Anthony Bourdain said of Pane Carasau, "You just can't get this in New York!", and he was right about that! You can't experience this crispy Sardinian flat-bread unless you grow the rosemary (I do), collect salt from the sea, and bake/blister this bread in an old wood-burning oven. In Sardinia they remove the flat-bread from the oven halfway through baking and cut it in half. It is then reinserted into the oven and baked, all of which takes only a fraction of a minute. There are several women helping with the bread. One woman rolls the bread, another bakes it, and another woman cuts the bread in half separating both sides from each other. It is then baked again and flattened to press out all the bubbles. (I left the bread whole.)
I fell in love with the process of baking Pane Carasau when I watched this segment on Anthony Bourdain's "No Reservations". The ancient garb of the women, the glowing embers of the fire, the prayers before kneading the dough, and that ancient crackle of the bread as it is broken to be used as a plate or utensil were mesmerizing. I wanted that experience, regardless of the outcome of the bread!
I mixed the two flours, part white and part semolina, and piled them into a mound on my counter, making a little well in the center. 
Then I added the water and yeast, and mixed the batter into a mound so I could knead the dough. 
The dough is divided into portions then rolled so thin you almost see through the dough. Don't worry if the shape is uneven as that is part of the charm of this flat-bread. A baking stone is needed in the oven - I use an old floor tile - and the oven is set at 450 degrees. This is an extremely hot oven, and since you slide the bread onto the stone and turn it halfway through you will come to understand that an outdoor oven works best. The heat will escape the oven as you flip the bread and it will warm the kitchen.
At some point toward the end of the baking my smoke alarm started screeching and burping in complete exasperation. I'd no sooner get the flat-bread onto the stone, spray a bit of olive oil on top, and I'd have to close the oven door and grab a towel. I'd vigorously fan the alarm four feet away, and then drop the towel and grab my oven mitts. I felt almost like a lunatic, carried away in a frenzy of imagination and joy. The beautiful Pane Carasau, called the music bread because of its crackle as you break it, had captured my heart.
"Carta de Musica", I baked round after round, then sprayed the bread again with olive oil.
I left the flat-breads whole and piled them up onto my skillet, with the pile getting higher and higher.Much like an ornate cracker, Pane Carasau was baked for the lonely shepherds who would carry it out to their pastures. It would keep for a year and could be moistened with tomato juice to make a thin soft lasagna. An egg and anything handy from the meadow would be placed on top for breakfast. When Ruhiyyih and Matt were here, I made them this ancient Sardinian breakfast called Pane Frattau.
Sardinian cuisine is a hybrid of influences, starting with the Phoenicians, followed by Carthaginians, Romans, Arabs, Moors, the Spanish, and then other Mediterranean powers. This layered culinary heritage is epitomized by the ancient Pane Carasau, a profoundly beautiful flat-bread baked for more than 2,500 years.
