Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop (4 page)

“They're very delicious,
si?
”

“
Si, sono incredibili!
I don't think I've ever tasted pastries quite as delicious as these.”

Sorella Agata looked pleased with Claudia's comment. “You will probably say that with many of our sweets here. They are quite unique, especially in comparison to the American desserts.”

“You know about our desserts?”

“Yes, well, not personally. But I like to research and learn as much as possible about all pastries, not just Sicilian or Italian sweets. I make my own versions of apple pie and chocolate cake. But I'm sure they must not be as good as the ones you have in America.”

“You should make them for me some time, and I can tell you how close yours are to the American versions. Sorella Agata, you are quite a renowned pastry chef from what I've heard. There aren't many pastry shops that have had world-class chefs visit them to sample their desserts, which brings me to the question I cannot wait to ask you, especially after sampling these heavenly pastries. I know we've only just met, and I haven't officially started our interview, but I must ask you about your famous
cassata
.”

“
Si, si.
Everyone wants to know about that cake.” Sorella Agata sighed as she said this. No doubt she was tired of everyone's asking her what her secret ingredient was, but that didn't stop Claudia from posing the question.

“So then I will not be the first person to ask you, Sister, what is your secret ingredient for making the
cassata
surpass all other recipes that have come before? And I take it you are using the same recipe you use for the standard size of the
cassata
for these Virgin's Breasts, which you said are just miniature
cassatas
.”

Claudia noticed a few of the other women had stopped their work and were eavesdropping on her conversation with Sorella Agata. Sorella Agata looked in their direction and frowned. With a wave of her hand, she motioned to Claudia to follow her out of the kitchen. Remaining silent, Sorella Agata led Claudia to a hallway filled with bedrooms. Claudia was surprised none of the doors to the rooms were shut. Sorella Agata finally stopped at a room at the end of the hall and gestured for Claudia to enter.

“This will be your room while you stay with us.”

Claudia was surprised to see the room was quite spacious, and she could tell from the distance of the next room in comparison to the others that this one was much larger. No doubt Sorella Agata wanted to give her a nicer room. Except for an ivory china vase filled with fresh daisies that sat atop a chest of drawers and sheer lace window panels, the décor was quite sparse. A crocheted white blanket covered the bed. Above the bed's headboard, a cross made out of wood hung. The stems of two purple silk rosebuds were entwined around the cross's center and were tied in place with a white ribbon.

“What a beautiful cross.” Claudia walked closer to examine it better.

“That was a gift.” Sorella Agata's face looked sad as she let her eyes rest for a moment on the cross before saying, “I will let you rest and get settled. I'm sure you must be tired from your long trip. Please do not hesitate to let me or one of the other sisters know if there is anything you need.”

Claudia realized this was the sister's way of telling her they would not be discussing right now the subject of the
cassata
. Usually, Claudia did not back down so easily when she was interviewing, and she had learned in her journalism courses that persistence was key. But this was an entirely different situation. She needed to show respect to Sorella Agata, and while the nun had exhibited meekness earlier, Claudia sensed she would not tolerate aggressive or disrespectful behavior. So all Claudia said for the moment was, “
Grazie mille.
”

Sorella Agata turned to leave, but Claudia stopped her.

“Oh, Sister?”

Sorella Agata paused, looking over her shoulder. “
Si,
Signorina Lombardo?” She seemed in a hurry to leave.

Claudia paused for a moment. “I'm sorry if I offended you with my pertness and impatience. I can imagine how frustrating it must be to always have everyone ask you about that cake, but you can understand their curiosity?”

“That is all right. No need for you to apologize. I was not offended, and I am sorry if I gave you that impression. The
cassata
is my most popular pastry at the shop, and its success has helped to make the business a prosperous one. I am very grateful for that. But I take pride in all of our baking. I have a . . . how do you Americans say something that is sour and sweet? I know there is a word for it.”

“Bittersweet?”

