She came for the cannoli and stayed for the friendship: An intergenerational tale

Sicilian chefs Giovanni Laiosa, 88, and Lorena Corso, 37 – who came to Melbourne in 1954 and 2017, respectively – bonded over cannoli. Their love of food sustains them now as they both navigate unexpected heartache.

Giovanni Laiosa and Lorena Corso: “He’d always ask me if I had a girlfriend,” Corso says. “He said to me, ‘Your sexuality doesn’t matter; you’re still you.’” Credit: Luis Enrique Ascui

Lorena: Four years ago, I was looking for cannoli shells for parties and catering jobs and a friend said, “Oh, you should go to this little place, Monticello [in Thornbury, Victoria].” I walked in and it was like going back in time to an old patisserie in Sicily.

I saw Giovanni, a short Italian man, and I automatically thought he’d be Sicilian. Sicilians abroad, we find each other, we recognise that quality of putting work first, of not compromising. I was very close to my granddad. This was just like talking to him; in a very simple conversation there was a lot of care. He would ask how work was going and I could feel the warmth and sincerity. We built a really nice friendship.

Cannoli is a Sicilian dish. I had tried many different cannoli shells, but I couldn’t find anything that was good enough. When I found Monticello, the shell had the right taste and crackle – it didn’t get soggy – and the colour was golden. It was all perfect.

Giovanni and Tina were the couple who have been together forever, bickering the whole time. Giovanni would poke Tina, Tina would tell him off, he would laugh, then she would laugh. There was never anger.

It was a shock when Tina died of brain cancer [in October last year]. People probably thought Giovanni would be the one to go first because he’s had more health issues. To be honest, with the bond they had, I was expecting him to pass away soon after.

I’ve been visiting more often and keeping him company. We don’t talk too much, but I can feel he likes me being there. He calls me most days, asks how my treatment is going [Lorena was diagnosed with breast cancer in January]. He finds it so hard to use the phone, so the fact that he calls me says a lot. Having an elderly person near me makes me think about the grandfather I was so close to. It makes me feel good to know he cares.

Giovanni has apologised to me a few times for crying. I tell him crying is just another emotion: you’re allowed to do that, feel that. It’s beautiful that a man of his age can be vulnerable in front of people and not hold in his tears. For men of his generation, crying is a sign of weakness; it’s probably taken him all this time to realise that it’s not.

I’m queer and, at the beginning, I was concerned he would ask me about my love life, but I came out to him from the start and it’s never been an issue. He’d always ask me if I had a girlfriend. He said to me, “Your sexuality doesn’t matter; you’re still you.” Recently, he said I should find someone rich with a house so I can move in with them and live rent-free.

“I didn’t want to tell him straight away ... But truth is important to him; he wouldn’t want me to sugar-coat it.”

Lorena Corso

The diagnosis was a hard pill to swallow. I didn’t want to tell him straight away because he was still suffering so much with Tina’s passing. I didn’t want to add it to the pile he was dealing with, especially because it was also cancer. But truth is important to him; he wouldn’t want me to sugar-coat it.

He knew what to say. He said, “You’re very strong. You’ve managed to work as hard as you have and you’re going to manage this, too.” He’s gone through so much and is still able to be positive and supportive. I’ve always admired him so much, especially his passion for his work. You can see it straight away in his cannoli. I feel lucky that I met him.

Laiosa: “I respect the way she talks and the way she smiles; she’s sure of herself and she’s very gentle.”Credit: Luis Enrique Ascui

Giovanni: I’ve known Lorena for a long time. She bought some cannoli for some catering. If not for my cannoli, I wouldn’t know her. The way I make cannoli is the best in the world. It’s all natural, no preservatives, and the shell has red wine, flour, oil and something else secret that I can’t tell you.

When Lorena comes to get the cannoli, we talk in Italian, I get her a coffee. First it was business, then we became friends because she’s very special. I respect the way she talks and the way she smiles; she’s sure of herself and she’s very gentle. We have a lot of conversations. We talk about family, we talk about work. She talks like a mature woman, very sure of herself. She’s not afraid to do anything. I don’t want to kiss her because she’s too young for me, but I admire her.

“The way Lorena talks to me is different to other people. She gives me confidence.”

Giovanni Laiosa

My wife was everything to me. We were 57 years together. She was a very generous woman. She never complained. I’ve been crying for eight months since she was in hospital. I talk with Tina a lot at home. I have candles everywhere, photos.

I understand people. I know people. I’m old, but my brain is perfect. No one has to tell me what sort of person they are: I can read people. I like Lorena. She listens and she can talk. She’s sincere and she doesn’t talk bullshit. She’s strong and very intelligent. The way she talks to me is different to other people. She gives me confidence. It’s hard to explain, but she makes me feel well.

She came here seven years ago without any family. It’s not easy to come by yourself. I came when I was 16, a shy boy, the youngest of seven and a small one, too. My sister was here, she wanted me to join her. I cried, I didn’t want to.

Lorena is not scared of anything. Maybe because she has suffered, coming here with nothing. She’s different from me, but we have a connection: we both cook for people, we are both close with our family, we are not scared of hard work.

As soon as Lorena walked in last month, I knew straight away she was sick. I said, “What’s wrong with you?” Her face was different, a bit thin, and she normally had more colour. She didn’t look weak but maybe upset with herself, disappointed. She told me the news and I felt terribly sorry. I cried for my wife, but I was crying for her, too. I told her, “Don’t think about it. Your attitude is important. Worry doesn’t work. It makes you more sick.” You’ll see; she’ll become good again. She’s a perfect person.

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