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Editor's note: In Niagara Falls, the neighborhood called "Little Italy" is a 15-block stretch filled with McDonald's, chain hardware stores and muffler shops. In New York, the real Little Italy is something quite different.
The blocks are short, the sidewalks crowded. The air is heavy with garlic as the tuxedo-clad maitre'd's wave menus in the air, assuring that you can find hearty-home cooked meals at bargain prices in their establishments. This is the real Little Italy.
Just three crowded blocks on Mulberry Street in Manhattan, between Broome and Canal streets, this small area is home to some of the most legendary restaurants and shops in New York City. Walking around the neighborhood you can't help but notice the architecture, the oldest New York City has to offer. And maybe the best.
But the smell of pasta and sausage in the air quickly pulls your attention away from the buildings. Da Nico, a popular restaurant located at 164 Mulberry, offers huge portions of hearty Italian fare at more-than-fair prices. It also features an outdoor garden, hidden away by brick walls covered with ivy.
Nicky Criscitelli has run Da Nico for years, and is proud of its importance to the community. "It's mainly Italian-run, but it benefits everybody. Most of the restaurants in the neighborhood are Italian-owned, but when hiring we don't discriminate," Criscitelli says. "And restaurants like mine are the reason that people come and spend their money in Little Italy."
Benito One is another hot spot, located just up the block at 174 Mulberry. When you walk in, you'll usually find Bill Busto, the manager, sitting at one of the first tables. He holds court at a large round table along with his sister, mother, aunt and many cousins.
"I've lived here all my life. This neighborhood is like one big family, everybody looking after each other. And this row of restaurants on Mulberry is just the heart of it," Busto says.
"But it's shrinking fast. When I was a kid growing up, this neighborhood, it took up a lot more space, maybe 10 blocks on Mulberry. Now it's like all the old neighborhood, people feel they've got to defend their area, like we're under attack or something," Busto adds.
The feeling and fear that the neighborhood is growing smaller is not only held by this one man, but indeed many lifelong residents.
"I remember growing up on this street, and it was like you had 10,000 parents. You couldn't do nothing without it getting back to your parents. Now, you can live next to someone for five years and never even know their name. It's all the NoHo people moving in. All the yuppies," one resident says.
The Mare Chicro Tavern is easy to miss. No big neon sign highlights it, and its windows are covered by white curtains stained yellow from cigarette smoke. Walking in, you are most certain to find longtime manager Tony Russo, whom most of the neighborhood people call Uncle Tony out of respect, for he watched most of them grow up.
Cigar always stuck in the side of his mouth, Russo moves slowly around this old-world bar. But don't worry, when you order a drink, it appears on the huge oak bar as fast as any bartender in New York can deliver.
The floors are ancient tile, the ceiling tin. When you first enter, you can't help but feel like you're in the Godfather. Perhaps that's because scenes from the Godfather were shot in this bar, along with movies like Pope of Greenwich Village, Donnie Brasco, 9 1/2 Weeks and State of Grace.
Behind the bar, above the circa-1900 cash register and around the huge mirror from who-knows-when, are pictures. You can't help but notice Russo in them, a cigar always clenched in his hand or sticking out of his mouth. And you most certainly will recognize the people he's with, some of Hollywood's most elite. Ranging from Al Pacino, Johnny Depp and Madonna, to Frank Sinatra and Jackie Gleason, he's met them all.
"I have 10 million children," Russo says, smiling.
"No, really I only have three. But I've watched so many kids grow up here, I feel like they're my own," Russo says. "I looked out for them when I could. I've been at this bar all my life. I'm part of the family.
"Don't take that family comment the wrong way," Russo adds jokingly.
Entering Little Italy, you can't miss the large, looming stone building at 240 Centre St. The tower clock still runs, and the stone lions still guard the entrance. Right now, workmen scramble around the structure, turning the building into condos. This is the old police headquarters, the one Teddy Roosevelt once ruled over many years ago.
But this impressive monument is just another seldom-visited sight. Much like Louis Rossi's memorabilia shop on Mulberry.
On any given weekend, the restaurants along Mulberry Street are packed with tourists, but for a breather as well as a voyage back in time, you might want to stop by Louis Rossi's shop at the corner of Mulberry and Grand streets.
Rossi is 92 years young, and knows more about Little Italy than you ever could hope to know. His shop is crowded with Italian memorabilia, his wife and her sister always perched near the entrance holding lengthy conversations in Italian.
Rossi's shop has no official name, but is referred to as the Record Shop by the neighborhood people. This is because Rossi spent the majority of his life producing Italian recording artists who played traditional Italian music. Then, like his father before him, Rossi would sell the albums out of this storefront. Often, this led to the performer securing employment and citizenship in America.
"This neighborhood is still great. It's not what it was years ago, but then again neither am I," Rossi says. "But it's sad to see the young people of the neighborhood, the kids I watched grow up, leaving because the apartments are being bought up by all the Wall Street guys."
Little Italy, like the rest of Manhattan, is caught up in the struggle between the old school and the new kids--the rich kids who play the market, drive Porsches and can afford to buy property once owned by the people who created these neighborhoods 90 years ago.
So for now, if you happen to make your way to New York City, stop by Little Italy. It's still owned and run by Italians. But how long this tradition will continue, no one can say.