just a handful of options – bresola and parmesan; mortadella and pistachio cream; porchetta and truffle. Francie’s even have their own answer to the Clementina (with aubergine as well as courgette).
Best of all is the Prosciutto Rosso which is generously spread with aromatic red pesto and filled with prosciutto, rocket, buffalo mozzarella and fresh tomatoes – cut almost as thinly as the pastel pink slices of fat-laced ham they’re laid beneath. A drizzle of balsamic adds smoke and acid.
When I’m next sent into a reverie, recalling my favourite sandwich of all time, I can’t guarantee I won’t be thinking about this one.
A few more things; make sure to also pick up some homemade cannoli, filled with salted caramel, pistachio or (my favourite) tart lemon cream.
And you can sit in Francie’s – which is buzzy and tastefully tiled – but I’d suggest saving a couple of quid and taking your food away. That way you can eat leaning against a pillar in the dock and pretend you’re under a portico in Bologna (just ignore the packs of homicidal seagulls eyeing up your lunch).
