More Than Just Fried Dough

Some may say it's Hoboken's best—and only—kept secret: the zeppoles made by the members of the guild of St. Ann. 

"It's the sweat that goes into it," said Father Vinny Fortunato during his speech at last Monday's mass at the Church of St. Ann. 

According to Josephine Belmonte, one of the members of the guild of St. Ann—who are the women who mix the dough and fry the zeppoles at the festival every year—the special ingredient is "a lot of love."

But after 100 years of secrecy, nobody is willing to give up the real recipe.

Per night, roughly 5,000 zeppoles are sold at the festival. The dough for the zeppoles gets mixed in the basement of the church.  

The stand is a well-oiled machine. Fortunato handles the money, volunteers fill the paper bags—grease stains develop within seconds—and the women of the guild of St. Ann keep throwing the pieces of dough in the oil. 

And as the line for the stand grows longer and longer, sweat starts to form on Fortunato's forehead. 

Sometimes Fortunato's flow of selling and handling money gets interrupted by a customer with a question. One visitor asked what these so-called zeppoles are, and if it resembled funnel cake.

"Funnel cakes are minor league compared to these," Fortunato said. "This is the major league."

And the pastor is right. The fried dough, on which a large portion of powdered sugar melts instantly, is as delicious as it is bad for you. 

"They're amazing," said Lauren Gimon, 30, who has been going to the festival for four years in a row. "It reminds me of my grandmother's house when I was younger." She said she eats the zeppoles every year. 

The zeppole stand is the perfect culmination of the festival, which has become a block party as much as a religious celebration over the years. But, for Fortunato, the festival is still mainly about the tradition. 

Some young people, he said, attend the festival, make friends who are part of the church and come back. That's exactly what Fortunato likes to see. The festival brings "closeness and excitement," Fortunato said. 

The church is open all night long during the festival, and Fortunato said he hopes it urges more young people to go in and learn about the religious origins of the feast. 

All the money the festival makes—last year that was about $70,000, said Fortunato—goes to the church, which helps to keep the tradition of the festival alive. 

And in the end, tradition is what it's all about. 

"It doesn't get any better than this," Fortunato said as he looked at the ever-growing line of people waiting for zeppoles. "Carlo's [Bakery] got nothing on us."