Struffoli: Naples’ Christmas Honey Balls
Christmas Eve is tomorrow, and I’ve spent all morning on video calls with friends and family. The conversations? Well, they all sound the same: “What are you making for dinner?” It’s hilarious—and so very Neapolitan. Someone’s stuck in traffic on the way to the fish market. Another friend is anxiously prepping desserts for twenty people. And then there’s the emergency call asking me how to handle the crazy bubbling oil when frying struffoli.
What Are Struffoli?
Struffoli napoletani are those tiny, jewel-like golden balls coated in honey and topped with colorful sprinkles and candied orange peel. I call them “Neapolitan sachima”—a cheeky nod to the Chinese treat they resemble. They’re practically mandatory during the Christmas season here; you’ll find them on almost every Neapolitan table.
The base is a rich dough made with eggs, butter, candied orange peel, sweet wine, and a touch of cream. You cut it into small pieces, deep-fry until golden, then bind them with warm honey syrup into shapes—rings, cones, pyramids. Then comes the fun part: decoration with colored sugar pearls, candied citrus, and sometimes even small toys tucked inside.
Honestly? I’m obsessed. And the only proper way to eat them is by hand, plucking one ball at a time. That’s where the joy is.
My Twist This Year
This Christmas, I’m doing something different. Instead of the traditional decorations, I’m using my homemade candied chestnuts and toasted nuts, paired with fried dough cut into thin strips. The result? A true “Neapolitan sachima” experience—crispy, nutty, and nostalgic all at once.
The Oil-Bubbling Problem (Solved)
That emergency call about the oil boiling over? I get it. The dough has a high butter content and a bit of sweet wine, both of which release gas when they hit hot oil. I found two clever solutions floating around Neapolitan cooking groups:
1. After cutting the dough into small pieces, spread them on parchment paper and let them rest for 10 minutes before frying.
2. Drop a wine bottle cork into the hot oil. (Yes, this trick supposedly comes from cooking octopus!)
Full transparency: I haven’t tested either method myself, so this is purely sharing what the adorable Neapolitans in my cooking groups swear by.
If you’re inspired to make your own struffoli this season, I’ve got a full video tutorial on my YouTube channel. And if my chestnut-and-nut version calls to you, give it a try—I promise it’s worth the effort.
Adele Liu
I translate flavors, habits, and identities between two worlds that rarely meet—but deeply resonate when they do. This space is where those worlds collide. And occasionally, where they argue.

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