Wake up at 7:00 AM, check. Do driver’s ed for 2 hours, check. Be stuck taking the bus to main street instead of getting a ride, check. Have the crappiest coffee to start my day, check.
Okay so fine, the beginning of my day didn’t start out so well. However, while waiting for the train to leave Main Street, Ashley happened to throw her cup into to somebody’s collection of garbage that apparently wasn’t garbage. When the man came back and handed her cup back to her with the words, “Excuse me miss, but that wasn’t garbage. I believe this is yours,” I cried of laughter. Awkwaaaaard. That’s when I knew it wasn’t going to be such a terrible day.
The gap between Chinatown and Little Italy isn’t very big at all. In fact, our journey started in Chinatown until eventually the signs started making sense again. Literally every store was a restaurant claiming they had the best of some food or other. The amount of choices was ridiculous. Each menu seemed to offer the same food, but which one? That choice was made later, but first we had to find the art. First, we accidentally stumbled across a campaign. But not a campaign campaign, but a “fashion campaign.” Two very well dressed men were modelling the latest in some sort of probably ridiculously priced clothes line. Next we found the Italian American Museum.
There wasn’t much inside but I think that was the point. It was a humble museum that gave everything that was important to the neighborhood that it possibly could. Inside were the history of triumphs and misfortunes of important Italians in the neighborhood. Unfortunately, I didn’t find it interesting at all. Which leads me to what I did find interesting: the food.
To me, the most artful thing in all of Little Italy was it’s food. While it lacked diversity, each restaurant seemed to have it’s own twist. Nobody claimed to have the best of the same exact thing. Isn’t that what art really is? Taking some of what every one knows and putting your own little twist on it? My favorite place that we went to was Cafe Palermo. This bakery, filled to the brim with over-sized immensely appetizing pastries, held the honor of having the best cannoli in town. I was tempted beyond belief to try one, but I chsoe the red velvet cake instead.
Talking to the owner of the shop really put this into perspective for me. He said he’s owned it for 39 years now and can’t wait to make 50. He told us about how the majority of the restaurants are family owned and have been for while, basically ever since “we kicked those irish outta hea.” The stories and references made showed that he was dedicated to his neighborhood, he even said he was born and raised there and hasn’t moved out. That’s why I consider the food in Little Italy art. Each place has their own style, each mixed with their own family roots and recipes. Recipes that have lasted generations upon generations. Whether it was the over priced pizza or the delicious red velvet cake, I enjoyed every bit of art I ate.
