Cannoli Crime and Punishment – A guessing game for our readers

We did not have cannolis for dessert this week. In fact, I’m pretty sure that nobody in the family has had a cannoli for years. Why? We have a family secret: a tale of cannoli shame and regret. If you were to hear three cannoli tales, could you ferret out the real one? 

Tale #1 – Performance Art

When the kids were in kindergarten and third grade, Phil and I took a trip to Argentina while my parents stayed with the children at our house. We had told my parents that First Friday would be a great time to see a bit of Williamsport and to eat out, as is our Friday custom. At school that week, Sophia learned that there would be a school district art exhibit and her work would be on display. There would be refreshments. My parents were a little unclear on all the details, perhaps because they were getting their information through a third grader, but it seemed like something they should all attend before eating out. Well, they attended, and attended and attended. Knowing how to leave on a high note is something you learn when you are with Ben 24-7, but I think my parents were a little bit rusty and a lot out-gunned. I was not there, so the details become a bit fuzzy here, but a number of eye witnesses confirm that the the younger of the two children accompanied by grandparents that evening at the WASD art exhibit ran wild around the room, stopping on every circuit he made to stuff another mini cannoli in his mouth until the entire tray of cannolis, meant to feed the masses, was gone. Certainly, Ben was not the first kid to overindulge when in the care of grandparents, and if the spectacle had ended there, all could be forgiven, but there were grave public gastrointestinal repercussions. Grave. How could we ever show our cannoli-smeared faces in public again after that display? Well, obviously, we can’t.

Tale #2 – It was the cannoli!

Years ago, we were dining at one of our favorite local restaurants. The meal had been wonderful, so I thought I’d cap it off with a cannoli. It came, I had a few bites, and expressed a private thought to Phil, that it was ok but I wasn’t really into it. Next thing you know, Phil is stopping the waitress and sending back the cannoli! What?!?! We are not cannoli-sending-back people! From there, things went south fast. When the offended proprietor learned of the cannoli rejection, he had some terse explanations (that the waitress did not need to pass on to us because we heard every word, as intended) about the physical properties of cannolis and reasons that the shell isn’t going to be crisp. He offered to give me another one, but “that’s what a cannoli is.” I don’t know what sort of leave of absence Phil had taken from his senses, but why would you publicly insult a man’s cannoli? For this one thoughtless act, we have paid dearly. Cannoli-gate transpired a good 15 years ago. Since it happened, we have tried, unsuccessfully, to secure a table at this restaurant at least 2 dozen times. All their tables are booked every time. For 15 years. Phil claims they are just really busy, that I’m imagining our exile, that we actually have eaten there in the past 15 years, that we don’t plan far enough in advance, and that it couldn’t possibly be related to the cannoli incident, but I know the truth. It was the cannoli!

Tale #3 – Permanent Record

Once, while visiting Phil’s parents in the town where he grew up, Phil offered to run a number of errands. The grocery store, Dillon’s, had a post office area in the store where you could buy stamps or mail things, and Phil’s errands involved a postal component. “Perfect!” He thought. “I can get dessert and send the package in one stop.” Phil picked out cannolis and carried them to the postal area, where the transaction was far more complicated than he had planned. There was weighing to be done, postage to be purchased, choices to be made. Whether it was the constant sleep deprivation or the general absent-minded professor fog to blame, we don’t know, but when Phil finished with the complicated mail thing, he walked out of Dillons, cannolis in hand, without paying for them. Only a few minutes later, while driving away (you know, in the get-away car), did he realize what he had done, and he was mortified. I guess it is pretty easy to steal cannolis, but how does one un-steal them? Think, Phil, think! And how you un-steal them had better be the right choice. Kids go to Juvie for less! This could go down on your permanent record! After briefly agonizing, Phil put his plan into action. Attempting nonchalance, he just carried those cannolis right back into Dillons. Stopping in the chip aisle, he spent a little time pretending to ponder his choices (to throw the authorities off the scent, I guess), then he walked to the nearest register and paid for the cannolis. Though Phil made full cannoli restitution, and nobody ever knew of his inadvertent misdeed until now, he can never quite look at cannolis the same way again.

Only one of these tales is true. What do you think? Please weigh in with your thoughts on the true cannoli story.

So, what did we make this week, if not cannolis? I suggested a salad. Ben readily accepted this…as a starter course for steak and potatoes. We landed on steak salad with a side of crushed potatoes.