In 1905, Angelo Brocato, a Sicilian immigrant, established his eponymous dessert emporium in New Orleans. Three generations and over a century later, Brocato’s is still run by the founder’s family. As a purveyor of fine, traditional Sicilian desserts (gelato, cannoli, spumoni, oh my!), there’s really no competition.
I woke up one day with a very pronounced craving, as I usually do; on that particular day, it was for one of these lovely stuffed pastries (and only from Brocato’s). Perhaps my appetite is like a petulant toddler whose itches and hankerings go away with tough love and settling… but I am apparently spineless, because when I’m faced with a craving of this magnitude, of this intensity, I feel I have no choice but to surrender to it – effectively to feed it. And that, in short, is why I packed my bags and headed to Brocato’s charming old-fashioned parlor in Mid-City.
Never a fan of candied citrus peels (or, really, any presence of citrus in desserts; I prefer its savory iteration, or simply plucked and peeled straight from the farmer’s market), I go weak in the knees for Brocato’s cannoli, which, contrary to Sicilian tradition, is free of the stuff. Instead, it’s a perfectly crispy, whispery-sweet golden-brown pastry, hollowed out and stuffed with a sweetened ricotta concoction that pokes out of each end, magically transforming from vanilla to chocolate somewhere in the middle. A dab of crushed pistachios and a dusting of powdered sugar make it complete. A perfect combination of soft, creamy filling and precariously thin, crisp past – such a delightful thing to bite into.
