Because Saint Joseph’s Day is Father’s Day in Italy, when growing up I spent the night before the feast at our grandparents’ house to celebrate. The next day, March 19, I helped at the pastry shop. For that entire day everyone made just zeppole di San Giuseppe, special cream filled fritters. Even if it was a school day, I was excused by the nuns as a favor to Grandma and Saint Joseph.
This was the only time that Grandma left her kitchen to work at the pastry shop alongside her sister-in-law, Zia Agatha. Shaking her head, she sighed, “I can put up with her one day a year to help Papa on Father’s Day.” In reality she looked forward to the zeppole bake-off with Zia and her cousin Concetta. Each had a special recipe for making the custard-like ricotta cream that filled the deep fried fritters.
The original zeppole recipe, recorded in the 1830s by a Neapolitan duke, was similar to Gram’s fried dough rounds which she topped with tomato sauce or, as a treat, sprinkled with powdered sugar.
At Grandpa’s shop the men whipped up fresh batches continually. Grandma liked her zeppole to resemble cream puffs. Zia and Concetta preferred the more traditional wider circle which they filled with a mountain of custard cream topped with a Maraschino cherry.
Gram put extra filling in her puffs and on the top were swirls of cream reaching for a dark Amarena cherry. Her secret ingredient was Limoncello, a liquor that her brother brought her from the old country. Zia used lemon zest with bits of candied fruit whereas Concetta favored orange zest.
Gram was so protective of her Limoncello that she poured it into dark brown cough syrup bottles which I guarded in my schoolbag. Once at the shop, I sat at an ice cream table in the front doing my homework, bringing Gram her prized liquor, and talking with customers in the long lines as I passed around trays of cookies.
Although Gram made the cookie trays, nonetheless, she whispered, “The way people waited for St. Joseph to work a miracle to break the famine in Italy, they can wait to eat a perfectly fresh pasty that honors him.”
By the end of the day all three women called themselves the bake-off winner based on watching people’s facial expressions as they tasted their miniature samples decorating the counter-top.
“Not a one left,” Gram smiled at Grandpa, “except for these.” Then while packing two dozen zeppole to bring to the convent, she reminded me, “When someone does you a favor, as the nuns do for me and St. Joseph, always remember to show them your appreciation.”
Copyright 2021 Rita Watson. This story is adapted from my book, “Italian Kisses: https://www.amazon.com/Italian-Kisses-Rose-Colored-Country-Folios/dp/1599541327