“
Si,
bittersweet. I have a bittersweet relationship with the cake. But that is another story. The truth is, Signorina Lombardo—”

“Please, call me Claudia, Sister.”

“Very well, as you wish. The truth is, Claudia, there is no secret ingredient. I'm sorry to disappoint you as I have no doubt disappointed the chefs who traveled here from as far as even Paris and Vienna to discover what sets my
cassata
apart from any other that has been made.”

“A few of the chefs have claimed you do not want to reveal your secret, which I wouldn't blame you for, since it is after all your trademark dessert.”

Sorella Agata vehemently shook her head. “I tell you, there is
no
secret ingredient. I don't like swearing to God, but if I were one who swore, I would take that oath. Maybe it is the ingredients we have here in Sicily?” Sorella Agata shrugged her shoulders before continuing. “You can watch me make the cake, and I will show you my recipe, which is in a recipe book that all of my workers use. I keep it in the kitchen. I have no secrets from anyone.”

“Forgive me once again, Sister, if I am being rude, but if that is true, why did you stop talking about the cake once you noticed the workers in the kitchen were listening to our conversation?”

“I refuse to give in to this ridiculous speculation, and it has caused my workers to question me in the past. That is not what we are about here at the Convento di Santa Lucia del Mela. I won't have it. I have told them what I am telling you now. That is the end of the discussion. They should be focused on producing the finest pastries and serving our village, not on silly gossip created by a bunch of pompous, jealous chefs!”

Sorella Agata's face was flaming beet red now. She walked over to the window and opened it. Taking a few deep breaths, she closed her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Sister. I did not mean to upset you. As a food writer and interviewer, I have an inquisitive mind. Of course, I want this book to be special and I—”

“You thought the secret ingredient would be the magic to ensuring the success of your book?”

“Our book, Sister. This book will be your book as much as it is mine, and your name will appear as the coauthor.”

“That won't be necessary, Claudia.”

“But you are contributing to the book. These are your pastries I will be writing about, and it is your story that will appear on the pages. After trying the Virgin's Breasts, I can tell you are an extraordinary pastry chef and have a special gift. Why won't you take the credit you deserve?”

“You forget, Claudia, I am a nun, and as such, the only credit I allow myself is that I am doing God's work and serving Him as well as the people I strive to help. That is enough for me. I must confess. I had reservations about doing the book.”

“So why did you agree?”

“We could use the money.”

“Really? But the pastry shop seems to be doing so well from all the baked goods I saw in the kitchen and the lines of customers waiting to buy at the courtyard's windows. You said so yourself earlier, and you are now taking in tourists as boarders. Surely, there must be enough income?”

“We are doing well. But the money would not be for the convent or the pastry shop. There is an organization we work with in town, and I would like to donate my share of the book's proceeds to this organization.”

“That is very noble of you, Sorella Agata.”

“It is not out of nobleness that I am doing this. The organization does wonderful work. I would hate to see them have to close their doors after all they've done for the people in this village as well as the neighboring towns.”

“I understand.” Claudia was about to ask what kind of work the organization did when Sorella Agata said, “If you will please excuse me now.” She turned to leave, but Claudia stopped her again.

“One more thing, Sister. Would you mind if we began our interview after I'm settled? That is, if you won't be busy with anything else? If I hope to cover everything, including watching you prepare the recipes you'd like me to include in the book, we'll need to get started right away. I'm sure after all the years you've been here your story must be a long one.”

Sorella Agata's eyes held a distant look as she responded. “That will be fine. Meet me in the courtyard in an hour. That should give you enough time to get settled and give me time to tie up a few things in the kitchen.”

“That's perfect. Thank you, Sister. I'm really looking forward to hearing your story and seeing you create your recipes.”

Sorella Agata managed a small smile. “Yes, this will be something new for me as well. I hope to learn from you, too, Claudia.”

And with that Sorella Agata turned around and shut Claudia's door quietly behind her.

