Sep 17

Sep 17 Cannolis Away

I distinctly remember arriving in NYC in the Fall of 1981 for the NYU Law School’s Masters in Tax program. After moving my stuff into the Mercer Street dorms (just off Broadway), I went for a walk, heading south toward Houston Street. Much to my surprise, I saw a Ferris wheel in a vacant lot, marking the starting point for Little Italy’s Annual Feast of San Gennaro. (You remember Holly Genaro from Die Hard.)

Two nights ago, I headed up Mulberry Street as I crossed Canal Street, the “border” between Chinatown and Little Italy. One again, I had stumbled into the Annual Feast—40 years after my first one.

During the last several decades, the Italian community has been concerned that the Chinese were encroaching on Italian territory. Their many eateries and stores were vanishing as their Chinese counterparts expanded north. Based on what I saw, that trend has reversed itself. There are still Chinese markets in Little Italy, but the neighborhood once again is an Italian stronghold. If you want a cannoli and an espresso, there are plenty of opportunities on Mulberry and surrounding streets. It is not hard to find clams, pasta, and Italian sausages, either.

I returned to the 95th Annual Feast today at midday. Rather than head back up Mulberry Street, I chose Mott Street. At Grand Street, I saw a crowd of two hundred or so people gathered in front of the Annual Feast’s performance stage. Much to my delight, I had stumbled into the 23rd Annual Cannoli Eating Competition. It is the oldest of the three eating contests that take place during the Annual Feast. I had missed the 2nd Annual Zeppole Eating Competition and would miss the 5th Annual Meatball Eating Competition. As I walked up and down Mulberry Street later, I realized why eating competitions are such a draw. In between the Kewpie doll gaming booths, nothing but food stands line both sides of the street, going on for a good ten or so blocks. These people like to eat, as many waistlines aptly demonstrated.

The cannoli competition is sponsored by Caffe Roma, which is celebrating its 130th year in business. It served as a location for The Sopranos—Tony loved cannoli, once remarking to his mother that “Even then my cannoli was bigger than his.”

When I arrived, nine contestants sat on stage, with one vacant chair. When the MC asked for a volunteer from the audience to fill the one vacant seat, Joy jumped up, volunteering that she would suspend her worries about diabetes for the day.

At that point, we were still a good twenty minutes away from the first bite. More shtick to come. The MC interviewed Caffe Roma’s owner, chatted with the gluttonous contestants, and speculated about each contestant’s likelihood of winning the $100 cash prize. He confidently reported that the odds were 100 to 1 against victory for “Ms. Purple Hair.” I was not surprised. She later told me that she entered because she likes to eat cannolis. As I watched her eat, I could see that she was more interested in the quality of the experience than the quantity.

Each contestant receives a t-shirt and a free cannoli for his or her efforts—as if they haven’t had enough when the six-minute splurge ends. There was plenty of bottled water on the table, but I saw no vomit buckets.

After endless patter, the MC announced the March of the Cannolis. Four waiters carried silver platters holding the delicacies through the crowd, with Bill Conti’s theme song from Rocky propelling the procession toward the stage. Wearing latex gloves, the waiters placed 12 cannolis in front of each contestant. The contestants were then instructed to put their hands behind their backs, followed by a countdown to ecstasy. After the MC, in unison with the crowd, reached “One,” bedlam broke out.

The contestants began enthusiastically shoving those cylindrical-shaped fried tubes into their mouths. Globs of the white ricotta cheese filling fell to the table as jaws opened and closed. At the one-minute mark, one contestant held up four fingers, signaling his consumption. I would have been in the toilet at this point, but not these ravenous souls. At somewhere around the four-minute mark, many of the remaining cannolis were redistributed from those who were going to lose to those who were still plausibly in the hunt.

At the final countdown, the guy who I thought would win, won: Matt ate twenty-three cannolis in six minutes. He immediately stood and removed his shirt, revealing a chiseled body, although I did notice the beginning of some spread. Matt last competed in an eating contest when he was in college—chicken wings.

The guy who owns Caffe Roma is no dummy. A number of TV crews were on hand. As the contestants were interviewed, they all munched on their free cannoli. The leftovers were distributed to the crowd that surged forward when offered a free cannoli. A fist fight almost broke out when one spectator was pushed, potentially denying him one of those crunchy morsels.

After WPIX finished with Matt, it was my turn. I asked the question everyone wanted to know the answer to. Matt had told the crowd that he lives in an apartment building across from the Ferris wheel several blocks south. I asked him whether he would head home, and then stick his finger down his throat. Nope, Matt felt fine. I imagine that he might even have stopped to enjoy one of the coiled Italian sausages I had seen on the griddle the night before.

Regrettably, due to a scheduling conflict, I will not be present for the meatball eating contest Sunday afternoon.