It’s gotta suck, misspelling cappuccino just when you’re getting all snooty and pretentious about your knowledge of the Italian language. Tough break!
My cousin makes them – and he also puts raspberries on top. They’re divine.
What? I can only order one cannolo per cup-of-chino? What kind of fascist bullshit is that?
The ones at Stella Bakery in San Francisco are pretty good. Personally, I like a mixture of ricotta and mascarpone for mine.
I was just in the neighborhood tonight. Went to Modern Pastry rather than Mike’s; chocolate-dipped (not chocolate-coated) shell, ricotta filling, and pistachios. Not bad.
I checked on the Godfather Saga scene I mentioned. Indeed Clemenza comes back from the restaurant to the car carrying the cannoli box. (Held daintily, from the strings, of course.)
So the cannoli stuff was in the script all along. I do agree the lines between the Clemenzas when he leaves seems audio-shifted. Castellano’s mouth is closed already as he is just finishing up his line.
Did he tweak the famous line? Actors and all are notorious for making false claims about improvised lines. Is there a shooting script of the film somewhere?
This script is labeled “third draft”. It contains the lunch scene as you describe, but without cannoli references.
The cannoli, whether improvised or added by a writer, entails three additions–Clemenza’s wife saying “don’t forget the cannoli”, Clemenza carrying the cannoli, and Rocco removing the cannoli from the car.
Then at some point the whole lunch scene got dropped. Which is good, because the cannoli would blow it. Paulie thinks Clemenza is making a phone call, not eating lunch. If he shows up back at the car with cannoli, it blows his cover story. In the final film version, there is no cover story; we don’t know what the three were doing all day except for the vague banter about mattresses and exterminators.
I had an amazing one at a little hole in the wall in the North End. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Mikes, if only because I have learned this as a universal truth:
No place that everyone tells you to go to is worth a damn. It might have been good once, but by the time everyone tells you to go there, it will suck.
Gino’s and Pat’s cheesesteaks? Both are mediocre, and you can get a better cheesesteak nearly anywhere else in Philadelphia.
Unos, Dues and Ginos East all rank near the bottom of all the pizza I’ve had in Chicago.
The little hole in the wall Italian Beef place in my neighborhood makes their own beef, and it’s far better than 90% of the tourist trap places.
In short, if that jerk Guy Fieri has discovered the place, it’s headed straight to Hell.
Nah, I’m used to it.
Modern Pastry, perhaps?
Buying cannoli in advance? Please. Clemenza may know guns but he’s clueless on cannoli. You don’t fill them until just before you eat them. The shell should be crisp; fill them in advance and they’ll start to get soggy. The good Italian pastry shops and restaurants know this; you won’t see any pre-filled cannoli sitting around.
Possibly. It was back in the 90s, and my memory is not what it used to be. But yeah, no cannoli sitting on a shelf or in a box.
There were two very attractive Italian women working behind the counter.
One rang up me and my friend’s order, the other grabbed a pair of crisp, warm shells off a baker’s rack. She over-filled each shell from both ends using what looked like a modified soft-serve ice cream machine. Then she rolled the excess filling in crushed pistachios and handed them to us.
The sense memory of biting through the warm, crisp shell into the cool, creamy filling is one I’ll have until I die.
The only canolli I’ve had since that even comes *close *was one made personally for me by chef Jasper J. Mirabile, Jr at his eponymous restaurant in Kansas City as the end of the most amazing Italian meal I’ve ever had.