9-12-99

By MATTHEW McCANN FENTON
New York Daily News

We used to have from Centre St. all the way over the the Jewish neighborhoods on the East Side, around Delancey," says Vincent Generoso of the neighborhood in which his family has done business for 95 years. "And from Canal St. up north almost to Houston."

"We," in this case, are the Italians-Americans. And what they used to have is Little Italy. Generoso, the owner of Vincent's Restaurant, which was opened by his granduncle in 1905, is talking about the one-time locus of Italian immigrant culture in the United States — a place that embodied the best and the worst of what it meant to be Italian-American.

But now, both of those extremes are rapidly morphing into something that the first Italians who set up shop on Mulberry St. more than a century ago couldn't have imagined. And Generoso's tone of voice conveys the weary irony of a survivor who has watched the world he grew up in vanish.

So what do the Italian-Americans have left? "Today," says Alfred Lepore, the fourth-generation president of Ferrara's Pasticceria, "Little Italy is Mulberry St. from Canal to maybe Prince, plus two blocks of Grand St. and one block of Hester."

Those blocks that remain firmly in the grip of Italian-Americans are a curious mix of authentic history and pop-culture pantomime. Let your gaze wander above the storefront level on any of the streets named above and you will be looking into sepia-tint image of Little Italy, circa 1900.

Grimy tenement facades prop up a latticework of black fire escapes. Wet laundry dries in the breeze. ("What do I miss about the Little Italy I grew up in?" ponders Carmine Esposito, the owner of Il Cortile, the consensus- best Italian restaurant on Mulberry St. "The clotheslines strung between buildings. There was always a face you knew at the other end of the clothesline. That's how news got passed around the neighborhood.") And tattered shades blow through open windows, breathing fresh air onto the deep, toil-weary sleep of immigrants.

But the immigrants are, for the most part, no longer Italian. And if let your gaze drop to street level, you will get an eyeful of Little Italy, circa 1999. Restaurants, some of them about as Italian as Taco Bell is Mexican, share sidewalk space with souvenir shops packed to the rafters with Italian tchotchkes made in Hong Kong.

Sandwiched between the old and the new, you'll find the holdouts. Restaurant operators and store owners who have been in the area for decades. "I would say that 90% of the Italian businesses in this neighborhood are still operated by third and fourth-generation members of the families that started them a hundred years ago," says Anne Compoccia, president of the Little Italy Chamber of Commerce.

Once, these people did business almost exclusively with other Italians. And they still sell meals, or provisions like cheese and meat and bread, to their own kind. But each year, the clientele is more and more American. And each year the faces of the people who live around them are more Mandarin than Mediterranean, more Asiatic than Adriatic.

This week, those restaurants and shops will be even more crowded than usual as the streets of Little Italy are closed for the Feast of San Gennaro. The grandchildren of the people who made this neighborhood the capital of Italian America will converge by the thousands, commuting from White Plains and Stony Brook and Fort Lee. They will rub shoulders with the tourists and wannabe Italians who have seen too many episodes of "The Sopranos" and have come determined to experience Italian New York — up close and personal.

But don't dismiss the festival as another New York street circus. Because even if Little Italy no longer sums up the Italian-American experience, the Feast of San Gennaro still speaks volumes about Little Italy.

"It has nothing to do with the Italians anymore," says Generoso, munching on a plate of sliced fruit as he presides over the register at Vincent's. "It's run by a company that produces street fairs all over the country. The stands that are selling souvenirs this week on Mulberry St. will be selling the same junk next week at an Irish fair in the Catskills or a state fair in Pennsylvania."

Some Little Italy stalwarts see the bright side of the 73 year-old tradition. "What do people expect?" Esposito says from a corner table in Il Cortile. "Of course, it's not exactly the same as a hundred years ago, but it's still authentic. It does for Italians who live all over New York and New Jersey what the old feast did for Italians who lived a few blocks away from each other. A community that's more spread out is still a community."

Maybe, but it's much harder to see the face at the other end of the clothesline. And that's why the Feast is so important. It's the annual homecoming that salves the psychic discontent of Little Italy's diaspora: The primal, harvest moon return to Mulberry St. that allows Italians-Americans who have become much more American than Italian to step into that sepia tint for a single night.

The Newcomers

And in truth, the aggregate of old and new that San Gennaro revelers find in the vicinity of Mulberry and Grand is comprised more of gems than of junk. Landmarks include Taormina's on Mulberry St., a delectable Sicilian restaurant where John Gotti had dinner every Wednesday night during his heyday. Patrissy's, on Kenmare St., a one-time magnet for New York's princes of labor. Vincent's, at Hester and Mott Sts., which arguably serves the best Italian seafood this side of Naples.

