Chapter 1: In which are begun my adventures in the Nutmeg State
Mozzicato de Pasquale Bakery and Pastry Shop (Since 1908)
For most reasonable people, a flood watch day in a new city might seem like a good time to do laundry and visit the local Blockbuster. But why be reasonable when a ricotta-cheese-filled adventure beckons? Channeling the spirit of Cathy2, I filled my tank with $53.89 worth of unleaded and headed off for Hartford’s South End, specifically, an area along Franklin Street also known as Little Italy. I can’t tell you exactly how I found Franklin Street, but find it I did, thanks to the jygach-recommended Garmin GPS I purchased to ease the strain of constantly getting my bearings in places new to me.
I soon realized that the South End, like much of downtown Hartford, had seen better days. Although the streets were lined with restaurants, most places seemed to be closed, and in the driving rain, the streets were virtually empty of pedestrians. Summoning the sang-froid of Rene G, I decided not to be deterred. In fact, I need not have worried. Things were bustling at Mozzicato de Pasquale Bakery, in spite of the downpour. I ducked into the adjacent Mozzicato’s Caffe, and was greeted by a couple of chatty employees who decided that I might need a bit of Sambuca with my espresso. One of the baristas nodded approvingly at my decision to abstain and told me that “starting the day with a coffee [was] ‘professional’.” The other added solemnly that “starting the day with a drink [was] ‘alcoholic’.” Considering the number of Frenchmen I’ve seen starting the day with cognac and coffee, I asked, “What about starting the day with both?” To this came the instant reply, “That’s Irish!” I laughed, but decided not to follow this line of inquiry, since it might mean getting in over my head. The South End of Hartford is apparently known as a center of support for the Irish Republican movement, and indeed, a civic group built a Celtic Cross as a memorial to Bobby Sands and the “martyrs of ’81.”
Anyway, I was more interested in the pastries than the Sambuca, especially on an empty stomach. But I still got in over my head. I might have been conservative and ordered some of the house-made gelati. In my enthusiasm, I ordered the ricotta cake, reasoning that it was something I have never had. (As I mentioned above, reason was not really at the heart of this enterprise to begin with. Grasping for a solid rationale, I decided to apply GWiv’s algorithm. To wit, if he, stevez, and ronnie_suburban could not be with me, I might as well proceed as if they were and order ambitiously.) It all came on one plate, in the guise of an innocent piece of cake.
As prepared by Mozzicato’s, the ricotta cake is a six-layer white cake filled with five layers of lightly-sweet ricotta (most likely the same as the cannoli filling) and frosted with very lightly sweetened whipped cream. Delicious, but deadly, even after abandoning half of it uneaten.
Somehow, I managed to summon the will to visit the bakery next door. A sign in the window read, St. Joseph Zeppole. Inside, the place was full of huge Italian chocolate Easter eggs. The pastries and Italian cookies were endorsed by a couple of local firemen waiting in line after me. But I was again swayed by the promise of ricotta-filling, and chose a tartlet with ricotta, almond, and raspberry. Sfogliatelle are in the running for my all-time favorite pastry. Two of those. Check.
Breads and savory items are also available. They include arancini stuffed with sausage, tomato sauce and cheese (reheatable in the microwave). Pan pizza seemed to be something to get earlier in the day, as it looked a bit tired, though that didn't deter many of the customers, who seemed to be coming just for a lunchtime slice, either tomato, tomato/cheese, tomato/spinach/cheese, or tomato/broccoli. I did not try the calzones on this visit, though they looked promising.
Most intriguing were the rooster and hen almond cookies. A woman who seemed to be the proprietress indicated they were traditional in Sicily for Easter. I had urged the firemen to try something new. They chose these unusual cookies and laughed, complaining they were “as hard as rocks.” Something tells me that is how they are
supposed to be.
All in all, my visit to Mozzicato’s made me feel that this is how moving to a new town is supposed to be: hard, but delicious all the same.
A short history of Mozzicato de Pasquale is available at this website, along with pictures of the interior. Their cookies can be ordered online.
http://mozzicatobakery.com/story.asp
Mozzicato de Pasquale Bakery and Pastry Shop
329 Franklin Avenue (at Bushnell)
Hartford, CT
(860) 296-0426
Hours: 7AM to 9PM daily
Last edited by
Josephine on March 11th, 2008, 8:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Man : I can't understand how a poet like you can eat that stuff.
T. S. Eliot: Ah, but you're not a poet.