Autumn turned the grapes into wine

Pennies saved for big New York trip

In the fall, my father would order cases of special varieties of grapes for home winemaking. They would be piled at the edge of our stand and could be purchased by neighborhood men who were hoping to create the best wine possible, usually red varieties, but occasionally someone would request white.

It was possible to rent wine presses, and Mr. Russo, who ran a laundry on Hamilton Street, had them available for rent. The grape juice would be poured into a barrel for fermentation and drawn after the process was completed. This wine was a source of pride within families, and it would be considered a special act of friendship to receive a bottle of the fruits of the labor.

The women would generally set about pickling the fall bounty, especially eggplant, which was processed in vinegar and dressed with oil and spices, or the spicy cherry peppers, which were preserved in vinegar to be added to winter dishes, or stuffed for an antipasto.

A special treat would be setting up jars of cherries or white finger grapes preserved in grain alcohol. These would be taken out on a holiday, served in the small cordial glasses which every family kept for special occasions. I always looked forward to the appearance of the bunches of finocchio or fennel, tied with string and trailing their wispy fronds. Some would dry the narrow stalks to be used to flavor a roast. In fact, this is one of the important ingredients in porchetta, a delicacy favored by the Marchigiani.

Sept. 19 is the feast day of San Gennaro, the patron saint of the city of Naples. The Italian community in Manhattan still creates a grand festa to celebrate the occasion in true New York fashion. Block after block of illuminated arches cross the streets, where every manner of traditional Italian specialty food is available, and where many were introduced to the Neapolitan calzone.

One of the few times when groups from the neighborhood might leave our little community would be a bus trip to the festa, organized by an enterprising resident. This was an occasion for great excitement for those who very rarely got to travel into Manhattan, and visiting this festa was considered an experience not to be missed.

Of course, there was time scheduled to visit the ornate outdoor cappella, where the statue of San Gennaro was displayed, and a monetary offering was pinned on the ribbon at the base of the image. A trip to Mulberry and Grand streets in the heart of the Italian community for lunch at Angelo’s and later pastry at Ferraro’s was always included in the itinerary. There were venor ues to purchase the latest records from Italy or the beautiful ceramics from the Naples area, and perhaps a macchinetta for Italian coffee.

These occasions, which now may seem quite ordinary, constituted opportunities for those whose lives were centered on very simple circumstances, to see how the immigrants in other places had established their own larger, vibrant communities.

Mr. Scarpone lived in our building. He had a shoe repair shop on the corner of Wooster and Hamilton streets. He and others throughout the neighborhood were important fixtures because we all had our shoes repaired numerous times. Heels, soles, either half or full, were repaired until they could no longer be serviceable. I can remember watching him carve the leather to fit the shoe and make it look like new, polished and supple, ready for another year or so of use.

These services were critical; having things repaired repurposed was a necessity. Clothing, linens, shoes — these were all expected to last as long as possible. There were no discretionary funds set aside for frivolous purchases..

Everyone paid their bills on time — and with cash. The utility companies were located right downtown or there were stores, such as Horowitz Brothers, at which you could pay your utility bill. Everyone in the family who worked gave their pay to the family and was given an allowance for personal use, but it was usually not very much. It took a long time to accumulate enough funds for something special.

Every mother had some special cups or dishes that were used for certain occasions. My mother had several sets of demitasse cups that she would use to serve Italian coffee for company or at holiday time. Serving that dark coffee had a ritual attached to it. It was brewed in a macchinetta, which was a drip coffee pot that was filled with water and then turned over so the hot water dripped through the Italian roast coffee. It was usually served with sugar and some slivers of lemon peel. Or, on more special occasions, anisette would be added. All of this was stirred with a miniature spoon that fit nicely into the small coffee cup.

On our block alone, in early morning, workers were on their way to a long day of labor in the shirt shop at Chapel and Hamilton, or Farricielli’s garage in the middle of the block, or Regal Drug across the street, Ruocco’s shoe store, Velecca’s market and, of course, Lucibello’s pastry shop, filling the air with the sweet fragrance of their wonderful concoctions. All of these people worked every day, giving their best efforts to support their families and to maintain a sense of pride in who they were.

At the end of the day, everyone came home to a simple but delicious meal, created from fresh ingredients and fragrant with the flavors of the Italian foods they all knew and loved, always accompanied by the fresh, crusty bread that was available twice daily. We all felt that we had a lot to be thankful for.