But it's also true that much has changed. To begin with, a new set of bosses have come to Little Italy. And these are bosses with a small "b" — restaurant professionals who know everything about how to run a kitchen and don't want, or need, to know anything about the old ways.

Six new Italian restaurants have opened in the neighborhood in the last three years, according to the Little Italy Chamber of Commerce. A check with law enforcement sources indicates that none of them seems to be connected with organized-crime figures, which is a refreshing break with tradition. But a check with several die-hard Italian-food lovers indicates that none of the new restaurants seems to be connected with a particularly distinguished chef, either. "The new places are here to serve the new crowd," says a retired restaurateur who had a popular trattoria on Grand St. during the 1980s. "They could be dishing out Tex-Mex as easily as Italian."

And the old-line restaurants that remain, such as Casa Bella, Tres Amici, Caffe Biondo and Benitos, have had to learn new ways of doing business. Most of the restaurants along Mulberry St. now have hawkers standing out front, offering menus to passersby and inviting them in. ("Can you imagine them doing that in the days when Paul Castellano was eating inside?" says a veteran NYPD mob investigator, laughing.)

Many have changed hands, and the new bosses are serving a new clientele. "Little Italy has become one of the city's most important tourist destinations," Compoccia says. But with the advent of customers who come for dinner once and then return to the hinterlands, the motive to put genuinely great food on every plate is evaporating.

This is a far cry from the days when the neighborhood was an open city of sorts. A place where all five of New York's Mafia families congregated, yes, but where the actors who played mobsters also would come to enjoy the best Italian food outside Italy. In addition to the made guys celebrating a successful hit, you would find FBI agents and cops toasting an indictment or conviction. All of this, plus singers and athletes and more beautiful women than on Rodeo Drive. But now, this eclectic mix has mostly vanished.

Joe Coffey, a legendary wise-guy chaser who spent his career with the NYPD, the New York State Organized Crime Task Force and the U.S. attorney's office, is bemused by this unintended consequence of the success that he and his colleagues achieved in busting Mafia control of the neighborhood. "It's a shame," he says, laughing, "but ever since the bosses all went to jail, a lot of these places have really gone downhill."

Another kind of Little Italy landmark that is disappearing rather than transforming — is the "social club." "There was a time," recalls a retired wise-guy watcher who helped send John Gotti to prison, "when there was a social club on every block in Little Italy." But a short walk through the neighborhood today quickly shows that the mob social club has gone the way of the lava lamp.

It was the coverage of the Ravenite Social Club at 247 Mulberry St. that provided the most damning evidence against Gotti. The building was seized by the federal government as an asset of a racketeering conspiracy and sold at auction for $1.3 million. In a poignant symbol of how much has changed in Little Italy, the storefront from which Gotti once ran his empire is now a gift shop. Perhaps the only social club of note still to be found on the streets of Little Italy is at 140 Mulberry St. In keeping with the new, don't-thumb-your-nose-at-the-feds culture, it looks for all the world like a cigar store. "It's not like they're fooling anybody," the retired city detective says. "But it's no longer wide-open like the Ravenite was, because they're still reeling from the beating they took over Gotti. Everything is a lot quieter now." This establishment is said by several sources to be presided over by Joe (Butch) Corrao, one of the last of the old-time wise guys left in Little Italy.

As the old culture of Little Italy gives way, many see the new immigrants from China displacing it. But Lepore sees the neighborhood's future coming from the north. "Every time I turn around," he says, surveying the robust traffic coming through the front door at Ferrara's, "another boutique that can't afford the rents in SoHo is setting up shop in an old Italian or Chinese restaurant. "Who knows?" he shrugs. "In 10 years, maybe this place will be all designer shoes and weird sculpture."

The Best of Little Italy

The Old Guard

Lombardi's Pizza

This is one of the very, very few places in New York that still makes pizza in a coal-burning oven. The difference between coal and the more conventional gas ovens is the same as the difference between having a charcoal barbecue rather than a gas-burning grill in your back yard: flavor.

The thin-crust pizza that comes out of the stone ovens (which still have the date 1905 above their cast-iron doors) is drier, crisper and more alive with flavor. 32 Spring St., (212) 941-7994.

Caffe Biondo

In case you didn't know, most Europeans (Italians, especially) are espresso snobs. And they turn their noses up at stuff that passes for it here in America. But a number of Italian-language guidebooks recommend that Sicilians visiting New York go to Caffe Biondo for their fix.

