Does Little Italy still exist? Or is it all just a fever dream of Chianti in straw bottles,Sopranosmemorabilia, and giant meatballs? Arthur Avenue, the epicenter of Bronx's Little Italy neighborhood, still attracts scores of tourists eager for a deeper dive into Italian-American culture than the one they can find on Manhattan's Mulberry Street. These days, they're greeted with plenty of signage proudly announcing that they've stepped into a red-sauce paradise, a wonderland of Italian-American food. Usually, that much marketing hype is a good sign of a theme park rather than an authentic food experience. After all, how seriously can you take a food market that features a life-size statue of Al Capone?
But underneath that theme-park candy coating isn't cynicism, but pride. Thanks to all that marketing, and a steady stream of loyal customers, the spirit of Little Italy still hangs on. Spend just a few minutes wandering the Arthur Avenue Retail Market, and if you're a woman, someone will probably call you "principessa." You'll find seafood markets teeming with the live eels that Italians favor. You'll spot FDNY firemen in uniform hunched over butcher counters, buying meat for their lunch.
Arthur Avenue isn't much like the food markets in Italy, which are often shinier, newer,more trendy. Arthur Avenue still hangs on to what's old-fashioned. The cookies are in the dry,crumbly, old-world style. The bread probably has chunks of lard in it. Raw clams are shucked and eaten right on the street. The soppressatasausagehanging from the ceiling at Calabria Pork Store has a welcome funk and the sting of chiles. And although you can't bet that every ball offresh mozzarellayou get in Bronx's Little Italy is as fresh as the ones at Casa Della Mozzarella, a mecca for fresh and aged Italian cheeses, one thing is certain: The more people visit, the more mozzarella gets eaten. And the more mozzarella gets eaten, the fresher it will be. Arthur Avenue's status—food theme park or living, breathing food destination—all depends on how many people actually come buy the food.
After all, if these stores close, where will their recipes go? The rainbow cake cookie at Madonia Bakery is the only one I've ever loved—tender and not too almondy, with a bitter tang of chocolate. But if I want to keep on eating it, I need to keep on buying it.
