Love (of sugar) never dies: the haunting of Fiorello Dolce

During this whole self-isolation pandemic apocalypse thing, I have noticed two things about myself: 1) I miss eating out way more than I thought I would and 2) I have more of a sweet tooth than I thought I did. Based on what I’m seeing around the internet, it looks like I’m in good company. And in the case of Long Island patisserie Fiorrello Dolce, that company includes beings from beyond the veil.

Glazed and confused

Fiorello Dolce was founded in the summer of 2006 by Gerard Fioravanti and Steven Marinello. It’s a cute, modern shop situated at the far end of a little strip of stores in Huntington, New York. All of their pastries are made from scratch, using only butter and the freshest ingredients they can find. Executive Pastry Chef Fioravanti has an impressive pedigree, having studied at the French Culinary Institute in New York City and baked pastries with famous pastry chefs and for famous celebrities (including David Bowie!). He brought all that knowledge to Fiorello Dolce and ensured its success with legendary croissants, flourless chocolate cakes, and “frenangles” (a proprietary cross between a french croissant and a bagel that looks painfully good). In short, the launch of Fiorello Dolce was great; totally normal. 

Here, have some pastry imagery.

Then one day, when Fioravanti was working alone in the kitchen, the quiet was shattered by a voice shrieking his name. Startled, Fioravanti checked the tires of the cart he was wheeling–that shriek must have been them squealing, because there was definitely no one else around. But the tires seemed fine. It must have just been a weird fluke. 

But then there was another weird fluke: a new employee–who claimed to have some psychic abilities–told him almost immediately upon their arrival that there were definitely ghosts in the shop. By now Fioravanti was beginning to become concerned, and shared his concerns with Marinello. Marinello scoffed them off, until a bunch of buckets spontaneously crashed off the shelves right in front of him. Then one morning when Fioravanti was baking blueberry muffins, he saw a “white shadowy light” blur past him out of the corner of his eye. 

Over the next months came the real fun stuff. Oven doors opened by themselves. Untouched timers turned off before their time, causing batches of cookies to burn. Spatulas whispered and tinkled on their racks. A rolling rack shifted itself over a foot. Security cam footage revealed a roll of paper towels luxuriously unrolling itself in the dead of night–a feat no one could replicate even with the flow of the air conditioner. 

One morning, the crew came in to find the front iPad blasting music, skipping songs after a few beats as if someone were searching for something they liked, until at last landing on “Blue Monday” by New Order and cranking the volume. Though there was no one behind the counter, security footage showed the screen lighting up and the password being typed in again and again. It only went dark with Fioravanti rushed over to turn it around.

That was it. Fiorello Dolce were totally haunted.

A calculated whisk

Despite the bizarre circumstances, business continued as usual. After all, there was nothing threatening about the disruptions–just a little startling (such as when one employee stepped into the walk-in refrigerator and jumped at a clap behind her, only to whirl and find that no one was there). But everyone was curious about what was up.

By happy circumstance, Giovanti met a ghost hunter, who then brought in a medium. They photographed orbs, found cold spots, and got repeated off-the-chart readings around the spatulas. Overall the energy they picked up was good-natured, which the staff was doubtless happy to hear. But there was something different about the alleyway immediately outside the back of the store–a sinking feeling of dread, foreboding. The medium quickly turned back inside.

ghost orbs
Image of alleged ghost orbs–not of Fiorello Dolce’s, though Fiorello Dolce has many.

Research revealed that the bakery was built on land that used to contain nothing but wetlands and run-down rowhouses–the poorest (and roughest) neighborhood in Huntington. The medium picked up one ghost telling him that his name was Eddie. Sure enough, after more research it turned out that a man named Eddie had been murdered in that very alley back in the 1970’s, which might explain the weird vibes. Fortunately, every other ghost the medium connected with seemed to have a less violent past.

It seems like Giovanti has brought in a few mediums over the years to try to figure this thing out, but the results have been no different. He even tried hanging up medicinal sage one night, to see if that would drive the spirits away. The next morning, the sage was on the ground. The ghosts were here to stay. 

