The Deserted Dessert

One thing the city of Cranston prides itself on is its fine Italian restaurants and bakeries. The Italian food runs rampant, especially in the section of Knightsville where many Italians from a little city called Itri migrated to after the turn of the 20th century.

When I was a little girl, Sunday dinners were a staple in my family’s week. We’d have “dinner” around 2:00PM and my sister and I would hope upon all hopes that we would have something scrumptious for dessert. Now, if the moon and planets were aligned just so, my dad would go “out” for a bit and come home with a box full of pastries from one of the divine Italian bakeries nearby. I would be THRILLED to see a white box tied up with string because I knew what delicious confections were under the cover. My mother would usually roll her eyes because although he said he claimed he got it “for the kids,” she knew who really wanted it.

What was in the box?

Zeppoles? No, no! We reserve those for St. Joseph’s Day on March 19. Eating Zeppoles any other day would be sacrilege, and, unless I’m mistaken, I’ve heard you’re automatically sent to the 3rd ring of hell in the afterlife for doing so. However, don’t quote me on that.

How about cannoli? Everyone loves a cannoli. Nah. Cannoli are too trendy, too chic. We weren’t swanky enough to eat Cannoli.

I’m talking about something that’s extraordinary. Something exquisite. Something distinctive. I’m talking about the Sfogliatelle. And boy, other than a fig square, my dad had a soft spot for these Italian edible gems.

What is a Sfogliatelle? I look at it as the redheaded stepchild of pastries (no offense to red heads, stepchildren, OR red-headed stepchildren.) It’s often overlooked and under-appreciated. When I tell people about sfogliatelle, which I don't talk about often enough, I usually get a blank, yet curious stare.

A friend of mine seems to think that because of it's spelling (I've always pronounced it "shfoo-ya-del") people were way too intimidated to try and pronounce it, so they avoided purchasing it altogether. It's a good theory, but it would require some research to try and back it.

Sfogliatelles are made out of a flaky pastry dough that is layered around some type of heavenly ricotta concoction that must be kissed by angels after it's made because that's the only way to describe the taste. It is shaped somewhat like a clamshell although I just learned recently that the English name for it is called "lobster tail." It looks NOTHING like a lobster tail, in my humble opinion. After they are baked, they are usually sprinkled on top with powdered sugar and then are ready to be devoured.

People eat sfogliatelles all different ways, but in my mind, there is only one RIGHT way. I choose to break off the “nub” (my definition of the narrow end of the pastry) and save that for last, because that’s the best part. I slowly unravel and eat the crust then bite into the delectable filling as I go. Perfezione. Once I’m finished, I pop the nub into my mouth and crunch away. Finito!

The best part about sfogliatelles is that you can’t share them. If you cut them in half the long way, you cut the nub in half and that’s against the law in Cranston, the unwritten "Pastry Act of 1934" - it's a hefty fine. If you cut them in half the wide way, you have a major problem. Only one person gets the nub, and that can lead to family members not speaking to each other for YEARS. In some cases, this could be a good thing.

So when you visit Cranston, make sure you stop by Solitro’s, Calvitto’s, or DeLuise’s bakery for a Sfogliatelle. Tell them Leslie sent you. They won’t know who you’re talking about, but it would sure make ME feel important!

Buon appetito!

The Sfogliatelles featured in the picture are from, (left to right): DeLuise's Bakery (Oaklawn Ave.), Calvitto's Bakery (Park Ave.) and Solitro's Bakery (Cranston St.)