Claudia let out a long sigh. She had almost blown it by bringing up so soon the secret ingredient in Sorella Agata's
cassata
. But she was beginning to think the nun was telling the truth about not having a secret ingredient, if only for the fact that she was a woman of God and most likely averse to lying. But she was also human. Claudia sensed there was something else about that cake that unnerved Sorella Agata other than everyone's claiming it possessed a secret ingredient. She had to tread carefully, but Claudia was determined to find out the full story behind this mysterious cake.

2

Biscotti all'Anice

ANISE COOKIES

S
orella Agata poured three and a half cups of flour onto her work surface—a marble butcher block she had custom made from the local craftsman. She shaped the flour into a small mound, and then, using her index finger, she swirled a hole in the center. Cracking four eggs expertly with one hand into a wooden bowl, she beat them vigorously with a fork until they turned the same golden hue as the marigolds that sat in a vase on the convent's kitchen window ledge. Marigolds were her favorite flowers, and she loved looking at them when she was busy working. She dropped the egg mixture into the hole she had dug in the flour before adding sugar, olive oil, and a teaspoon of anise oil. No matter how much of a rush she was in, Sorella Agata always took the time to smell the licorice scent of the anise oil. But today the oil served a dual purpose as its fragrance soothed her frayed nerves.

Though she was meeting Claudia in under an hour, she decided to quickly make anise cookies. She would serve them to Claudia piping hot and would take pleasure in seeing the surprise on the writer's face that the cookies had just come out of the oven. But that wasn't her only reason for making the cookies. She needed to calm down before she sat down with Claudia. As she worked the dough for the biscotti, she instantly felt her muscles relax, and soon her racing thoughts slowed down. She had trained herself long ago in this form of meditation. While she prepared her prized sweets, she emptied her mind of all worries and just focused on the task before her.

She had to be careful when she kneaded dough that should not be overworked, as was the case with the dough for the anise cookies. If she was really preoccupied, she would keep kneading and kneading away, taking her frustrations out on the dough, only to discover later that it was too tough and useless to make the perfect biscotti. Instead of throwing out the dough and wasting it, Sorella Agata would still make the cookies, but would save them for her and the nuns to consume. After all, she could serve her customers nothing but the best.

Shaping the cookies into small braids, she spaced them a few inches apart on rimmed baking sheets lined with parchment paper, and then brushed egg wash over each one. After placing the sheets into the oven, she found her thoughts inevitably turning to her conversation with the writer.

“
Stupida!
” she muttered to herself.

Why did she let Claudia's interrogation about the
cassata
affect her so much? Surely, she should be accustomed to all the speculation about the blasted cake.

Sorella Agata's words came back to her, and she could feel her face flush again. How could she have called the chefs who had visited her pompous and jealous? She was letting her pride over her work take hold—a feeling she strived, as a nun, to keep at bay. Closing her eyes, she prayed, softly speaking the words aloud.

“Please, God, forgive me. Help me to remember that my work is done to serve You and others. I promise I will try harder not to let my anger get the better of me.”

Sorella Agata wished she could give Claudia, as well as the other chefs who had visited her, the answer they wanted. She wished she did have a secret ingredient that made her
cassata
taste as wonderful as it did. But she was just as baffled as the rest of them as to why her cake surpassed all others that had come before it. While the
cassata
had made Sorella Agata and her pastry shop famous, she still refused to cave in to the requests to make it available year-round as she was now doing with the Virgin's Breasts pastries and even the marzipan fruit. She only baked
cassata
three times a year: for Valentine's Day, Easter, and Christmas. And that was too much for her. As she had told Claudia, making the cake was a bittersweet task for her.

From preparing the pale-green marzipan that was used to line the sides of the cake pan and gave the
cassata
its trademark color to ensuring the ricotta cream she used for the filling had the right amount of sweetness, Sorella Agata loved everything about making the
cassata
that had come to symbolize her beloved Sicily—for it was one of the island's most treasured desserts. And she took great pride in the elaborate designs she created on the cake once it was assembled and a lemon icing was spread over its top. She liked to fill a piping bag with melted chocolate and then create a border of decorative swirls around the cake. Then in the center, she used candied fruits and arranged them in the shape of a flower. The cake was a stunning work of art once it was completed. Yet whenever she made the
cassata,
an overwhelming sadness took hold of her.

