| Chapter 2: | Street Life |
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Into the pasticcieri that we know.
Sfigliatelle, cannelloni, rum-soaked cakes
With stirring scents of amaretti strain
Their clam and cannon forms tradition makes,
And crowns with pine nuts and confetti grain.
The pastry must not be too sweet, nor over-rich the creams;
So must appear the face of life, not lesser than it seems.9
Grandma shopped on Second Avenue too. There were only stores there, no horses and wagons with goods. Her butcher was a relative. She liked the way he cut and pounded her veal cutlets. She made delicious spittini, veal rolls stuffed with salami, cheeses and spices.
The only large grocery store in our neighborhood was located on Second Avenue. She bought her canned and boxed goods there. The proprietor was Jewish. He delivered to our apartment.
Sometimes she made pasta at home and sometimes she bought pasta at the pasta store. The store had a big window with curtains of stringy pasta dangling on hooks. There was an awning over the pasta curtain. I imagined the awning as a cap and the pasta as a skirt. Perhaps the cap and skirt belonged to a giant hoola dancer like the girl I had seen in one of my picture books.
There was a bakery I liked on Second Avenue between One Hundred and Fifth and Sixth streets. It was a sugary paradise, an oasis of sugary treats. On warm and hot days grandma and I would stop there to eat our Italian ices. Sometimes we would order