“Struffoli,” I told him. “Pauley Struffoli.” “Well, Mr. St—Mr. Stru— What kind of name is that?” “It’s an Italian name. A proud Italian name, from a proud Italian dessert. Made of little balls of dough. It’s proud and delicious. My people went to war over struffoli, you ignorant fuck.” That was partially true. Struffoli is delicious.
