Every now and then, a local restaurant called La Torricella has millefoglie among its regular offerings of lemon sorbet, tiramisu, pineapple-cut-into-a-fan, and pine nut or vanilla gelato with strawberries. Customers are very likely to have spotted the millefoglie long before seeing it typed up on the paper menu, though, because it will be sitting near the front door, either on the dessert trolley or zinc bar.
Named because the concertina puff of the pastry looks like a thousand (mille) leaves (foglie), La Torricella prepares a millefoglie that is more or less the size of a vinyl LP, its three rings of pastry sandwiched with a mixture of custard and whipped cream, otherwise known as diplomat cream. The layers of preparation make it a special-occasion dessert – in fact, La Torricella makes millefoglie only when a large enough group requests one. The rest of the room, however, then benefits from someone else’s celebration, because the kitchen might as well make two while they’re at it. Or at least I think that’s how it works.
