Found Treasure: Klay Thompson Inspired Cannoli

Before Klay Thompson got to the sweetest dessert he’s tasted, a lot had to happen. 

The Golden State Warriors had to endure 40 years with so much off-putting play that longtime Dubs reporter Monte Poole said losing was “a habit the Warriors have perfected.” 

They had to avoid trading Steph Curry before he got his ankles healthy, really got cooking and won back-to-back league MVPs.

They had to bring aboard Bob Myers as general manager. Way back in the day—can anyone remember 2012?—I sat with Myers before a game in which a fresh-faced second-year Klay scored 8 points in the first 2 minutes against the Cavs, to talk about the future.

At the time the Warriors were 7-4, their first winning record since the We Believe Warriors. Myers told me at the time, “Our company embraces new thoughts and ideas, not old-time hierarchy…when we draft or sign a player, we’re asking, ‘Do they have room for growth; are they competitive; do they care about the craft?’”

They had to shock the basketball world with a 2015 championship behind a skinny point guard and an overlooked-and-undersized second round draft pick named Draymond Green…and a shy shooting guard named Klay. 

They had to continue a rainmaking run that included a 73-win season followed by a crotch-kick-loss to LeBron James’ Cleveland Cavaliers. 

They had to stack two more NBA crowns on top of that, made possible in part by Game 6 Klay shooting, to the point they levitated above the league.

They had to crash down to the planet in painful ways, with Thompson unanchored by an ACL tear just as he was finalizing another signature playoff performance on the NBA’s biggest stage. 

They had to help Thompson rehab long and hard, merely to approach the point of returning, only to see him suffer another potential career-ending injury, thunderstruck by an Achilles tendon tear. 

The Warriors had to journey on without him, which wasn’t pretty, logging a league-worst record two years ago and a complete playoff whiff the following season. As head coach Steve Kerr recounted recently, “In the back of our minds, [we’re thinking] when Klay comes back, we’ll have a chance,” he said. “But none of us knew what that meant.”

Thompson himself had to dive deep into his romance with the Pacific Ocean—and Will Ferrell and Chris Farley movies—to stay sane. He had to inch-worm, then crawl, then walk, then run, then drill, then absorb contact, inch by inch, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, for nearly 1,000 days without playing real ball.

He had to break down, less than a month from returning to live action, alone on the bench, after a home game, crying, wondering if his return was an ill-advised full-court heave. Team staff came to Kerr and told him to go check on Klay. 

“Everything he’d been through had come to a boiling point emotionally,” Kerr remembers.

Klay had to—and got to—feel the flush of emotions that were “Klay Day” in early January, his first game back in 941 days, delivering a slam that surprised everyone, himself included.

“It was an emotional night,” he said at the time. “I did not know I was going to dunk on somebody the first game back, that felt good. So hooray for me.”

From there he got through days where experts doubted his decisions and his defense. Meanwhile the Warriors got through a violent foul on Gary Payton II, through a 55-point deficit and “whoop-that-trick” taunting in Memphis, through a 2-1 hole against younger and bigger Boston, through rising voices saying, “Maybe next year,”  “Maybe when they trade for another playmaker,” “Maybe when Andrew Wiggins steps up,” “Maybe when Klay’s more himself…”

And yet here Thompson sat at the cigar-smoked post-game press conference in Bean Town’s TD Garden, after the Ws closed out the Cs in six to win their fourth championship of late. It came after a season in which they were predicted by many to finish eighth or ninth in their own conference and barely get in the playoffs.

That’s when Klay got down to dessert, swirling in the disbelief surrounding the way he went from immobilized to immortalized. 

“Holy cannoli!” he said. “This is crazy.”

Head coach Kerr estimates he saw “a million” signs at the Warriors championship parade earlier this week that read “Holy Cannoli.”

When asked about the latest meme Thompson has inspired, Kerr laughs.

“Klay always manages to leave his influence, for sure,” he says. 

A man named Lance Ebert, better known as Bread Boy to the Santa Cruz eating enthusiasts, is feeling Klay’s influence, and being opportunistic about it too.

He was tracking the Warriors run closely as he trucked his food cart to its usual spot at 38th and East Cliff Saturday and Sunday. 

Ebert posted a split Instagram image after the Finals, of Thompson and Celtics superstar Jayson Tatum, that read (with Thompson) “Favorite Pastry: Cannoli” and (alongside Tatum): “Favorite Pastry: Turnovers” (#basketballbakerhumor).

After Game 6, he was as cannoli-shell-shocked as Thompson was in the press conference.

“Once he said, ‘Holy cannoli,’ my phone blew up with people sending me clips of him giving the cannoli love!” Ebert says. 

He sent a message to the Warriors, offering to supply 500 cannolis to the organization’s staff. 

