A Terrifying Halloween Journey To Mike’s Pastry

Mike’s Pastry is a staple of Boston’s North End, a place with cannolis you’d kill a shark with your bare hands for. It is a place I have never been before, and knew I had to go if I was ever going to pass my brutal bi-monthly Metro-Boston-Worthiness and Podiatric Health Test. I was initially scared to go, seeing as Halloween was approaching. A man of mystery like myself never knows quite what to expect around Halloween.

Upon the midnight dreary before my visit to Mike’s, while I pondered weak and weary over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten columns, suddenly there came a tapping as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

“I feel the pressure, under more scrutiny / and what I do, act more stupidly,” the voice said from beyond my door.

“Shut up,” I screamed hysterically, throwing open the door to my room. “What are you doing? I have to get my rest so I can be at the top of my journalistic game when I visit the legendary Mike’s Pastry tomorrow. Stop rapping at my chamber door.”

But there was no one in the hall.

“That’ll be enough of that,” I said, speaking entirely through my nose. I turned back around and returned to my dark and musty room where I soon fell into a fitful and restless sleep, visions of vampiric, Frankensteinian, raven monsters flitting through my dreams.

The next morning I was ready to get off campus and away from the creepy Halloween hijinks that was infiltrating every part of Boston College life.

I hopped on the T and made my way to the North End. I’m always astounded by the fact that people actually drive through those painfully narrow and crowded streets. As I walked toward Mike’s a raven swooped down, cawing loudly and flying over the heads of the many pedestrians.

“Don’t worry folks,” I said. “It’s just a reference, it can’t hurt you.”

I was quickly insulted over 30 times by a crowd who’d had just about enough of my crap.

I lowered my head and kept walking. I reached Mike’s Pastry soon after it opened. A line had already formed inside, a disorganized throng of pastry-loving people. My patience wore thin quickly, but I held out for the sake of journalistic integrity. This is the biggest downside of a visit to Mike’s Pastry, long lines and sheep-like gatherings. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with people, all our mouths agape and dripping saliva over the cannolis in the display cases is not a pleasant time. It’s also a breeding ground for stank.

As I waited, I decided I would get some chocolate chip and Florentine cannoli. Eventually I reached the counter and made my order.

“Would you like to try our pumpkin-spice cannoli?” the server asked. “Halloween special?”

Knowing I would be unable to salvage any remaining self-respect if I started eating anything pumpkin-spice flavored, I shook my head.

“Never,” I said, before pointing at the chocolate cannoli and saying. “More.”

As I left the shop I clutched the string-wrapped box of cannoli to my chest, glancing anxiously left and right, sure that something strange and Halloween-tastic would occur.

“Hey Archer,” someone across the street said.

I looked and saw a man who looked exactly like me except better-groomed, better-dressed, more pleasant, nicer-smelling, and generally more likeable. He smiled that damnably charming smile of his.

“Hey, Evil Archer,” I said. “How ya doin? Got anything going on over Halloween?”

“Nah,” he said. “How was Mike’s Pastry?”

“Scrum-diddly-umptious, my old friend.”

Evil Archer nodded, flashed me a thumbs up, and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. A bat appeared and flew away into the misty October skies.

All in all it was an uneventful Halloween week. But at least I would now finally be able to eat one of the famed Mike’s Pastry cannolis.

Lifting a perfectly-formed Florentine cannoli to my disgusting, drooling mouth, I took a bite and realized why people were willing to wait in line. The things were fantastic. I immediately scarfed down another and within seconds regretted it. Word to the wise: each Mike’s Cannoli is roughly 500 calories, eating more than one within a two minute period is a bad idea. But it was worth it.

From my Halloween-infused time spent at Mike’s, I’ve come to one conclusion: you must just be plain stupid if you live near Boston and never visit Mike’s Pastry. Not only is the cannoli mind-boggling, just being in the North End is exciting. So sometime after Halloween take a Green Line to Haymarket Station and walk over to one of the finest pastry shops in Massachusetts.

Featured Image by Francisco Ruela / Heights Graphic

 

About Archer Parquette 65 Articles
Archer is the features editor for The Heights. He has written, writes, and plans to continue writing stuff. His life is fascinating and electrifying, full of boundless horizons, tentacled beasts of the night, and countless hours spent staring into the watery void and contemplating the end of all things. Sometimes he eats muffins.