"I Open When I Want To"

While visiting friends in spectacular Monte Argentario, an island connected to the Italian coast by a casueway, we were all invited to dinner by the lovely Italian family who lived next door. After a delicious and elaborate meal, our host placed on the table a beautifully wrapped black package with a gold scripted logo A.Ferrini. It was clearly inspired by the aesthetics of a bygone era of grandeur and decadence. Upon unraveling the package, I was surprised to see little elegant cakes that resembled little muffins; a very small base and a large top sprinkled with sugar. To my bigger surprise, we were having them for dessert.

No one seemed to know what they were called except little cakes. Each had a different paper-cup base with the flavor name on it. Upon removing the first top, pesca we found a beautiful center of a peach fruit purée. The second, castagna, was filled with a purée of chestnuts. The uncovering of even more flavors followed: lemon, white chocolate, figs, apricots and chocolate hazelnuts. The array of fillings was remarkable, each as unique as the next.  Every flavor became a conversation piece, how delicious and light it was. The purée filling seemed to be the marvel in this treat, each created with fresh ingredients and the love and care you would expect from such an overall experience.

What started as a person tasting a cake turned into a chaotic cross-flavor exchange around the table; each taking a half and passing it on with a commentary on how it tasted. Within 5 minutes the little cakes had disappeared. Only then did everyone calm down and begin to reflect and discuss these little delights.

The next day I went to the shop in a port town called Porto Santo Stefano. I wanted to experience it and meet the people behind these cakes. I was greeted by a sign on the door that read CHIUSO—closed. It was 11 am, and the opening hours listed was 10 to 2, and from 4 onwards. I went back at 5pm. CHIUSO. I went again on another day at 4pm after the obligatory siesta. CHIUSO. By now I noticed one sign amongst the others that stated in hand-written script, "I open when I want to." Pure poetry I thought. Only in Italy could anyone get away with such a statement. The fact that this man was beholden to no one; that he made these cakes when he wanted to or based on his comfort, the availability of ingredients or whatever. Truly fantastic. Just what Poetry of Food is all about.

This became a ritual and a game on our daily excursions in and out of this town. We would drop by and the Venetian blinds would be closed, one over the door and the other over the main window. It became an obsession, as by now we were craving these little cakes. We would plan on eating them every night after dinner; and night after night, we’d be disappointed. We ended up with no dessert, just the odd sweet to calm our cravings.

Then on our last day, we went at 10 am and at last, the shop was open. I was so excited—more like ecstatic, actually—and ran inside. A white-haired man with a pair of black glasses greeted us. This man, and his delightful welcoming smile, was the coolest septuagenarian I had ever met.

Mr. Ferrini is now 74 years old and has been baking since he was a child alongside his father, who also owned a bakery. His love of baking was evident in his enthusiasm when describing his little cakes. He took us to the back kitchen and showed us how he makes these sacotinis— which means a sac, a bag to carry the delicious flavors. In fact he made sure to call them Sacotini di Ferrini, clearly an attempt at branding them to ensure the name sticks. One look around his pastry shop revealed walls covered with paintings he had created of the sea, right outside his door.

I related to him how delicious we thought his sacotinis were and how we came by so many times and he was closed. When I pointed at the hand- written sign, "I open when I want to," he laughed and said it was the local kids who wrote that on his window. Smart kids.

Later that night we had another meal with our neighbors, and when I pulled out the now infamous black package, the entire table cheered. They couldn’t believe I was able to procure them; it seems they had been chasing them all week as well. So I recounted the experience of meeting Mr. Ferrini, to much delight and amusement. I realized how much I loved meeting unique people like him and how I hoped that on my next trip to Italy he would still be full of life making these little marvels.