“I would love to donate cannoli to the whole golden state organization!!! Much love from your local Santa Cruz Bread Boy!!!!!” he recounts via text.

He might be as passionate about cannoli as he is the Warriors.

“There is nothing like biting into a freshly piped crispy, crunchy, and creamy cannoli!” he says. “It’s life-changing. I’m Italian and I wanted to make artisan cannoli and focaccia bread, to not only honor my family roots but also share these little tubes of joy with my whole community.”

Sports is many things—identity and diversion, uplift and downfall, rivalry and connectivity, personality and perseverance. 

Klay reminds us it’s also exhilaration and exhaustion, expectation management and self-discovery, loneliness and redemption.

It’s many things, but it’s not war—even as Ukrainian soldiers clung to updates on their country’s World Cup qualifying run—or the tragedies experienced here at home.

Kerr spoke to this after a game versus Dallas in Texas, right after the Uvalde school shooting that killed children, asking for citizens to stop thinking about sports for a moment because more important issues are at play.

Later, talking with Zach Lowe on The Lowe Post podcast, Kerr added this: “It was gratifying to know so many people wanted to do something and wanted to help…[who] want so desperately for our government to follow through on meaningful action.”

When it comes to cannoli, my mind’s appetite treks to the Italian family who adopted my own. 

Under the leadership of my informal Auntie Paula Crivello (not the Paula pictured, though it bears mentioning they’re both Italian food savants), I’ve participated in a ravioli-making marathon with Crivello’s cousins in her garage. 

That’s why I had a feeling she might have helpful insight on what makes for a world-champion cannoli. 

She illuminated me on how much work has to happen to create a quality cannoli: 

Someone (in her case, a cousin) makes the dough. 

Another cousin rolls it out on the same pasta machine they use for ravioli, repeatedly, to get the casing as thin as a translucent piece of painted glass. 

Another cousin cuts long strips from the sheets of pastry, another cousin cuts those to precise specs, another wraps the dough around segments of late great Mama Crivello’s broomstick, with a little egg wash to lock in the seal. 

Another cousin drops the cylinders into hot Crisco to fry, another cousin extracts them to let them cool and another cousin still packs them in bundles that don’t allow the fragile shells to crack. 

The keys to their production will ring familiar to Warriors fans: lots of team movement, lots of sharing the pastry, lots of patience, and lots of hustle for the greater squad goals. 

“It’s a process,” Crivello says. “I’ve invited people over to help, and they say, “It’s this much trouble?’”

She adds this, channeling her inner Klay: “You gotta go through a lot for it to be good.” 

In honor of the recent Warriors Dynasty that took home four titles in the six years that Curry, Thompson and Green were all healthy, here appear my four Found Treasure cannoli spots, from four different Monterey Bay cities, listed from south to north: 

Compagno’s Deli • 2000 Prescott Ave. Monterey

This is the most mysterious of the group, and the most personal for me, because they’re the top recommendation from Auntie Paula (see above). The maker of these cannoli shies away from media attention. She hand crafts them to order for friends and family (and a select restaurant or two) by word-of-mouth request. The only way for citizens to get them is by requesting them through Compagno’s Deli (itself a Found Treasure for robust deli sandwiches and super stockage of snacks). More via Compagno’s at (831) (831) 375-5987; ask for Paula’s nephew Bennett.

La Mia Cucina • 208 17th St. Pacific Grove

Here owner-operators Michael and Paula Scanlon bring the same attention to every detail in the kitchen that they do to customer service. If they can’t make their own cannoli shells, Michael says, they’re not interested in offering them. Thin shells win. And filling them to order—a quality cannoli creed—is vital to avoid sogginess, as is top-grade ricotta that enjoys airiness and texture. Theirs deliver New York style with a kick of orange zest, Belgian chocolate and vanilla. “We like our shells less sweet, our ricotta a little sweeter than some, and a really smooth texture, with no graininess,” Michael says. More at the Mia Cucina website.

Bread Boy • Santa Cruz

As the story above mentions, this guy is about his cannoli. He appears at 38th and East Cliff on Saturdays and Sundays and at the weekly Midtown throw down Fridays. More at Bread Boy Instagram.

La Placa Family Bakery (formerly Ben Lomond Baking Company) • 9280 Highway 9 Ben Lomond

The ricotta is made in house, as are the pastry tubes, which aren’t filled until the order hits the counter. A point of pride and purpose is the amount of fill—poofing out both ends is mandatory—and then the cream gets a sliced almond cap on each side and an overall mist of powdered sugar descends. Server Amanda Held loves the process. “Who wants a half-empty cannoli shell?” she says. “We make sure the ricotta inside sticks out both ends. Muah! perfecto! They’re a hot seller.” More at La Placa Family Facebook.