Lingering in any Italian recipe are stories about saints, wars, sacraments and family battles over taste. On an afternoon walk in Palermo last March, I took a detour past the Norman Palace to the edge of the city and found the understated Pasticceria Cappello owned by Salvatore Cappello, one of Sicily’s pastry-making gurus. There I tasted the best variation of my grandmother’s rum-soaked Neopolitan Zeppole – the Sfincia. The Zeppole I remember were sometimes soaked in liquor, sometimes not, but always filled with tiny Nestle chocolate chips and sugar folded into Polly-O ricotta. The flavor of Cappello's Sfincia was different - simple yet distractingly delicious. The spongy pastry tasted faintly of egg custard, and there were chunks of bittersweet chocolate that Cappello brings home from regular travels to Central America and Madagascar. I left the bakery with my eyes open to the feast of San Giuseppe.
Yes, this was the pastry of the moment given that it was March 18 – the day before the feast of Saint Giuseppe, the patron saint of craftsmen and pastry chefs. This feast bumps up against the end of Lent- a period of fasting in the Catholic church - and the spring solstice. On the evening of the 18th, the neighborhood where I was staying a few blocks from the Capo market was lit up with bonfires. Old furniture and junk were set aflame to honor St. Joseph and symbolically burn away the misery of the past year in the name of a new season. On the morning of the 19th, large alters and tables were built outside the city’s churches. Neighbors heap the tables with fried artichokes and zucchini, chicken cutlets, bread and pastries. The Sfincia, capped with candied fruit, crushed pistachios and rich ricotta cream, adorned the banquet tables like byzantine jewels.
Yes, this was the pastry of the moment given that it was March 18 – the day before the feast of Saint Giuseppe, the patron saint of craftsmen and pastry chefs. This feast bumps up against the end of Lent- a period of fasting in the Catholic church - and the spring solstice. On the evening of the 18th, the neighborhood where I was staying a few blocks from the Capo market was lit up with bonfires. Old furniture and junk were set aflame to honor St. Joseph and symbolically burn away the misery of the past year in the name of a new season. On the morning of the 19th, large alters and tables were built outside the city’s churches. Neighbors heap the tables with fried artichokes and zucchini, chicken cutlets, bread and pastries. The Sfincia, capped with candied fruit, crushed pistachios and rich ricotta cream, adorned the banquet tables like byzantine jewels.
The traditional ingredients for sfincia are at their peak of perfection in Italy’s most glorious south. There is nothing complicated about the ingredients used for sfincia - except in Sicily, the sheep’s ricotta is fresh and the oranges and crushed pistachios are ripe off the trees.
At Pasticiere Cappello, Salvatore is appreciated for mixing tradition with his passion for all things chocolate (http://www.pasticceriacappello.it/). In
At Pasticiere Cappello, Salvatore is appreciated for mixing tradition with his passion for all things chocolate (http://www.pasticceriacappello.it/). In
his Sfinci di Cappello, you’ll find large eclairs filled to the rim with fresh ricotta cream, chunks of elegant dark chocolate, candied orange and pine nuts. http://www.countrykitchensa.com/whatshot/dusting_powders.aspx
In Palermo, the expression, “moddu comu na’ sfingia” translates, initially and innocently enough to “soft like a Sfincia” meaning gentle and compassionate, but at the same time, the expression implies an absence of strength or determination, referencing the softness of this incredibly delicate pastry, which really is a fritter after all. The key to making Sfincia is that it must be constructed in layers and never over stuffed. The Sfincione demands restraint and patience, but isn’t hard to make – it’s a bit like a fried cream puff or éclair. And, while there’s more than one way to fill a Sfincia - competing traditions include stuffing them with cheese and tomatoes, meats, salted anchovies, honey, onions, artichokes or chickpeas - in Palermo, it’s the soft ricotta cream drizzled with honey that compels even the most hard-hearted to turn ‘soft’ – “moddu comu na’ sfingia.”
