Oofa, Veniero’s. 100+ years of life-affirming Italian pastries. The other night. Guy asked for my order with about ten people ahead of me. Gave me a pang of longing for the now-boarded-up Second Avenue Deli, where two babushka-ed women once clucked at me, “I guess you’ve gotta have the tits to get waited on in here.” (I had the tits, and I was waited on. I don’t see the problem.) I sneered at Veniero’s pignoli cookies behind the glass. They looked poofy and overbaked and short a few pignolis. Not like the perfectly pale, covered-in-‘em pignoli cookies at Rocco’s Bakery on Bleecker. Never had better. Including in Brooklyn.

Well. Veniero’s might be better. I’ll need a controlled comparison test. Perhaps several.

The odd height only added to the serious chewy, and the anisette flavor was every bit as intense as that of Rocco’s. Perhaps more so. I’d still prefer ‘em lighter in color, and covered-er in nuts, but sweet simulated Jesus, them things were good. I wanna hold hands and buy furniture with these cookies.

Sunk to the bottom of my bag were mini cannolis flecked with the trademark bright green granules of what I hope is rock sugar. Pasticceriffico! Fabulously oily tasting, the blistery tubes were perfect, and the filling was nicely spiced, if a bit tighter and sweeter than I like. And why do we need chocolate chips in a cannoli? Still. I’d give my left nut for one right now. Both nuts for a dozen.