They came with little brown cardboard boxes tied with string. Inside were spiradelli, (which we called shfoolyadel), filo dough pastries with fine spiraled ridges in a semi-circle, with a yellow cream center, sprinkled with powdered sugar. And guanti, literally “gloves,” fried twists of dough, thin and crispy, also topped with powdered sugar. Eclairs. Brownies. Doughnuts.
On the stove, a big pot simmered and bubbled with Mama’s tomato sauce, which we called “gravy.” (And we rarely said “pasta.” It was “macaroni.”) “The gravy smells good. Can I have a taste, Anna?” and