For old time’s cake

So does working in a haunted bakery freak Giovanti or his staff out? Apparently not. You can see in the security camera footage that when strange stuff happens, everyone seems to take it in stride. 

Cream puff
I’m sorry/you’re welcome.

This might be because the team attributes many of the ghostly presences to family members who have come back to hang around and “help out.” Mediums have picked up staff’s grandparents, mothers, aunts. Giovanti has even mentioned that he recognized the face of an old landlord in one of the orb pictures–an elderly gentleman who loved the bakery and was always eager to offer tips on how things should be done

So all in all, this is a positive haunting–spooky, but not scary (except, maybe, for that alleyway). It’s often joked that the ghosts are just there because they miss the sweet scent of baking treats.

In the meantime, the haunting press seems to be good for business; Giovanti is even planning to write a book. Fiorello Dolce was closed due to the coronavirus, but seems to have recently opened once again. I’m sure that Huntington–and all its ghosts–will be glad to have them back. 

What pastry would you return to the mortal plane for? Share your favorites in the comments below.

IMAGE CRED: None of these images are from Fiorello Dolce proper, but as usual, wanted to set the tone (without infringing on copyright). Thank you to Welleschik for the unholily-delicious-looking assortment, mystery Wikimedia contributor for the orbs, and Stu Spivack for the plastic bag cream puff.

Better than Tempeh: The Borametz

As the world transitions to autumn, let’s take a moment to celebrate this wonderful window between the mad heat of summer and the dark desperation of winter. This week, let’s give ourselves a break; let’s study a monster that does not threaten grievous bodily harm! In fact, our subject might even help someone, though it is so odd it might also induce an existential crisis.

Let’s begin with a poem. This piece, found in Dr. Erasmus Darwin’s book The Botanic Garden (1781), describes our unwonted subject:

“E’en round the Pole the flames of love aspire,

And icy bosoms feel the secret fire,

Cradled in snow, and fanned by Arctic air,

Shines, gentle borametz, thy golden hair

Rooted in earth, each cloven foot descends,

And round and round her flexile neck she bends,

Crops the grey coral moss, and hoary thyme,

Or laps with rosy tongue the melting rime;

Eyes with mute tenderness her distant dam,

And seems to bleat – a vegetable lamb.”

Take a moment to pause and re-read that last bit there, if you haven’t already. Perhaps you’ve just skimmed the poem and are imagining a lamb frolicking in someone’s (apparently chilly) garden, enjoying the odd pepper or uprooting carrots. Perhaps you’ve read closely, and are wondering why the poem is calling out a lamb for being vegetarian. Unfortunately, the poem is speaking to neither of these things. Take a look at the following picture:

That’s one interpretation of the creature at hand. The next–perhaps more realistic–is a little more frightening:

You might ask “what in the good **** is that?”; I certainly did, and so did visitors to central Asia during the fourth through to the nineteenth century. Legend has it that there was a plant there with a bit of an odd flower–one that walks, eats, and bleats. Called variously the Borametz, the Scythian Lamb, and (my personal favorite) the Vegetable Lamb of Tartary, this fellow was said to be born from the fruit produced by a particular fern, destined to  live out its days munching on the flora within reach. A vine-like “umbilical cord” attached to its belly limited the lamb’s range of motion; it could not be separated from its parent fern, or it would perish. Details about how long this cord could reach vary, but once the food within its circumference of it ran out, the lamb would die. Then predators–wolves or, every now and again, humans–could jump on the borametz and eat it. Rumor has it that its blood tasted like honey, and its wool was of the same or better quality than any other, more conventional sheep.