As a deeply spiritual woman, Sorella Agata did not believe in superstition, which was hard since Sicilians steadfastly adhered to decades-long superstitions. But she was beginning to think the cake had some sort of
malocchio,
or evil eye, attached to it.
Malocchio
was usually cast by a jealous person. Perhaps she wasn't so far off in accusing the pastry chefs—who had visited her and claimed she had a secret ingredient that she was loath to share—of being jealous?

“
Basta!
Enough! It is just a cake and nothing more!”

“
Sorella Agata, stai bene?
” Madre Carmela stood before her, looking concerned.

“
Si, si,
Madre. Just talking out loud—as usual. I am fine. There is nothing to worry about.” She managed a smile for the elderly nun.

Madre Carmela had been the mother superior at the convent and the head pastry chef of the shop until 1985, when she relinquished both roles to Sorella Agata. The success of the pastry shop had begun with Madre Carmela and, as such, she would always hold a special place in the convent. It saddened Sorella Agata to see the senior nun's increasingly failing health due to her dementia and rheumatoid arthritis. But Madre Carmela still insisted on doing whatever she could manage in the pastry shop's kitchen.

“Signorina Lombardo is waiting for you in the courtyard. She was worried you had forgotten since you were supposed to meet at four.”

Sorella Agata glanced at the large round clock that hung above their pantry. It was fifteen minutes past the hour. She wasn't that late, but she supposed the writer was anxious to get her work started.

“I'll be there shortly.”

“Shall I let her know?”

“No, that's all right, Madre Carmela.”

The old nun's gaze wandered around the kitchen, as she tried to assess what she could do. Sorella Agata tried to give her work that wouldn't be too taxing. She noticed a batch of
Ravioli di Ricotta
—Sweet Ricotta Turnovers—that had just been fried and were draining on a plate of paper towels.

“Madre, those ravioli need to be dusted with powdered sugar.”

“
Si.
I will do so right away.” Madre Carmela walked slowly over to the pantry, where she located the powdered sugar. She then took a small fine-meshed sieve off one of the many hooks that hung around the kitchen's walls and held various cooking instruments from pans to colanders. Sorella Agata watched her as she transferred the drained sweet ravioli to a decorative serving platter. With shaky hands, she used the mesh sieve to sprinkle the powdered sugar over the fried pastries. Sorella Agata had no doubt there would be uneven clumps of sugar on the ravioli. But Madre Carmela was the only worker in the pastry shop from whom she did not expect perfection. Sorella Agata wondered how much longer Madre Carmela would be able to continue helping out in the kitchen.

Turning her thoughts away from Madre Carmela, she checked on the anise cookies in the oven. About five more minutes until they were ready. Spotting Veronique, one of their apprentices in the pastry shop, walking by in the corridor with a pile of just laundered towels, Sorella Agata called out to her.

“Veronique! Can you please come here?”

Veronique was only nineteen years old, but she was very devoted to her work in the pastry shop. Her stunning good looks often led others to believe she was older, and while she was bright and intelligent, she still had a certain naïveté about her, especially in her habit of asking too many questions or slightly inappropriate ones. Sorella Agata credited this to her immense curiosity, which got the better of her at times, and she prayed in time Veronique would improve. But she could never be irate with her. For the young woman held a very special place in her heart, and even the other nuns had a soft spot for her. They all thought of her as their little sister, even though she had no intention of taking vows to become a nun.

“Sorella Agata, who is that beautiful woman sitting in the courtyard?”

