Arthur Avenue: Little Italy in the Bronx

My father recently told me the following story. When my sister and I were young, my parents used to dress us up in fancy clothes and take us out to dinner, oftentimes to fine Italian restaurants around Connecticut. Our favorite was a lovely place in New Haven called Tre Scalini, an upscale favorite of Wooster Street residents in Little Italy. One Sunday night, I brought my little sister to the bathroom, and upon returning, showed my father two twenty dollar bills.

"Where'd you get that?" He asked.
"From the man at the bar over there," I replied, pointing to a man, well-dressed, well-jeweled, and in a finely-pressed suit.
"You can't take money from strangers," my father said, and called over our waiter to figure out how to return the gift. The waiter came by the table and my father inquired about the gentleman.
"Oh, you can't give that money back," the waiter said gravely. "You don't return gifts like that when the come from a guy like him." A wink and a nod.

Needless to say, my father was nervous so that we skipped our tiramisu dessert and left the restaurant without a fuss, but with a polite "thank you" to the signore, who replied with a nod of the head.

Now, thirteen years later, I recently found myself graciously accepting a liter of unfiltered Sicilian olive oil from the shop owner of Teitel Brothers Wholesale and Retail Grocery Company on Arthur Avenue in the Bronx. When I asked how much I owed him, the shopkeeper gave me an eye.

"Whaddya mean?" He asked me. A wink and a nod.


Arthur Avenue is Little Italy in the Bronx. Located near Fordam University between Fordam Road and East 183rd Street, this stretch of neighborhood is as close to an authentic Italian neighborhood as one can get in New York. Forget Little Italy in China Town -- uptown in the Bronx is the real . It is an Italian foodie's paradise; both sides of the street are packed with grocery shops, butchers, delis, bakeries, pastry shops, between which people are constantly running with their wares to meet the demands of a very hungry clientele.

Recently, my dear consigliere urged me to get to Arthur Avenue to do a story for Goûter; he had been there on numerous, storied occasions when he lived here in New York, and he knew that I'd love it. A few weeks later, my parents announced that they'd be coming into the city to go to the New York Botanical Gardens and then having lunch on Arthur Avenue nearby. I invited myself along with them and their friends, hopped the MetroNorth to the Bronx, and navigated my way on foot to Arthur Avenue, a place that somehow felt like home. Everyone was out on the street, enjoying the lazy breeze of the autumn afternoon. And yet, the whole street was in a wonderful commotion of people eating, playing cards, chatting at the salon, eating, toting around groceries, eating, yelling from windows, having discussions on the sly, eating, running through traffic, smoking, and eating. Italian was spoken everywhere by everyone, and hands were flying about expressively from hip to mouth to chin.

My father was hungry, so the first thing to do was find Enzo's, the restaurant where we had been told to eat by one of his colleagues who grew up on Arthur Avenue. Even with the plethora of great eats to chose from (Roberto's, Dominick's, Pasquale's, etc.), we were told that Enzo's was the place to go. It was a delight, indeed. Enzo's is a homey little trattoria where neighborhood regulars dine in big family groups. The restaurant has brick walls with large, medieval tapestries, an impressive rack of wine on display, and beautiful, hammered copper ceiling overhead. The food is traditional Italian -- simple, but delicious. Our hostess felt like an old friend (she knew someone with our same last name on Long Island, a baker...), and she doted on us with friendly curiosity. We ordered a bottle of Tuscan Sangiovese, Castello Banfi Rosso di Montalcino (2005) -- dry, oak-ey, and ruby red. We began the meal with a round of appetizers: salty Clams Oreganata, buttery Polenta with white beans and savory sausage, and fresh Mozzarella di Bufala with big slices of red tomato, crisp basil, and roasted red peppers. By the end of that feast, we were feeling full, but when the pastas came to the table, our appetites expanded, and we loosened our belts. Rigatoni alla Siciliana with hunks of lucious eggplant and mozzarella in a sweet tomato sauce; Cavatelli di Broccoli Rabe with sausage in fresh olive oil with garlic, and Orchiette with peppery sausage, chicken, and portobello mushroom in a spicy, chunky tomato sauce. We passed around plates, picking and tasting, wiping up the sauces with fresh Italian bread with huge pieces of black olive baked inside. All around us, everyone was enjoying the same tradition, clinking glasses of wine in the mid-afternoon and easing digestion with a bit of Sambuca.

From Enzo's we took to the street to explore the local vendors. My mother and I ran across the street to Biancardi's Meat, which was like an entire meat locker unto itself, crowded with people and pungent with the smell of freshly killed meats. Biancardi's is the home of the delicious sausage from Enzo's, which comes in two varieties: spicy, and mouth-blowingly spicy. At the back of the store, the ceiling is covered in various, long salumi hanging from meat racks, to the right of which is a brooding portrait of the Madonna.

Next we stopped into Addeo Bakers, whose enormous loaves of bread came in various shapes and sizes. Large circular loaves, long loaves, hundreds of breadsticks of different varieties, and so much more.

On the previous block was the celebrated grocer, Teitel Brothers. Established in 1915, the grocery is a tiny little store that is packed floor-to-ceiling with delicious, gourmet Italian foodstuffs. Out in front are paint buckets filled with a variety of dried beans, canned beans and tomatoes piled into high towers, jugs of various olive oils marking the entrance, and a strange display of salted eels splayed out, as if to guard the door from hungry intruders. Inside, the store consists of only one aisle into which everyone -- customers, runners, shopkeepers -- are packed. Everyone screams and shouts their orders because everyone goes to Teitel's with a precise list of what to buy. Perhaps that is why the shopkeeper came running toward me and I was looking over shoulders in an attempt to browse around the store. It was from him that I got the olive oil, and another confirmation that someone of my same last name is a baker in Long Island.

