St. Joseph, or San Giuseppe in Italian, is perhaps best known in Catholic canon as the father of Jesus and husband of Mary. He is also credited with ending a drought-fueled famine in Sicily; as the story goes, St. Joseph answered the prayers of the starving locals by providing rain, and farmers were able to grow a life-sustaining harvest of fava beans. Families, villages, and churches came together in gratitude, building altars laden with food in his honor. Today, each March 19th, Italian Catholics in Italy and abroad celebrate with St. Joseph’s Day tables—colorful, three-tiered altars adorned with various bread, fruits, and pastries.

Those traditions traveled with Italian immigrants to the U.S. over the years and are very much alive in “Little Italy” neighborhoods across the country, including Boston’s North End, New York City’s Arthur Avenue, Providence’s Federal Hill, and New Orleans’ Little Palermo. Like St. Patrick’s Day, modern St. Joseph’s Day celebrations have also transcended their original sacred purposes and now revolve almost entirely around food. Elaborate breads are baked into the shapes of carpenter’s tools, ladders, and canes, which symbolize Joseph’s staff, while bread crumbs are scattered to represent sawdust. But the real stars of the day are two pastries—sfinci and zeppole—and whichever one is favored can say a lot about the origins of the families celebrating.

I grew up in a Sicilian family in Boston and for us, it was always sfinci: humble fried balls of yeasted dough studded with raisins and coated with sugar. Sometimes, for an extra special touch, they’d be topped with sweetened ricotta and candied orange peel. Depending on the Sicilian dialect, you may hear them called spincia or sfingi, and they’re a close relative of sfenj, a sponge-like doughnut rolled in sugar or coated in honey, perhaps originally brought to the Italian island by way of Morocco. 

My grandmother, affectionately known as Nonni, arrived from Sicily in 1905. Nonni and her sister, Zia Nancy, prepared sfinci every St. Joseph’s Day; my parents, siblings, and cousins would all gather at her house to find her frying them in her basement on an old enamel stove. I can still hear the sizzle of the pan and smell her percolator coffee, which we drank from her collection of beautiful porcelain teacups.

But when I moved to Rhode Island some 30 years ago, I found a different Italian treat at the heart of St. Joseph’s Day. Zeppole, like sfinci, are both round, both traditionally fried, and both represent the circle of family unity on the altar. And while some folks I know refer to them interchangeably, the two pastries couldn’t be more different. 

While nonnas have been frying sfinci in their kitchens for centuries, zeppole appear to have come later. They’re made from a French pâte à choux—the same batter used to make eclairs and cream puffs—which was likely introduced to Italy by French chefs who worked in the Italian royal kitchens. The batter is piped from a pastry bag into a ring or dropped into hot oil by the spoonful before being filled with pastry cream or sweetened ricotta.

In Rhode Island on March 19th, patrons line up long before the bakeries open to buy zeppole by the dozen, and many arrive at work with boxes to share. One year, the highway department even posted a message on the digital safety signs along I-95 that read, “There are plenty of zeppoles left. Slow down.” It’s an annual tradition to debate which bakery is the best—naturally, I have my favorites. LaSalle Bakery offers a traditional pastry cream zeppole as well as ones filled with Baileys Irish Cream custard or chocolate mousse. At Scialo Bros. Bakery on Federal Hill, I opt for the one filled with ricotta cream. While zeppole were originally fried, most are now baked (perhaps for health reasons), although Scialo Bros. offers their fried version exclusively on the holiday. In the March 2011 print issue of SAVEUR, pastry chef Nick Malgieri shared his take on the Sicilian pastry, with a cinnamon ricotta filling and a decadent Amarena cherry. 

As Nonni got older, she stopped making her beloved sfinci. And unlike zeppole, which you can find in many Italian bakeries this time of year, sfinci are rarely made outside home kitchens in the States. As a pastry chef, I couldn’t let Nonni’s tradition die. She and Zia Nancy taught my mother their recipe—with measurements loosely labeled in pounds—and my mother taught it to me. The “recipe” I inherited was merely a list of ingredients, but thankfully I remember the method well. I also measured and converted the flour from pounds into cups and converted the fresh yeast into dry active yeast to make it easier for home bakers.

For years I have set aside March 19th, donning an apron, measuring the ingredients for the dough into an old enamel bowl, and frying the sfinci all morning to share with family and friends. Now that I winter in Florida, some friends gather to help me prepare the pastries, while everyone else lines up for their annual taste of Sicily. 

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