One would think that with Veronique's inquisitive nature, she would have known by now that Claudia was writing a recipe book about the convent's pastry shop and was here to interview Sorella Agata. But the older nuns also frowned upon her excessively nosy behavior and kept as much as they could from her. “It's for her own good, after all,” they would say. Sorella Agata couldn't help feeling the other sisters were being petty and should understand that Veronique's young age accounted for much of her naïveté. She was after all still a teenager, and she'd been through a lot in her short life.

“Her name is Claudia Lombardo. She is a food writer from America—New York City, in fact—and she is here to write a book featuring our pastries as well as the history of the pastry shop.”

“A writer? From New York City? How wonderful! I must tell everyone.” Veronique turned to leave, but Sorella Agata stopped her with a firm grip to her shoulder.

“Wait! You do not need to tell them. They know already. Besides, I need your help here. When the timer goes off, please take the anise cookies out of the oven and bring a few out on a plate to Signorina Lombardo and me. And please, Veronique, do not ask her any questions. She is here to interview me,
not
the other way around.”

“
Va bene,
Sorella Agata.” Veronique sighed, not even attempting to hide her extreme disappointment. “I'll just take these towels first to the linen closet.”

“Let me. I am all done sprinkling sugar on these ravioli.”

Madre Carmela took the towels from Veronique and held them up against her chest so that her arthritic hands wouldn't drop them.

Sorella Agata walked over to their espresso and cappuccino machine and poured two demitasse cups of espresso for Claudia and herself. They had only been able to purchase the expensive machine two years ago. Before they had the machine, the job of several workers in the kitchen was strictly to make espresso so that a few pots were always brewed and ready to serve their long lines of customers. But now that they had the machine and could make espresso and cappuccino in half the time, they were able to put the workers to use elsewhere in the kitchen.

As she stepped out into the courtyard, she observed Claudia seated at one of the café-style tables the convent kept for their patrons who wanted to eat their pastries while enjoying the outdoors and their garden. Veronique was right in noting that the writer was beautiful. Her long chestnut brown hair was clipped up in a sloppy French twist, but its imperfect shape suited her relaxed style. She wore jeans that hugged her tall, lithe frame and a sleeveless top in a stunning shade of coral. A leather messenger bag rested on the empty seat beside her. Sorella Agata expected to see a laptop, but to her surprise Claudia was writing on a legal pad. Large, oval brown sunglasses covered her eyes. Sorella Agata hoped she would remove them when they began their discussion. She hated not being able to read people's expressions, and she was already feeling a bit anxious about their interview.

“I'm sorry I am late, Claudia.” Sorella Agata placed the cups of espresso on the table and sat down opposite her guest.

“That's all right. But I must admit I was a little nervous I had scared you off with our earlier conversation and that you had changed your mind completely about the book.” Claudia smiled shyly as she took off her sunglasses.

At the mention of their awkward discussion, Sorella Agata felt bad once more at how she had reacted.

“I should be the one to apologize, Claudia.”

“No, please don't, Sister.” Claudia reached out and patted her hand.

“Excuse me.” Veronique quietly spoke as she approached the two women. While she was doing her best to keep her gaze lowered and not stare at Claudia, Sorella Agata could see she kept stealing sidelong glances as she placed the plate of anise cookies on the table.

Taking pity on her, Sorella Agata said, “Claudia, this is Veronique, one of our apprentices in the shop.”

Veronique was so surprised that Sorella Agata had acknowledged her presence, she merely stared at Claudia and remained silent.

“Pleasure to meet you, Veronique.” Claudia extended her hand, which Veronique took, but not before glancing first at Sorella Agata for her approval. Sorella Agata gave a slight nod of her head.

“Perhaps I can ask you a few questions during my stay here, with Sorella Agata's permission of course? It would just be a few questions about your work in the pastry shop.”

“Yes, I would like that very much, Signorina Lombardo.”

“Please, Claudia.”

Again, Veronique looked to Sorella Agata for approval.

“If Signorina Lombardo wishes to be called Claudia, by all means you must honor her request, Veronique. Now, please excuse us. We have a lot to cover before dinner.”

“Have a nice day,” Veronique softly said before walking away.