SOMEWHERE ON the coastal road between the Sicilian towns of Marzamemi and Siracusa, from behind the wheel, our guide pointed out the giant reeds growing above the Ionian sea. “Those are the canna they used to make the cannoli with,” Salvatore Coppola explained. From the back seat of the car, in unison, my mother and I made the same face, the one where we purse our lips together while curling the upper halves.

“I’ve never been into cannoli,” Mom said, giving voice to our shared facial reaction. Granted, our experience had...