I lost track of my father and his friend, only to lose him further inside of the Arthur Avenue Retail Market, an indoor market of various sellers with a variety of delicious and bizarre wares. In the front of the store is an area inside of which a handful of men are busy at work rolling fresh cigars and chain-smoking the dregs all day long. My father got stuck with a man selling a hodge-podge of kitchen goods in an attempt to buy my mother an electric tomato sauce machine to replace the hand-grinder that he so lovingly attends to during tomato sauce season at home (when she discovered what he was up to, his efforts went for naught). I wandered into the back with Glen and Robin, my parents friends, only to discover more butchers (pig's feet, cow's tongue, lamb's head, kidneys, hearts, livers), a green grocer, and a giant salumi hanging from the rafters. People were eating everywhere, snacking on delicious savories and sweets. Our appetites whet once again, we headed back to the street in search of Stratciatella Gelato (fluffy, creamy vanilla with thin, wispy shards of dark chocolate).

On the street, we saw Alex, our waiter from Enzo's. He told us where to go -- a pastry shop "around the corner, four shops in." Following his instructions, we found ourselves at DeLillo Bakery, the family store once owned by the parents of author Don DeLillo. The smell inside the shop was warm and sweet, and enveloped us like the crunchy crust of a cannoli. We were tempted to stay, but there was no Stratciatella flavor that day.

Back on the street, I found my father focusing the camera on a dapper-looking gentleman in a stylish, pressed gray suit, pink shirt with jeweled cuffs, who was talking to a lesser-looking fellow in drab clothes. I watched as the smaller man caught sight of my father, and the two looked over with faces blank. My father clumsily pointed the camera up toward a street sign, snapped what turned out to be a fantastic picture (but not of them), and then he hurried around the corner, and pulled me out of sight.

Fortunately, we stumbled into Egidio's bakery, where we found our gelato. Yet again there was no straciatella, but the feast inside was exactly what we had been looking for. In fact, it was in Egidio's into which I first stumbled on my lost way to find the New York Botanical Gardens to find my parents, and when I saw the shop owner again, she immediately recognized me as though I were an old friend. Carmela Lucciola oversees Egidio Pastry Shop off Arthur Avenue on 187th street all on her own, and even owns a beautiful restaurant, Dolce Amaro, around the corner back on the Avenue. We chatted for a while over the counter (again with the relative who is a baker on Long Island), and then she sent me with one of her employees to scout out the restaurant -- the only one in town with an outdoor patio.

When I returned to Egidio's, I found my parents and their friends enjoying heaping bowls of glistening gelato, smiling and content. Carmela whisked me around the shop, chatting about business, the neighborhood, speaking in English, then Italian, then English again. Somehow, I was able to understand and keep up with her. Toward the back of the shop's cases stuffed with buttery cookies, I found a tray of chunky biscotti, Quaresimali, or Lenten Almond Biscuits. These hard and crunchy cookies were created especially for the lenten season when good Roman Catholic Italians abstain from tempting sweets. Quaresimali, however, don't count, and pair perfectly with a teensy cup of hot espresso.

It was nearing 5 o'clock and my parents and their friends had to leave before evening traffic set in (albeit, they were doing the reverse commute). We all reluctantly left Carmela ("Ce vediamo, tanti baci!"), and as I walked down the darkening street, I felt a small sense of loss. There are days when I believe that New York is the greatest city in the world, and other days when I feel trapped by the concrete and the anonymity of the busy sidewalks. Arthur Avenue is neither concrete nor anonymous; it is a place that feels like Europe in America, and welcomes visitors like family. Leaving Arthur Avenue held, for me, the same feeling of anti-climax after holiday meals at home are over, and my loud, boisterous family all goes away (minus the relief of making it past the inevitable arguments and impetuous jokes). But like a good Italian family, there is always an excuse for another reunion, and I've already promised Carmela that I will return for the holidays to eat at Dolce Amaro.

Until then, I'll be dousing my food in the gifted olive oil, whipping of batches of Quaresimali, and trying to figure out who this baker is on Long Island with whom I share the same, multi-syllabic, ends-with-a-vowel, Italian last name.

Arthur Avenue Photo Album



QUARESIMALI
(from italiancookingandliving.com)

Makes about 1 doz cookies

• Sugar: 1 cup
• Flour: 1 1/2 cups
• Bitter cocoa powder: 1/2 cup
• Hazelnut paste: 1 3/4 oz
• 3 egg whites
• 1 orange
• Powdered vanilla or 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
• Cinnamon
• Baking powder: 1 tablespoon

Beat the egg whites until firm then add the sugar and the nut paste (this can be replaced with 1 3/4 oz of hazelnuts, finely ground in the food mixer).

In a separate bowl, mix the flour with the cocoa, the grated orange rind, a pinch of cinnamon, a little vanilla and the baking powder. Slowly fold this into the egg whites: you should obtain a fairly dense mixture.

On baking paper (or a buttered tray) form , using a syringe or confectioner's bag (space well as these will swell with cooking).

Leave to stand for about one hour, then place in a warm oven (300° F) for about ten minutes.

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Enzo's
2339 Arthur Ave.
(bet. Crescent Ave. & E. 186th St.)
718.733.4455

Biancardi's Meat
2350 Arthur Avenue
718.733.4058

Addeo Bakers
2372 Hughes Ave
718.367.8316

Arthur Avenue Retail Market
2344 Arthur Avenue
(No phone)

DeLillo Pastry Shop
606 E. 187th St.
(bet. Arthur/Hughes Aves.)
718.367.8198

Egidio Pastry Shop
622 E 187th Street
718.295.6077

Dolce Amaro
2389 Arthur Avenue
347.270.0081