Soul Food

The Prompt:

What did you eat this year that you will never forget? What went into your mouth & touched your soul? (Author: Elise Marie Collins)

What: Ricotta filled (I don’t eat the chocolate ones….they’re too sweet and reserved for my dad and husband) mini cannoli from San Remo’s Bakery in Berlin, CT

Why they’re better than your prompt answer: Filled to order for each customer, these hand-rolled and piped cannoli are just the right size to be eaten en masse without guilt.  The smooth, semi-sweet ricotta filling is just sugary enough to satisfy the craving without being cloying.  You can’t find cannoli like this ANYWHERE ELSE (and believe me, I’ve tried!).  They’re little bites of heavenly, dessert perfection, served across glass cases by their family to yours.  *kisses all five of her fingers in a pantomime of “De-lish!”*

The best cannoli EVER.

A Christmas and Easter staple, no trip to my grandparents’ house is complete without a detour to San Remo’s.  In the time it takes for them to fill your dozen cannoli, you’ve already decided that you also ABSOLUTELY MUST HAVE a pound of ricciarelli, and maybe some chruscik, and, while you’re at it, a half dozen pizelles for ice cream later.

You’re damn right I made time to stop at San Remo’s while I was visiting family over the summer.  There’s something about these tiny pastries that makes you forget everything else with just that first little bit.  Stop in, have a small slice of fresh calzone, and finish it off with two or three of these culinary wonders.  I can’t think of anything better.

New Name

The Prompt:

Let’s meet again, for the first time. If you could introduce yourself to strangers by another name for just one day, what would it be and why? (Author: Becca Wilcot)

Good ahfternoon ladies and gentlemen.  Now entering the grand ballroom: Lola Agnese de Terza, crack columnist, heiress to the Louboutin fortune and muse to the white sand beaches absorbing the sun on the southern coast of Spain.

Lola is a lady of fashion, not fad.  Attired in mostly skirts and tank tops of black and grey and white, they are her accessories that stand out boldly, proclaiming her brash personality;  enormous cocktail rings and gigantic bucket bags, tinkling chandeliearrings and layers upon layers of necklaces, gauzy scarves and vintage bracelets.  When not barefoot on the beach, she’s in sky-high heels; always sporting enormous sunglasses and a tan.  Miraculously, her skin is impervious to the sun’s harmful effects and her hair is long, dark, straight and shiny, shot through with the beginnings of silver that reflect the twinkle in her dark, dark eyes.

Twice divorced and once widowed, she is now perpetually single and circumnavigating the globe, in love with each new dish/city/culture/affair.  Her articles for Italian Vogue and the New Yorker fetch a pretty penny which she donates to small community causes in each of the cities she frequents.  A proponent of eating and living locally, she speaks out against large corporations and encourages citizenry to produce what they need in a self-sustaining manner.

Quick to smile AND temper, her emotions show all over her face as she lives for the sake of living; out loud, with a joy and enthusiasm overflowing.  She cooks for friends, large, sumptuous and simple meals, ingredients fresh from the market or farm or sea.  At these parties, wine is sipped out of fishbowl glasses while everyone laughs and reclines in hammocks or on cushioned chaises covered in the fabrics she’s gathered in her travels.

At night, she sleeps soundly and with ease as the roar of the ocean blows gauzy curtains into her bedroom, casting filmy shadows on the walls by the light of the moon; low-toned chimes playing music for her dreams.

Beyond Avoidance

The Prompt:

What should you have done this year but didn’t because you were too scared, worried, unsure, busy or otherwise deterred from doing? (Bonus: Will you do it?) (Author: Jake Nickell)

I am drawing a real, totally not kidding, they’re-going-to-pelt-me-with-tomatoes blank on this question, dear readers.  No shit.  It’s a great question, and thought provoking, but I’ve got nothing for you.  The only things I can think of are miniscule and pointless, and certainly not fodder for a blog post.  To give you an idea, I’ll list some of them now:

1.  I never made good on my goal to “eat clean” this year.  At some point, I’ll get into my fascination/obsession with fitness and the shape of my body, but not here and now.  Suffice it to say that I shall be making good on that goal in 2011.

2.  I didn’t finish making the Christmas presents that I said I was going to.  I began the process in August, and lo and behold, all the materials and unfinished products are still sitting in a rubbermaid container in my spare bedroom.  Yes Virginia, Santa will be late this year. (btw, it’s impossible to knit and type at the same time.)

3.  I have not yet burned all my CDs to an external hard drive.  I hate hate hate hate that that box is taking up space, but I just can’t seem to get around to it.

See?  Boring.  Who cares about that shit?  If I don’t care enough to complete it, why would you want to read it?  So, in the spirit of retaining readership, I’ll tell you about my trip to the post office today to send out what few presents WERE ready for receipt.

I arrived at about 10:30am and noticed that that STILL wasn’t early enough to miss the holiday traffic.  The parking lot was full of Lincoln Continentals and Cadillacs, and I braced myself to rub elbows with the Blue Hairs.  Settle down, people, settle down, I’m not about to go off on someone’s grandparents.  I happen to like old people.  They’re annoying when you’re stuck behind them in line, for sure, but I believe they’ve earned that right, so I always take a breath and ask myself what I’d want the girl in line behind MY OWN grandmother to act like and adjust my attitude accordingly.

That said, I AM NOT going to spare the little shit on the opposite end of the age spectrum who was obviously without what my friend J.H. would call Home Training.  I was standing in line (with, conservatively, 30 people in front of me), and trying to keep myself occupied by translating the telephone conversation of the lady behind me whose daughter, best I can gather, was traveling up from Arizona.  (I have a relatively good grasp of Spanish, so after a couple minutes, I felt personally invested, and really DO hope that the flan makes it in one piece!)  As she hung up the phone, I swung my gaze toward the front of the line, and noticed, for the first time, a little girl of about 7 years old, staring at me with her finger up her nose.

Now, kids will be kids, and they’re curious by nature, but something about this little girl rubbed me the wrong way.  It could have been the crust of mucus under her nose, or the purple Kool-Aid mustache, but it wasn’t.  It was the fact that her stare wasn’t curious, it wasn’t accompanied by a smile, it was full-on, rude, STARING.  Rude staring that was lasting a really long time.  Long enough that she had time to eat what she’d found up there twice before I understood what was happening.  And so, I did what any grown-ass woman would do in my situation, and I STARED RIGHT BACK at her.

Did she turn her eyes away? Maybe even remove her index finger (up to her second knuckle, btw) from her nose?  NO.  She squared her shoulders, leaned forward, wrinkled her crusty little beak and sneered at me.  And that did it.  I forgot my poise, let go of the fact that I was an adult, and turned the full weight of my Italian Glare on her.  Now, I’ve got rather dark eyes, and I’ve been told they’re intimidating if met full-on in the right situations.  The truth is, I don’t need to be told that.  I know it.  It’s kind of my thing.  So I turned those suckers on, raised my left eyebrow, pursed my lips, glowered at her and pantomimed picking my own nose.

That did it.  Her eyes widened to the size of quarters, filled with tears and she turned and ran straight into her mother who was too busy talking on her cell phone about how drunk she’d been the night before to be paying attention to either her booger-eating, gape-mouthed daughter or the other three boys (also hers) running around like maniacs and bumping into the feeble oldsters who were hardly supported by various walking apparatus.

My point is this:  If I, a complete stranger, can teach someone’s daughter that it’s impolite both to stare, and to pick her nose in public JUST BY GLARING, imagine what a little ACTUAL PARENTING can do.