I am freshly fluffed and feeling fine.
We made an excursion to the open market in Nice today. 
The smells were exquisite: artisan cheeses, provencal sausages, crisp white wines, multitudinous flowers conjuring the famous perfumes of Grasse just up the hill….and Socca.
Socca is a simple staple of Southern French fare. It is ubiquitous in all the open markets in this area. 
And, I always get a wedge. I assume this is because nothing about it is bad for the figure of a small dog.
I watched carefully today as an old man concocted the batter. Pezzo di torta, as we like to say: piece of cake.
Following is my translation. I estimate it would serve 4 humans…or 1 dog:
The man put 1 1/2 cup chick pea (garbanzo) flour in a medium-sized blue bowl. He added 1/3 cup of a lovely pale green olive oil and 2 cups of water and then stirred the whole slurry with a whisk. He bent down to let me see the mix: a soft, smooth, lump-free batter that smelled like a rich bean cake.
He then poured a tablespoon of olive oil in a large, round pan, about 13-14 inches wide, like something one would use for Paella (ah, that trip to Spain last summer!). The Socca was only about 1/2 thick, or so.
He popped the whole thing into a very hot oven (I estimate, by the tinges on my whiskers when he opened the door, that the temp was 500 degrees). He let this bake for what seemed to be 20 or 25 minutes. Anyway, when it was set in the middle and browned at the edges, he took it out, drizzled it with more olive oil (about a tablespoon, I think, and sprinkled coarse salt and fresh pepper on top.
It was then cut into wedges and each was served on a piece of parchment paper: warm, salty heaven.
I guess you could add herbs, or spices to the batter. There are probably endless possibilities.
Personally, I think it would be a great light summer meal, with a tossed green salad and a glass or two of Provencal Rose wine. 
Alas, no one asked me.
I eat it alone, 
treasure on the street… a la cobblestones. Still, heaven.
Chow.
Why leave the poolside, I ask…until we arrived at the perfumerie.
The inside was nearly scentless. Odd for the site of such haute odor, as it were.
A veritable vegetal delight. Too bad I’m a carnivore. It seems they are leaving out a broad contingent of possible sales here. Goat #5; Rooster Persuasion; Joy de Cat. I’m sure there’s a market, no?
Selection complete, the Contessa pulled several 100 euro notes from her purse and we returned to the car. A brisk wind blew and tall pink flowers tipped their heads to the roadside. 
Unable to resist, I sampled a blossom: nothing like the rare essence confined to the tiny bottles. Vegetal and bitter.
It gives one pause when considering a new venture, though.
I am freshly fluffed and feeling fine.
, provencal sausages
, crisp white wines, multitudinous flowers 
conjuring the famous perfumes of Grasse just up the hill….and Socca.
Well, one day of motion sickness to a dog is like seven days to a human.
The ferry floor is but a dim memory. On to the beach a la Francaise.