Though this might seem fanciful, tales of the borametz appeared in Jewish folklore as early as 436 A.E.. Back then it was called the Yeduah, was similarly attached to the earth by a stem, and could only be collected if said stem were severed via the use of arrows or darts. This version of the creature had bones that could be used in prophetic ceremonies, and so was valuable beyond being livestock and/or garden. Unfortunately, this version also had a counterpart–the Faduah, a human-shaped type of borametz that would strangle anyone who came within reach. You can hardly blame him for being cranky;  it seems that every iteration of the borametz legend involves man taking advantage of the the creature’s helplessness, whether it be slaughtering a sheep on a stem, or slicing gourds open to harvest the lambs within.

A number of people have tried to find their own borametz over the centuries, with varying degrees of success. Variations on the gourd-centered legend trickled back from Persia in the 14th and 15th centuries, with explorers trying to make sense of what seemed to be both a living animal and plant. Sir John Mandeville was the most colorful of these adventurers, and is credited with bringing the first tales of the vegetable lamb to the English public attention. Unfortunately, he is also credited with being embellisher extraordinaire. In the mid 16th century, Sigismund von Herberstein presented a more trustworthy, detailed account of the creature to Emperors Maxamillian I and Charles V. He said that it lived near the Caspian Sea, stood two and a half feet tall, and did not have normal blood and wool, but flesh more like a crab than a lamb. This incited other adventurers to look more closely for it, as well; Henry Lee would collect all the legends  in his 1887 book The Vegetable Lamb of Tartary, which would become a sort of bible on the subject. But even with all the hubbub, did any objective observer ever actually find a Vegetable Lamb?

The short answer, alas, is no. It might very well be that the borametz is nothing more than a wildly imaginative interpretation of the Indian cotton plant, or the giant fern cibotium barometz, which also has a fuzzy rhizome that might be interpreted as wool. This makes sense, of course…if the borametz existed, why wouldn’t everyone immediately try to plant it in their gardens? It would certainly be one way to get your kids to eat their vegetables.* It’s possible also that the creature existed, but went extinct before anyone could get bring back proof.

Or…the Vegetable Lamb of Tartary really was the giant fern cibotium barometz all along…but that fern is not what we think it is.


If you’re ever in the forests of central Asia, watch your back.

Have you ever encountered a plant that walked, baa-ed, or bled? What’s your favorite sinister flora? Share your thoughts in the comments below.

*Or make them terrified of them for the rest of their lives. Either way, the borametz is sure to have an impact.

I’m Lovin It: Demons in Your Sandwich, Demons in Your Soul

It might be said that there are a few fears fundamental to every human experience.

The fear of death.

The fear of madness.

The fear of a pointless, meaningless existence.

These terrors monopolized our ancestors’ minds and souls, but now with our bright lights, our computers–our distractions–they have faded to the background. Now a new menace has shuffled forward. He is a pressing dread–one that drives people to financial ruin, emotional despair, to the hospital; a contemporary obsession that is, shall we say, a real heavyweight.

The fear of fat.

Don’t laugh. Fat ruins lives. Sure, diet and exercise works for some, surgery for others–the human race might be doomed if it didn’t. But an unlucky few still remain for which nothing seems to work–poor souls whose enslavement is such that they’ve been forced to seek other, outside explanations for why they cannot escape the groan of the scale.*

What very frightening answers they’ve found.

Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International license
Courtesy of Wellcome Images by Wellcome Trust, a global charitable foundation based in the United Kingdom.

A Visit from Beelzebub.

Let’s start simply, shall we? Sometimes the compulsion to eat can be so overwhelming–or so out of character–that it seems to have a life of its own. Sometimes we do not so much feel as if we want to overeat, but are forced to. Like something else is pulling the strings. Like our hands are forced to pick up the fork, even though we know another bite might literally kill us.

And maybe, sometimes, that thing laughs with our face the entire time.

In the Christian tradition (at least so far as legendary witch hunter Peter Binsfield was concerned), Beelzebub (or Baal, depending on who you ask) is the demon responsible for forcing souls to their gluttonous demise. If you’re at all familiar with Christianity, chances are his is a name you’ve heard before. That is because Beelzebub is renowned not only for being Prince of Gluttony and False Gods, but also:

In a way, if you black out and wake up with an empty family size bag of pork rinds, twelve taco wrappers, and a cardboard cake box with nothing but a grease circle and smudge of icing left inside, you should almost consider yourself flattered–it’s possible one of the most powerful demons of the underworld has taken time out of your schedule to make your life a living nightmare.