"We don't buy from an American supplier," says the manager, who will identify himself only as Freddy Boy. "Our coffee is imported and ground here in the store. And as far I know, no other cafe in New York uses the same brand," he says, pointedly refusing to name either the supplier or the brand. 141 Mulberry St.; (212) 226-9285.

Paolucci's

This place looks like a stage set for a movie about tough guys from the old neighborhood. (In fact, several movies and TV shows have used Paolucci's for a location.) And while much of the food is a cut above the typical Mulberry St. restaurant fare, the real specialty here is gnocchi. "A lot of places uses powdered potatoes and powdered eggs," the owner says. "If I did that, my grandmother would sit up in her grave and slap me." 149 Mulberry St.; (212) 925-2288.

Vincent's

"Good calamari is more like an art than a science," says Vincent Generoso, dropping the last vowel sound from "calamari," so that it comes out sounding like "calamah." The art, says the owner of Vincent's Restaurant, consists of battering the rings just heavily enough so that the coating absorbs sufficient heat to keep the interior soft during frying or broiling. The result is a dish that die-hard calamari addicts swear by. 119 Mott St.; (212) 226-8133.

Piemonte Ravioli

Before there was Ronzoni and before there were the refrigerator cases in your supermarket full of overpriced "fresh" pasta that sat on the shelf for a week, there was Piemonte. Since 1920, this family business has made more than 17 kinds of pasta from scratch each day. Most of their business is selling to restaurants (the stuffed shells you order at pretty much any upscale Italian trattoria in Manhattan come from here). The real prize here is the ravioli (try the lobster and cheese variety) and the manicotti.

Mario, the owner, will give you a reproachful look from behind the counter if he catches you buying more than you can eat at one sitting, because these light crepe tubes filled with cheese are meant to be eaten fresh. 190 Grand St.; (212) 226-0475.

Alleva Cheese

Alleva is the oldest cheese manufacturer in America (it opened in 1897), and it's famous for the mozzarella and ricotta that are produced on the premises each day starting at 5 a.m. Finding fresh cheese is not all that difficult these days, but finding cheese with the rich, moist texture and full-bodied flavor of Alleva's is quite difficult.

"We have a lot of Italian customers whose grandparents lived in the neighborhood and bought cheese from my grandparents," says Robert Alleva, who carries on the business started by his great-grandfather, Francesco. "Now, these people live in places like Long Island and New Jersey, but they come back on weekends for a seven-day supply." 188 Grand St.; (212) 226-7990.

Parisi Bakery

At one time, there was a bread bakery on every street corner in Little Italy, but most have long since been replaced with Chinese markets and trendoid boutiques. But one of the last holdouts is also one of the all-time best. The Parisi family has been turning out loaves of semolina and prosciutto bread (a thick, chewy loaf that is stuffed with four kinds of meat) since 1910. And the fifth generation refuses to diversify or hippify: "We still make the same six kinds of bread that our family made when this store opened," Adrienne Parisi says. "What was good enough for Little Italy 89 years ago is good enough today." Locals roll their eyes and kiss the tips of their fingers at the mention of Parisi's semolina. 198 Mott St.; (212) 226-6378.

The New Wave

Tracy Feith

This up-and-coming designer, noted for mixing previously unmatched patterns and styles in women's dresses, has planted the flag of hipness on the northern frontier of what remains of Little Italy. 209 Mulberry St.; (212) 334-3097.

Malia Mills

"We try to make buying a bathing suit a pleasurable experience," says the woman behind the counter at this boutique. At the designer prices this store charges, they oughtta. But this is one of the few places in New York where high-end bathing suits can be bought in two separate pieces (meaning that a women who is a perfect size seven on bottom but a size 9 on top needn't buy two suits to get one that fits her). 199 Mulberry St., (212)625-2311.

Claire Blaydon

Designer sweaters and hats adorn the walls of this postage-stamp-size boutique, in more colors and materials than you probably knew existed. Don't be intimidated by the otherworldly svelteness of the women who sashay out of the dressing room — they only look like models. 202 Mott St.; (212) 219-1490.

The Vig Bar

This hipper-than-thou watering hole immodestly takes its name from the Italian street term for the usurious interest rates once charged by local loan sharks. At Spring and Elizabeth Sts.; (212) 625-0011.

INA & INA Men

If you can't afford the Italian silk suits that Mafia kingpins used to wear when they'd go down to Little Italy and swagger, try this place. Dresses and suits that cost a month's salary or better when new are available for a fraction of their original prices. 21 Prince St., (212) 334-9048; and 262 Mott St., (212) 334-2210.

Original Publication Date: 09/12/1999

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