I think I read Marian Keyes' first book, Watermelon, about 13 years ago. The book was released in 1995, and I discovered it 9 years later.

I can't stop thinking about this photo she posted on Instagram last month. She just now translated this book - a book that was released 22 years ago - into Icelandic and released it last month.

It was a good reminder that fiction never goes out of style!

Foods I ate and loved - cannolis

Good morning, good lookins! I’m back from a lovely, sunny weekend in London, and I’m happy to report that, despite my best efforts, there are still adequate food supplies for the locals. It wasn’t for lack of trying, though. If there was a food that delighted my orifices in some way, I was like, “Get in there, you. Let’s stop playing these games with one another.” And the food mostly complied with my desires. There were times when things got messy, for I am forever a clumsy child holding a large ice cream cone leaning in for the lick as it catapults toward the concrete. That is my lot in life.

Cannolis – thoughtful gift from my in-laws 🙂 Almond on the left, pistachio in the middle, and classic with dried apricot (I believe?) on the right. Devoured moments after this photo:




Some of it ended up in my mouth, so I wanted to share. I couldn’t get over these cannolis from Greenwich market. They were a damn treat, and up until recently I was anti-cannoli. If you brought a cannoli within striking distance of my fist, one of us would end up with our filling spread over my fist. I won’t say which one, but you get the idea. It wouldn’t end well for the cannoli, lest there be any confusion.

I think I felt that way because, in my experience, American cannolis are approximately the size of a dachshund with an even more sizeable girth. The filling is the type of sweet that leaves you with a gritty film on your teeth, and the shell is not dissimilar to a shoddy grocery store ice cream cone. You know the type – all cardboard-like cone and no soul. I was always like, “pass,” and I felt not a shred of guilt toward the well-meaning Italian-American community. Not one shred.

Anyways, I was so wrong. When done right, cannolis are more hamster-sized, and the filling is the perfect sweet/savory blend. The shell is more of a waffle cone that crumbles like a graham cracker, and the whole experience is a damn delight. I’ve had them a few times from Italian shops, stalls at farmer’s markets and even from an Italian cafe in Dublin, but they’re not widely available outside of Southern Italy. I remember looking for them in Rome in 2005, and all the shop owners were like, “eh? Che cosa questo cannoli si parla, bellissima?”

So yeah, if you’re ever in southern Italy and/or within walking distance of this place in Dublin, get a cannoli, even if your interests sway toward the anti-cannoli camp. I hope my story will serve as inspiration for even the most staunch anti-cannoli.