A Special Ingredient.

Let’s say, though, that you’re the strong type–strong enough even to resist Satan’s right hand man. You’ve never overeaten a day in your life–in fact, you take painful care to eat as healthfully as you possibly can. Fruits. Vegetables. Whole wheat. You exercise. You drink lots of fluid. You do everything perfectly.

Still, your weight climbs.

You cut back even further, trying to starve it off. But instead of getting thinner, you just get fatter. It doesn’t make sense–even your closest friends think you must be lying about your diet, sneaking donuts when no one’s around. You plead that you’re not, but how could they believe you? Your doctor tells you to eat healthier, that you’re on your way to your deathbed, and you tell him that you are, but he does believe you either. You grow further still. The weight is such that it pins you to the floor. You’ve stopped eating all but a few calories a day, and still–you grow.

Have you figured it out?

Word has it that monsters can’t just interfere with the will of the sufferer–they can inhabit the food itself. It’s called demonic tattering–a process in which a demon infests lunch, making those carrot sticks go right to your thighs.

That, you might say, is crazy talk–crazier even than being possessed by a demon the moment you pick up your fork. But (as this Ground Zero Media article points out), there is precedent for demonic possession of food. Heard of the Last Supper? Take a look at this passage from the King James Bible, Book of John, Chapter 13, verses 26 and 27, which come on the heels of Jesus announcing that one of his disciples will betray him:

“Jesus answered, He it is, to whom I shall give a sop, when I have dipped it. And when he had dipped the sop, he gave it to Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon.

And after the sop Satan entered into him. Then said Jesus unto him, That thou doest, do quickly.” 

It would seem Satan himself hitched a ride on some soggy bread to work his will on ole’ Judas’s spirit (no word on his love handles, but who’s to say?). But the fun doesn’t stop there.

Ever been to a meal where someone has to say a blessing over the food before anyone can eat it? Ever wonder where that came from? Ground Zero Media claims it’s a habit passed down from our ancestors, who routinely had to purge monsters from their meat and potatoes. The world, you see, has a lot of evil in it, and if you’re not careful, some of that evil–be it in the form of unholy miasma, or a straight up, havoc-wreaking demon–can get into your PB&J.

If you didn’t stop to bless your coffee this morning, now you know why your pants might be fitting a little tighter than usual.


But what, you might ask, is so evil about making someone fat? So far as monsters go, one that gives you a cankles should seem to rank far below one that, say, turns you inside out and then licks you like an ice cream cone. There are plenty of overweight people, and plenty who might manage someday to keep the weight off, be it with better habits, therapy, or medical intervention. But still…what if they couldn’t?

What if you couldn’t?

What if, after scoffing at this article, you went to your fridge for an apple, and found yourself reaching instead for the squeezable chocolate? If you screamed inside, even as you emptied the bottle down your throat? If your hands shook as you tried to stop yourself from grabbing the leftover pizza, only to shove it into your mouth all the more quickly once they got it out? What if you looked down right now and noticed that your chair is buckling, that your sides are bulging out against its arms?

What if you go to stand up, and find that taking even a few steps leaves you exhausted? Your friends will not believe you when you say that it’s not your fault. Strangers will jeer at you. Your family will not recognize you. You will disgust them. You will disgust yourself. And you will move ever slower, ever more painfully. Death will stalk you.

You will not be able to run.

Feeling hungry? Feel free to list your favorite food in the comments below! Can’t decide which one to pick? List as many as you like. We’re all friends here.

* Disclaimer: Compulsive eating and obesity really are serious diseases, and obviously this article is meant for entertainment, not medical advice. I’m not looking at all to belittle anyone’s struggle. If you’re having issues with food, feel free to throw around as much holy water as you like–just so long as you promise to go see an actual doctor, as well.